<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498</id><updated>2011-07-08T02:03:59.199-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Odobea RX</title><subtitle type='html'>Relationships, Love, Sex and Aspirin</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>93</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-3863244374139444139</id><published>2009-12-16T09:05:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-16T09:05:56.962-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>hmm&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-3863244374139444139?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/3863244374139444139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/3863244374139444139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#3863244374139444139' title=''/><author><name>Bubu Licious</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-83539039</id><published>2002-10-25T23:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-01-13T15:34:36.186-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've moved to &lt;a href=http://odobea.com&gt;http://odobea.com&lt;/a&gt;!
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-83539039?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/83539039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/83539039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#83539039' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-82332540</id><published>2002-09-30T17:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-30T17:57:46.090-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;It's an old one but I still think it's funny...&lt;/i&gt;

&lt;b&gt;Women's Conference&lt;/b&gt;
At the 1997 World Women's Conference the first
speaker, from England, stood up:
At last year's conference we spoke about being
more assertive with our husbands.

Well, after the conference I went home and told my
husband that I would no longer cook for him and
that he would have to do ithimself".
After the first day I saw nothing. After the second
day I saw nothing.  But after the third day I saw
that he had cooked a wonderful roast lamb." The
crowd cheered.

The second speaker, from America, stood up: After last
year's conference I went home and told my husband that
I would no longer do his laundry and that he would have
to do it himself". After the first day I saw nothing.
After the second day I saw nothing.
But after the third day I saw that he had done not only
his own washing but my washing as well." The crowd
cheered.

The third speaker, from Nigeria, stood up:" After di
Konference finish last year, na im I go house com
tell Baba Sade say I no go do im cooking, im cleaning
or go market for am again lai lai, and dat im go dey
do am imsef.
After the first day I no see anytin. The second day
sef, I no see notin. But after the third day, as the
swelling begin dey go down, I start to see small
small from my left eye.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-82332540?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82332540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82332540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#82332540' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-82241300</id><published>2002-09-28T14:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-28T14:12:39.956-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Pineapple Fanta&lt;/b&gt;
It's fantastic, it's delicious, it's orange, it's Fanta!  Yes, you remember one of Ghana's orange sodas, Fanta!!  It's better than, coke and sprite.  Well guess what there's a Pineapple flavoured Fanta.  Yes, pineapple, can you believe that?  Ok, if you already knew, humor me and act suprised.  And it doesn't taste bad either.  Bubu and I went grocery shopping and came upon Fanta orange and Fanta Pineapple.  For a minute I thought, heck if they have that here, they must also have Muskatela.  I guess I was being too hopeful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-82241300?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82241300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82241300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#82241300' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-82155181</id><published>2002-09-26T14:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-26T14:10:15.680-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Zero to One in 2 Weeks&lt;/b&gt;
Yes, Bubu's cat Zero has finally graduated to One.  Two weeks ago I put a pencil through the handles of the bedside table's doors so Zero couldn't get into it and into the medicines we keep there.  He seems to have a thing for medicine and thier packaging.  It's taken him a while to realise that the only reason why he can't open the door is because there's a pencil blocking it.  He finally figured it out today so I guess we've got to move the medication in there.  Still, I'm proud of that little fella, he's proof that there is hope for everyone with a zero IQ.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-82155181?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82155181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82155181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#82155181' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-82134349</id><published>2002-09-26T02:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-10-25T23:48:02.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Plucked like a Chicken&lt;/b&gt;
There's nothing more painful than having hair plucked off your body.  Ok maybe it's second to being waxed.  Women!  The things women go through to beautify themselves!!  I just got done with my bi-monthly plucking session.  I felt like a chicken while Bubu attempted to pluck out almost every hair from my body, not for the sake of beauty but merely to satify her obsessive plucking disorder.  Oh the things we do for love!  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-82134349?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82134349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82134349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#82134349' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-82052028</id><published>2002-09-24T13:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-24T14:56:10.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Why are we here?&lt;/b&gt;
Have you ever though hard enough about something and weren't supprised when it happened?  Ever unknowingly wished for something and felt like you willed it into being?
Imagine that Earth was the universe's way/hope of staying alive.  That all the galaxies in our universe are heading for distruction.  A distruciton which will mean no possibility of new existance.  No heaven, no hell, no consciousness.  Some forces of the universe unconciously willed the creation of a planet from which thought could evolve and the reason why we are here is to find a way to save the universe from it's demise of never having exisited.  Somehow, the reason for living is exisitance.
Imagine that.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-82052028?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82052028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/82052028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#82052028' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-81959794</id><published>2002-09-22T15:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-22T15:43:07.293-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Gbor&lt;/b&gt;
I was daydreaming and fell asleep.  I don't remember which part was daydreaming and which was just dreaming.  This one spaned lifetimes.  In each lifetime "she", I think she sometimes was a he, was called her Gbor (I'm not sure if it was me since I appeared in several lifetimes with Gbor) was something else.  In one lifetime he was an inventor who did his best thinking in the shower.  He invented a mechanic device that when soaked in some gel and placed a special telescope allowed one to see other planets in orther galaxies so clearly that you could clearly see what the planet is made of.  This inventor was also a criminal specializing in theft of motor vechicle theft, taking them for joy rides and then dumping or using the parts for his experiements.

In another he was a oriental martial arts  monk who lived in a monestary and was over-protective of a young boy who lived in his village. In yet another,  Gbor was an educated European prostitute in Venice who gave great advice marriage to her male clients.  Even though she was hated by many of the women in town she felt she was doing them a favor by equiping their husbands with the skills they needed to please them.

In one strange lifetime, I was Gbor's wife and we lived in the Amazon basin.  I don't know how I got there but I was somehow stranded when someone from his village found me.  I was in my teens and he in his mid twenties.  We were very much inlove and had five children.  He went out one morning and was killed by an amazonian worrier.  In yet another lifetime, he was an indian officer who lived a double life.  In one which he was a hard working widowed father of two boys and another in which he stalked large women and enjoyed getting beat up by them when he got caught.  

In one lifetime, Gbor was a crop farmer who loved spending time in grassy fields and had visions of actual lives people were living elsewhere in the world at different times of history.  In another, a cop who removes evidence from crime scenes as souviners.  A cop so crazy about the taking of a life that he joined the force just so that he could feel what it was like to kill someone and not have to go to jail for it.  In all the lifetimes Gbor always felt as if he was part of something much greater.  He always felt there was something different about him and I felt it too.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-81959794?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/81959794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/81959794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#81959794' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-81959770</id><published>2002-09-22T15:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-22T15:42:21.920-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm soo upset, I haven't been able to publish on Odobea since 9/12.  What's up with that?  I smell a conspiracy!
Anyway, thankfully Aspirin is still up and running.  I'll eventually get a new Odobea but for now, it's Aspirin all the way baby!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-81959770?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/81959770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/81959770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#81959770' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-81348737</id><published>2002-09-09T05:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-09T05:00:17.446-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm cramping and bloated and sex is the last thing on my mind.
I'm just sitting here watching as her breasts heave up and down.  She's so calm.  She's literally been sleeping all day because of the pills she took.  Zero keeps disturbing her.  He keeps trying to lick, suck, bite her nipple and she pushes him away in her sleep.  It's rather interesting to watch.  I wonder if it's a male thing.  I don't see ginja trying so hard to get to the nipple.  
I've staired at it for hours.  What is it about those soft round things that seem so sexual to some?  I have a pink stress ball which looks and feels like an implant.  Guys always seem to be too embarassed to play with it.  I never got that.  Does it trigger arousal or does it just make them uncomfortable?  I can't see what's so sexual about the breast.  It's just like a water balloon, what's so sexual about that.  Maybe, just maybe, it's a male thing.  Maybe it's only sexual because our minds have been trained to believe it is.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-81348737?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/81348737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/81348737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#81348737' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-81116836</id><published>2002-09-03T21:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-03T21:23:33.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;I was going through my email and noticed that I emailed this to myself over a year ago. I have no idea why I'd email myself as if I were another person but stranger things have happened.&lt;/b&gt;  
What's even stranger is a week ago, I wrote out (on paper) something I wanted to remember to blog about.  This is what I wrote:
[I once read a book I believe was called, "how to love the same person for the rest of your life" or something like that.  Just like any other book I totally disagree with , it took me several months to finish.  I remember it had some good points in there.  Now only if I could remember what those good points were.] &lt;/i&gt;

To:Me
Subject: Sex Therapist
The book I'm reading is pretty cool.  It's by a sex therapist and I think I just might have found one of my issues.  I guess I'm not unique after all.

&lt;b&gt;Tell me if this sounds familiar:&lt;/b&gt;
"To close for comfort: She feels uncomfortable when she's in a serious relationship when it comes to sex.  When the night is over, she want's him gone.
Too much closeness makes her feel claustrophobic because she's not naturally open.  She feels attacked when he tries to get her to open up.  It's a fear of being too close to someone.  Afraid of being hurt or loosing him and thus the other person in the relationship often feels lonely.

Sexually, you never know how she'll be from one day to the next.  Will she be willing or not?  She sometimes seems isolated and self-contained.  It's a problem when you have a too close/too distant sea saw relationship.  She can only make uninhibited love when there is breathing space and he can only make passionate love when he feels he's penetrating her armour.

The more he pushes for her to open up, the more she retreats.  She feels angry or guilty having to say 'no' so often and she rarely initiates sex.

However, those who push, push, push, for their partner to open up subconsciously have a fear of intimacy too. They just portray it in a different way.  They need constant confirmation.

He think's she's secretive, she things he's pushy.  He feels shut out, she feels attacked, He wants to be closer, she needs space.  He thinks she's not open, she think he doesn't respect her privacy.  He feels she's a stranger, she thinks he's too familiar with her.  In the bedroom, he thinks she's cold, she thinks he's needy.  He thinks she's unresponsive, she think's he's a bully and they both think the other is sexually selfish.

She suffers from an exaggerated fear of intimacy.  Her fear of being too close also comes with a fear of feeling too much.  But once he's gone, she feels abandoned.

Her fear of commitment is really her fear of losing someone.   Like a child fears being abandoned by it's parents.  We fear we'll loose our partners and the whole world with it.  By rejecting the one we love, we deal with our terror of being rejected.  By demanding space we deal with the fear of being abandoned.
Plus, the fear of loosing our partner is the fear of loosing ourselves.  By giving yourself completely, you're afraid you'll be totally overwhelmed by your love for and dependency on him.  There's a fear of loosing control and becoming hooked like a sex maniac."

Fighting is sometimes an aphrodisiac.  I wonder why it's not for me.
I still have a terrible fear of being abandoned by my parents. The above is how I feel about most guys.  At first, everything is fine and dandy but at the sign of a commitment, I panic unless I'm the one to initiate the relationship.  Strange though, it hasn't always been that way and I think I know why or when it started.  I think it has something to do with my dad and George.  I'm afraid of loosing my fathers approval. As for George, it was a loss I never thought I'd recover from so I shut it out of my mind.  I only recently read some old old letters and remembered what we went through.  Weird.

Anyway, why am I telling you this?  I dunno, I'm bored plus I thought it was interesting and wanted to share it.  I wish you could read the book, it's really interesting.

I also found out a possible reason why I dislike being licked on my body. This is just a possible cause.  There are some people who feel uncomfortable being licked anywhere on their body.  Such people also dislike being wet for long periods of time and dislike being sticky or sticky things.  They dislike wet sand or hand lotion.  Cool eh?  I guess I'm not alone.

              **We can not fix anyone but ourselves**

------------  End of Email ---------------
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-81116836?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/81116836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/81116836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#81116836' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-80854798</id><published>2002-08-28T23:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-28T23:49:48.070-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ok, the cheap alternative to dental dam is seran wrap.  So what's the cheap alternative to a condom?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-80854798?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/80854798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/80854798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#80854798' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-80785617</id><published>2002-08-27T14:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-27T14:17:50.606-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Wow!
A pissed woman is a pissed woman is a pissed woman.  You don't want to piss a pissed woman off.  And you dare not make a silly comment about what she's saying.  More so, a comment about her PMSing even if she is.  She will turn your ass into grass.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-80785617?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/80785617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/80785617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#80785617' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-80625230</id><published>2002-08-23T15:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-23T15:15:40.610-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;She Shaved Me!!&lt;/b&gt;
She needed something to do to keep her mind occupied.  Didn't want to watch a movie, play a game, go out, go for a walk, talk, or even have sex.  I was running out of ideas.  I decided to go take a shower and shave while she thinks of something.  This girl wouldn't leave me alone till I let her shave me.  Yes, you read right SHAVE me.  And I don't mean my armpits.  I don't trust anything sharp anywhere near that area.  Not even a mouth and yet I have a thing with gentle biting but that's another story.
She had me lie on a towel on the bed, spread my legs and relax with a pillow under my head.  It felt like a visit to my obgyn but more relaxing.  The girl is a professional!  It started to tickle like crazy and she got my mind off it by talking to me, calming me.  We talked about my first time and my best time.
Before I realised, she was done and my skin was as smooth as a baby's buttocks.  I seriously think it was plain luck that she didn't cut me.  It sure was an interesting experience but I'm not sure I'll be brave enough to let her do it again.  We'll see.
After that, we had at little session with whip cream but I'll let her tell you about that.  That is if she chooses to.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-80625230?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/80625230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/80625230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#80625230' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-80498922</id><published>2002-08-20T20:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-20T20:32:59.990-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Erotica Noir&lt;/b&gt;
No site &lt;i&gt;yet&lt;/i&gt; has ever done things to my imagination the way &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com"&gt;this site&lt;/a&gt; and this authour has.  Ok, so she can be crude and nasty but I think that's what I really like about her style.  It's shocking yet predictable.  It's unrealistic yet real?  Get what I mean?  I didn't think so.  You might get a different impression but that's how it makes me feel, I think.  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/stores/detail/-/books/0967460123/excerpt/"&gt;Read an excerpt &lt;/a&gt;of her book "&lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/shame.html"&gt;Shame of It All&lt;/a&gt;".  I also liked "&lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/addicted.html"&gt;Addicted&lt;/a&gt;" and I am yet to read "&lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/tsc.html"&gt;The Sex Chronicals&lt;/a&gt;".
The site isn't too organized, it's easy to get lost and I'd love to fix it up for her.  I mean the site.
Anyway, there's the &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/features.html"&gt;featured section&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/features2.html"&gt;more&lt;/a&gt;, and at the bottom of her &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/main.html"&gt;main page&lt;/a&gt; is a list of other links.  
I think my favorites are &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/news.html"&gt;Zane's E-Zine&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/stories.html"&gt;Zane's Stories&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/experiences.html"&gt;Real Life Sexual Experiences&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/advice.html"&gt;Zanes Advice Column&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/jokes.html"&gt;Jokes&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/link.html"&gt;Zane's Link Page&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/reviews.html"&gt;Books Recommended by Zane&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://daily.storycontent.com/Zane.shtml"&gt;Erotic story of the day&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/manuals.html"&gt;Zane's Sex Manuals&lt;/a&gt;,  &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/features.html"&gt;Featured Erotica&lt;/a&gt;,  &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/bachelors.html"&gt;Bachelors&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/bachelorettes.html"&gt;Bachelorettes&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.bravenet.com/guestbook/show.asp?usernum=4283143296"&gt;Guestbook&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.bravenet.com/classified/show.asp?usernum=4283143296"&gt;Classifieds&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://www.eroticanoir.com/features2.html"&gt;Featured Nono-Erotic Writings&lt;/a&gt;, * &lt;a href="http://pub31.bravenet.com/forum/show.php?usernum=2643005852&amp;cpv=1"&gt;Message Board&lt;/a&gt;.
Oh, and there's also &lt;a href="http://www.blackgentlemen.com/"&gt;BlackGentlemen.com&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://members.aol.com/njblklove/index.html"&gt;UBWA&lt;/a&gt; (Uncensored Black Writers Association)

Ok, so I haven't read all of them but they will be my favorites once I get to go through them.  Why am I so crazy about her work?  Maybe it's because I never got to go through that phase during my youth.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-80498922?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/80498922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/80498922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#80498922' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-79786580</id><published>2002-08-03T19:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-14T19:18:47.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Can you forgive someone for cheating?&lt;/b&gt;  Yes it hurts but you can get over it, if you really want to.  
Could you be choosing men who are pron to adultry?  I think some women unconciously tend to do that.  Does it have something to do with their relationship with thier fathers or could it be something they picked up along the way?  I have the good guy syndorm.  I tend to attract good guys because I AM attracted to the good guy type.  Lucky me.
People have it in thier mind that once you cheat, it's over.  It doesn't have to be if you're capable of changing the way you think.  And you can but I won't go into that now.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-79786580?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79786580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79786580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#79786580' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-79759115</id><published>2002-08-02T22:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-03T19:12:23.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Women!&lt;/b&gt;
I don't inderstand women who withhold sex from their men to get what they want.  If I'm with someone and we're both "in the mood" why wouldn't we have sex.  It would be different when you're mad at him or something like that because for some, it's hard to be aroused when you're not excited.  But just to get something?  Ok, what's the difference with that and prostitution?
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-79759115?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79759115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79759115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#79759115' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-79717273</id><published>2002-08-01T23:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-01T23:23:31.830-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Searchengine Queries&lt;/b&gt;
The things people search for online!  Even more shocking is they lead to this site.
 &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&amp;ie=ISO-8859-1&amp;q=ghanaian+cuties"&gt;Google:  ghanaian cuties&lt;/a&gt; 
 &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;oe=UTF8&amp;q=how+to+make+him+fall+inlove"&gt;Google:  how to make him fall inlove  &lt;/a&gt;
 &lt;a href="http://google.yahoo.com/bin/query?p=neigbours+sex&amp;hc=0&amp;hs=0"&gt;Yahoo:  neigbours sex&lt;/a&gt; 
 &lt;a href="http://google.yahoo.com/bin/query?p=how+to+make+a+man+fall+inlove+with+you&amp;hc=0&amp;hs=0"&gt;Yahoo:  how to make a man fall inlove with you&lt;/a&gt;  
 &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=dream+handjob&amp;hl=en&amp;lr=&amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;oe=UTF8&amp;start=20&amp;sa=N"&gt;Google:  dream handjob&lt;/a&gt;  
 &lt;a href="http://google.yahoo.com/bin/query?p=exciting+handjob&amp;b=61&amp;hc=0&amp;hs=0&amp;xargs=0"&gt;Yahoo:  exciting handjob&lt;/a&gt;  
 &lt;a href="http://google.yahoo.com/bin/query?p=Breast+Clevage&amp;hc=0&amp;hs=0"&gt;Yahoo:  Breast Clevage  &lt;/a&gt;
 &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&amp;ie=ISO-8859-1&amp;q=show+me+how+women+masterbate+with+there+fingers"&gt;Google:  show me how women masterbate with there fingers&lt;/a&gt;  
 &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&amp;lr=&amp;ie=ISO-8859-1&amp;q=hear+orgasm+screams"&gt;Google:  hear orgasm screams&lt;/a&gt;  
 &lt;a href="http://google.yahoo.com/bin/query?p=sex+wth+man+and+woman&amp;hc=0&amp;hs=0"&gt;Yahoo:  sex wth man and woman&lt;/a&gt;
 &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=orgasm+on+train&amp;hl=en&amp;lr=&amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;start=100&amp;sa=N"&gt;Google:  orgasm on train&lt;/a&gt;  
 &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=wery+young+sex&amp;hl=hu&amp;lr=&amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;oe=UTF-8&amp;start=10&amp;sa=N"&gt;Google:  wery young sex&lt;/a&gt;
 &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=penis+aspirin&amp;hl=en&amp;lr=&amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;safe=off&amp;start=10&amp;sa=N"&gt;Google:  penis aspirin&lt;/a&gt;  
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-79717273?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79717273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79717273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#79717273' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-79680041</id><published>2002-08-01T04:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-01T05:03:51.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Sexual tests and reading&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Everyone should take this &lt;a href="http://discoveryhealth.queendom.com/relationship_attachment.html"&gt;Relationship Test&lt;/a&gt;.  There's also the &lt;a href="http://discoveryhealth.queendom.com/access_sensuality.html"&gt;Are You Sentual Test&lt;/a&gt;?  I was really suprised with the &lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/sex/quizzes/spark.html"&gt;sex quiz&lt;/a&gt;.  There are also a whole bunch of &lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/fansites/bermans/loveassess.html"&gt;Relationship checkup tests.&lt;/a&gt;
There are more health assesment tests &lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/tools/assessments.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.

Interesting reads:
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/womens/shopping/shoppingtherapy.html"&gt;Shopping as therapy&lt;/a&gt;.
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/womens/hrt/controversy.html"&gt;Hormone controversy&lt;/a&gt;.
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/explore/sex/hotsex/hotsex.html"&gt;When he's hot and you're not&lt;/a&gt;.
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/womens/sexualhealth/healthysex.html"&gt;Reclaiming Lost Libido&lt;/a&gt;.
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/mental/trauma/trauma.html"&gt;Quick Cure for Trauma Memories?&lt;/a&gt; 
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/althealth/emotions/emotions.html"&gt;Creating emotional health&lt;/a&gt;.
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/womens/womens.html"&gt;more...&lt;/a&gt;

Websites for women: sex aide for women
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/sex/sex.html"&gt;Sexual Health&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/fansites/bermans/articles/sextoys.html"&gt;Add pleasure to you love life&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.newshe.com/factsheets/erotic_videos_for_women.shtml"&gt;Erotic videos for women&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/sex/libido/libidotips.html"&gt;Top Ten Natural Ways to Boost Libido&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/sex/aphrodisiacs/aphrodisiacs.html"&gt;Aphrodisiacs: Magic or Medicine?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-79680041?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79680041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79680041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#79680041' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-79670678</id><published>2002-07-31T23:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-01T07:17:15.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;What's your obsession?&lt;/b&gt;
&lt;font size=+2&gt;&lt;b&gt;FEED YOUR OBSESSIONS&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;
&lt;b&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-79670678?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79670678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79670678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#79670678' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-79505688</id><published>2002-07-28T05:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-07-28T05:00:43.736-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;&lt;u&gt;One for the Road&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;
Why is it that some couples feel the urge to have sex just before one goes off on a trip?  Come on, a 2 day trip?
A couple can be in a relationship for years, has sex twice a year but the moment someone's going out of town, it's shack-up night.  What's the difference?  It's not like you'd be "doing it" if one of you weren't travelling.  So please tell me, what's the big deal?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-79505688?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79505688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79505688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#79505688' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-79452878</id><published>2002-07-26T17:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-07-26T17:15:54.006-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;&lt;u&gt;Mail Order Bride&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;
What's that all about any why are so many  women offended by it.  Billy's gone throught strenuous lenghts to find him a mail order bride who's exactly what he wants.  He's had bad luck with women in the past and has never had a relationship that's lasted over 6 months.  Luanne his new wife is everything he's dreamed of.  She's young, beautiful, loving, caring, obedient, shy, fun.  So why are Billy's female friends upset with him?  None of them want to date him so why shouldn't he find love where where?
Luanne is just as happy with him as he is with her.  Ok, so he's not drop dead gorgeous and he's not the most charming gentleman but he's faithful, reliable, sweet, and funny; exactly what she wants in a man.  Why are people so against thier happiness?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-79452878?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79452878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79452878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#79452878' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-79192869</id><published>2002-07-20T14:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-07-22T02:18:21.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I was watching a talk show yesterday. Topic: &lt;b&gt;Why Men Pay for Sex. &lt;/b&gt;

Well, why not? When a man takes out a date and pays for dinner, buys her gifts, isn't he essentially paying for sex? We've been conditioned to think that's ok but not to directly give a woman money? Give me a break! If you disagree that's paying for sex then the bill should always be split. 
I'm pretty sure not all these men who pay for sex are old, disabled or ugly. Sometimes a man just wants sex. It's not often that you find a woman who's just looking for a booty call. And even if there are some out there, it's not likely that you're going to find them on the night you want them. Call girls are always available, guaranteed and only tell you what you want to hear. They're straight to the point and you don't have to worry about foreplay. 
So why do some married men pay for sex? For that very fact. Then there are those men who want a fantasy satisified, a fantasy that they feel ashamed to ask their wives to fulfill. Why? Because no one likes to be rejected, rejected by someone who might possibly throw it back in your face. Rejected by someone who you love, someone you see everyday. Someone who might think you're weird for having unusual fantasies. 
Would I forgive him for seeing a call girl? I think I'd be more upset if he were having an affair. If he was emotionally involved with a woman. To me, paying for sex is different. I'd want to be sure he was using protection at all times and getting tested. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't mind him doing it all the time unless we both agreed that it was for "our" best interest (if we weren't having sex for whatever reason). So I guess I would forgive him if he told me about it. Guilt can be such a terrible thing. 
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-79192869?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79192869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79192869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#79192869' title=''/><author><name>Bubu Licious</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-79175928</id><published>2002-07-19T23:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-07-20T00:00:59.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I was watching a talk show yesterday.  Topic:  &lt;b&gt;Why Men Pay for Sex.  &lt;/b&gt;

Well, why not?  When a man takes out a date and pays for dinner, buys her gifts, isn't he essentially paying for sex?  We've been conditioned to think that's ok but not to directly give a woman money?  Give me a break!  If you disagree that's paying for sex then the bill should always be split.
I'm pretty sure not all these men who pay for sex are old, disabled or ugly.  Sometimes a man just wants sex.  It's not often that you find a woman who's just looking for a booty call.  And even if there are some out there, it's not likely that you're going to find them on the night you want them.  Call girls are always available, guaranteed and only tell you what you want to hear.  They're straight to the point and you don't have to worry about foreplay.
So why do some married men pay for sex?  For that very fact.  Then there are those men who want a fantasy satisified, a fantasy that they feel ashamed to ask their wives to fulfill.  Why?  Because no one likes to be rejected, rejected by someone who might possibly throw it back in your face.  Rejected by someone who you love, someone you see everyday.  Someone who might think you're weird for having unusual fantasies.
Would I forgive him for seeing a call girl?  I think I'd be more upset if he were having an affair.  If he was emotionally involved with a woman.  To me, paying for sex is different.  I'd want to be sure he was using protection at all times and getting tested.  But that doesn't mean I wouldn't mind him doing it all the time unless we both agreed that it was for "our" best interest (if we weren't having sex for whatever reason).  So I guess I would forgive him if he told me about it.  Guilt can be such a terrible thing.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-79175928?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79175928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/79175928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#79175928' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78992616</id><published>2002-07-15T18:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-07-15T18:48:51.723-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I know &lt;a href="http://www.aboyandhiscomputer.com"&gt;he&lt;/a&gt;'s probably too young but such a brain is such a turn on.  I guess I'm attracted to people with such unusual &lt;a href="http://www.aboyandhiscomputer.com/show.php?ItemID=1437"&gt;thoughts&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78992616?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78992616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78992616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78992616' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78828012</id><published>2002-07-11T14:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-07-11T14:28:13.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Just a little humor to ease the soul...&lt;/i&gt;

&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;GEOGRAPHY OF A WOMAN&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
&gt;&gt;&lt;b&gt;Between 18 and 20 &lt;/b&gt;a woman is like Africa--half discovered, half wild,
naturally beautiful with fertile deltas.
&gt;&gt; &lt;b&gt;Between 21 and 30 &lt;/b&gt;a woman is like America--well developed and open to
trade,  especially for someone with cash.
&gt;&gt; &lt;b&gt;Between 31 and 35 &lt;/b&gt;she is like India--very hot, relaxed and convinced of
her own beauty.
&gt;&gt; &lt;b&gt;Between 36 and 40 &lt;/b&gt;a woman is like France--gently aging but still a warm
and desirable place to visit.
&gt;&gt; &lt;b&gt;Between 41 and 50 &lt;/b&gt;she is like Yugoslavia--lost the war--haunted by past
mistakes. Massive reconstruction is now necessary.
&gt;&gt; &lt;b&gt;Between 51 and 60&lt;/b&gt;, she is like Russia--very wide--borders are
unpatrolled.  The frigid climate keeps people away.
&gt;&gt; &lt;b&gt;Between 61 and 70&lt;/b&gt;, a woman is like Mongolia, with a glorious and
all-conquering past but, alas, no future.
&gt;&gt; &lt;b&gt;After 70&lt;/b&gt;, they become Afghanistan.  Almost everyone knows where it is,
but no one wants to go there.

&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;THE GEOGRAPHY OF A MAN&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
&gt;&gt; &lt;b&gt;Between 15 and 70&lt;/b&gt; a man is like Iraq--ruled by a dick.
*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78828012?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78828012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78828012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78828012' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78491182</id><published>2002-07-02T23:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-07-08T19:04:47.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You can never trust your emotions when it's that time of month.  It's strange how you start feeling things for people and things you never would have during regular periods (NPI).  You just have to wait it out or make a major mistake you'll regret later on.  I find myself getting overemoitonal watching silly commercials or at the thought of an ant dying.  Then again at such a time I find myself hysterically happy at the thought of having ice-cream for dinner.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78491182?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78491182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78491182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78491182' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78488986</id><published>2002-07-02T22:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-07-02T23:20:12.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sometimes you want to be touched, other times you don't but when you do, it feels really good.
&lt;b&gt;The touch, 
the feel of skin 
can be a healing 
all on it's own.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78488986?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78488986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78488986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78488986' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78279662</id><published>2002-06-27T15:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-27T15:05:19.623-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Has your lover ever said or done anything that makes you melt inside?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
-Wouldn't it be sweet if your mate gave up smoking if you promised to give up a bad habit of your own?
-When offered a dream job in another state, what would you expect your mates first reaction to be?  Wouldn't it be nice if the first words out of their mouth were, "Sure, I'll follow any dream of yours anywhere it takes us."
-How touched would you be if your mate became a veggiterian just because you were one?
-I love nothing more than someone who'll make me laugh when I'm down.
-What's better than seeing the smile on your lovers face the minute they walk in the door?
-It's always nice when a loved one makes you a mixed tape but even nicer when the tape is of them reading poetry or a book and making silly comments about it.
-There's nothing like going to see your mate at work and finding a picture of the two of you sitting on the desk.
-Have you ever been in an accident or arguement where you were knowingly in the wrong yet your mate backs you up anyway?

Oh, I didn't make all these up.  I saw some of them in Cosmo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78279662?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78279662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78279662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78279662' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78253678</id><published>2002-06-26T23:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-26T23:49:48.033-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;InLove with the Idea&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
As a young girl, I never understood the idea of being inlove with the idea of being inlove.  I would think, "but that's impossible". As I grew older, I began notice people who so desperately craved the feeling they felt when inlove that they'd do anything to mimic the "inlove scenerio".  It's a shame really, because you can always be inlove whenever you want.  There's always yourself to fall inlove with.  Yes, some people think it's vain.  I don't see anything wrong with being inlove with yourself.  You can never dissapoint yourself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78253678?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78253678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78253678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78253678' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78210733</id><published>2002-06-26T01:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-26T01:21:16.430-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;What not to say during sex... (part 1)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;What women shouldn't say...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;
Is it in yet?
My ex is bigger than you.
I prefer your finger.
Did you take the garbage out?
What's that smell?
It looks funny.
Is it supposed to look like that?
Are you hard yet?
Does this hurt?
Hurry up!
My mother is coming for dinner.
I'm pregnant.
Well, if you don't mind the taste of blood.
Geez, enough already &lt;i&gt;(could be a compliment too)&lt;/i&gt;
How about a 3some?  With another guy.
I have to fart.
I can't feel anything.
My, what a small penis you have!
What a waste of time.
What's your obsession with anal sex, are you gay?
Is that your pinky?
I have gonnorhrea.
I think now is a good time to talk about STD's.

&lt;i&gt;To Be Continued...&lt;/i&gt;





&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78210733?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78210733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78210733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78210733' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78149155</id><published>2002-06-24T17:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-24T17:36:58.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Couples and Strip clubs&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Would you be comfortable going to a strip club with your significant other?  I'm sure some guys wouldn't mind but what if it were to a "lady's club"?
What if there were a couples strip club with both male and female strippers?  Would be interesting, wouldn't it?  Ladys, would that make you more comfortable?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78149155?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78149155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78149155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78149155' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78120237</id><published>2002-06-24T01:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-24T01:01:02.666-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Advertising for Love&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
How many ways are there to advertise for love?  Personals, classifies in newspapers, magazines, online, phone, radio.  I'm sure there's a whole lot more.  I notice that most of them are very basic and pretty boring.  Every once in a while you come across one that really catches your eye.  I wonder, how do those people come up with those catchy ads.  Just curious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78120237?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78120237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78120237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78120237' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-78057405</id><published>2002-06-22T02:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-22T02:51:21.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Dominant Women&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Some men seem intimidated by dominant women, others see them as a challenge.  No man seems to see them as ordinary.  Are most women submissive and is that because we're naturally like that or are we shaped that way by society?
What makes one dominant?  Does she ALWAYS put her foot down?  Does she ever have self-doubt?  And why do most people think "dominatrix" when they hear the words "dominant woman"?  Are they seen as manish and demanding? I know they're not afraid to speak their minds but what exactly is it that makes them dominant?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-78057405?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78057405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/78057405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#78057405' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77997287</id><published>2002-06-20T17:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-20T17:50:27.530-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Wrong Porn &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Some porn just ain't right.  Have you ever seen porn with no music?  It doesn't look right, feel right, sound right.  Does nothing, not a thing.  No tingly feeling inside, or down there, no nothing.  Have we (I) been conditioned to only respond to musical porn?  And what's with taking pictures while filming a session?  What is up with that?  Can't they wait till the cameras are off?  Are those pictures for their own collection or is that what you see in porn magazines?
And why is porn so male oriented?  Why do they hardly ever show the mans face?  The camera is always on her!!  Her face!!  And cumming on her face?  I'm pretty open-minded but I'd bite and slap a man silly for such a thing.  It's just nasty.  Funny how they'll put on a condom for vaginal sex and not for oral sex.  That just cracks me up.  Then again, porn with no music is a comedic mime show to me.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77997287?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77997287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77997287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77997287' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77909740</id><published>2002-06-18T19:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-18T19:25:08.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You gotta know when to pick your battles.  Sometimes it's just easier to let things go.  Don't you hate it when you keep having to explain yourself to someone?  That's when you know it's time to quit.  Say T. Braxton said...  Just let go.. let it flow...
Don't comment on this.  Let's see if you can just let it go.  &lt;i&gt;(You know who you are)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77909740?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77909740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77909740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77909740' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77863516</id><published>2002-06-17T18:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-17T18:31:59.813-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have a secret and if you're nice, I'll share it with you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77863516?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77863516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77863516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77863516' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77765070</id><published>2002-06-14T23:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-14T23:34:14.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Gosh I'm horny.  I bet there are a few people out there who'd love to know what I'm going to do about it.  &lt;a href="http://www.imood.com/query.cgi?email=odobea@hotmail.com"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.imood.com/query.cgi?email=odobea@hotmail.com&amp;type=1&amp;fg=FFFFFF&amp;trans=1" alt="The current mood of odobea@hotmail.com at www.imood.com" border="0"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77765070?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77765070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77765070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77765070' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77764704</id><published>2002-06-14T23:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-14T23:23:03.170-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Marriage and children&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;

What do I think of it?  It's not for everybody.  Why are people suprised when I say I don't want to get marreid or have children.  If it happens, it happens but I'm not planning on it.  My wedding if it happens well be in the courthouse with one witness.  Any wedding expenses will go towards the honeymoon and contraception.  Didn't I just say I had no plans.  I guess I needed a backup plan for the plan I don't have.  
When I say marriage is not for me, it's not because of the high divorce rates in the states.  It's because I don't think it's necessary.  At least not for me.  In my mind, two people who are truely devoted to each other can cohabitate.  I don't need other people, the law or "God" to recognize my love for my partner.  It's between us and nobody else.  And personally,  I don't think everyone we meet in life is supposed to be there for life not even our spouses.  

I don't have a thing against children.  I plan to have at least one; adopted.  For as long as I remember, I've wanted to adopt but I don't think I've ever wanted any of my own.  Why?  For one thing I know my family line will not end if I don't have offsprings.  Secondly, humans are not in danger of extinction.  The future is filled with so much uncertainty.  They won't miss anything by not being born.  There are too many children out there in need of love and shelter.  I can not and will not ignore them because of a desire to have my own.

&lt;center&gt;&lt;i&gt;Life is a journey, not a trip.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77764704?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77764704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77764704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77764704' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77718106</id><published>2002-06-13T20:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-13T20:03:02.530-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Is it hot or what?  Look at the bright side.  It's practice for hell.

&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77718106?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77718106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77718106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77718106' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77669636</id><published>2002-06-12T17:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-12T17:26:16.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Questions, questions, questions...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
It hurts when someone says something that you know is right yet you don't want to accept it.  I guess it has something to do with taking responsibilities for your actions.  Since not all of us think of the reprocussions before we sct, we end up with the deer in the headlights expression when we have to deal with them.  It's true that the best way to learn is to experience things first hand.  Should it be prevented if it can?  Is it possible to learn from the mistakes of others?  How do we know that our mistakes will be just like theirs?  Isn't it possible that things just might work out for the better?

When a person knows you so well and knows that you are bound to repeat a mistake you made in the past should you listen to them?  It's hard not to get mad at such a person for displaying your vices so clearly.  They say a fool is a person who does the same thing over and over again expecting different results.  If that makes the fool happy, why should he stop?  
What do you do when you know you might hurt someone you really don't want to hurt?  What if they can't afford to be hurt?  Do you walk away?  Do you go on in hope that everything turns out right?

My head hurts.  I think I'll go crawl back into my little hole for a while. 
I'm not sad, just overwhelmed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77669636?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77669636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77669636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77669636' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77610531</id><published>2002-06-11T10:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-11T10:42:55.190-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Let's take a long walk...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
My soul mate and I went for a walk yesterday.  Another lovely day to be outside.  To be alive with the sky above us, gardens, homes, floweres, beauty all around us.  It was a slow interesting walk.  I realised that I felt free almost neutral, which is an odd way to feel.  Isn't it?  It's as if nothing really matters, but in a good way.  As if everything around you just doesn't matter, nothing can hurt you, nothing can bring you down.  It's almost like the climax of a natural high.
On our way back, I realised that people were starring.  At first I thought it was because of the almighty ass, but now I think of it, they were starring just a little too long.  Maybe that's just how people are in this state but I think it might be because we were holding hands.  I don't really care but somehow I think I should.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77610531?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77610531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77610531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77610531' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77476045</id><published>2002-06-07T16:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-07T17:22:17.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I guess you're wondering why I wish I were a man.  Sometimes God has a strange sense of humor.  You ask Him for the perfect mate and He finds one for you. One of the same sex.  How can you get mad at such a God?

&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Does having close feelings for someone of the same sex make you a lesbian?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;  
Isn't it possible to feel something for someone of your sex without it being of a sexual nature?  I'm not talking about the kind of affection you have towards your family or friends but something even more.  Something at a level only souls can understand.  Something undescribably in words.  Makes me wonder if it only happens in the head or if it's really real.  Does this make one a lesbian?  Does this mean I'm indenial?  Hah!  That sure is a laugh.
Can you feel so neutral about something or someone that you almost feel the peace that so many people wish they could find.  No expectations, no intentions, no worries.  Or does that mean you don't feel at all?  Can you feel like a part of someone else, someone you've just recently met?  Can you be in the same room with a person, not say a thing but feel comforted by their presence?  And does that feeling ever go away?  Does it have to?  Is it only in the mind?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77476045?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77476045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77476045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77476045' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77434966</id><published>2002-06-06T17:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-06T17:42:09.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  I wish I were a man!  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77434966?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77434966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77434966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77434966' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77346515</id><published>2002-06-04T17:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-04T17:38:07.006-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;In a dream...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
I don't know how I even ended up in her arms.  Strangely I didn't feel nervous at first.  She felt so soft, so smooth, so feminine, so comforting.  The feeling of another woman's bosom under my head.. heavenly.  Makes me wish I were a man.  I must have been in and out of my dream within a  dream.  I ran my fingers down her clevage and felt her right breast, her nipple.  I desperately wanted to taste but didn't know what my limits were.  I frooze.  I wanted to run my fingers in her hair, kiss the corners of her lips.  Kiss her neck down to her clevage, nibble on her twin peaks, kiss down to her naval and explore furtur south.  I wonder if she'd stop me.  Didn't know if I was overstepping my boundaries as is.  But are there any boundaries in dreams?
I'm attracted to the inside and the outside of this angel.  I'm just not sure how she feels, or if she's attacted to me at all.  I don't know what I want or what she wants but sleeping in her arms once in a while is heavenly enough.  I'd love to have more dreams like this one.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77346515?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77346515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77346515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77346515' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-77344903</id><published>2002-06-04T16:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-04T16:56:49.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Annie&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Ever done anything so unlike you that makes people  think... no way.  Have you ever met anyone who you know would, could never do anything contrary to thier beliefs and would never indulge in thier fears?  I have.  I met Annie who's afriad of heights.  She's also wery of strangers and trusts no one probably because she's partially blind.

Annie recently got kicked out by her husband of 11 years.  She was on her way to her sisters when I met her.  A tall blonde about 5'8 with unusually grey eyes.  She certainly didn't look blind but I guess thats where the contacts come in.  Anyway, she told me a story of which I can't validate the truth.  She said that after leaving the house after a fight with her husband she had with her just her purse and whatever she had on her back, and left for the train station.  She called her sister to tell her that she'd be visiting for a while.  

On the train, she met a nice handsome hispanic man about her age.  For someone who doesn't trust people, it seemed odd to me that she'd be friendly with this stranger.  Apparently, they got along well.  They didn't talk much but they held hands and slept on each others shoulders during the ride.  They both had a 4 hour layover at some point and they went bungy jumping together.  I guess some link was formed there.

She said that the remainder of the trip was the single most exciting sexual experience of her life. She'd only known him a few hours yet the holding of hands exploded into so much more.  He started rubbing her knee underneath the blanket she had covering her.  For someone who's been married 11 years, it must have been quite an experience to have another man touch you,a stranger at that.  Annie said she felt that she deserved the expereience.  She was having the best time of her life.  She didn't stop him.  He rubbed her knee for a while and gradually started moving up her leg.  Her skirt was riding up and his hands were feeling for her damp pit.  She said she was so wet and so excited she couldn't help herself.  She turned around and kissed him and he returned her kiss.  She went on about how her husband would be furious if he heard about this yet he had thrown her out and how he had never ever touched her so sentiously.  Then she went on about why her marriage was so dull but I won't go into that.

She was certain that she was going to have sex with this man on the train but didn't know how.  She thought about asking him to meet her in the bathroom but she remembered how nasty those places were so she changed her mind.  This stranger had brought her to an orgasm with his skillfull hands and Annie went on and on about how she had never had an orgasm with a man before.

She said the guy seemed satisfied with the fact that she was satisfied so she decided to return the favour.  He didn't stop her when she put the blanket over him, put her head on his shoulder and started feeling around his lap.  She said she stoped whenever one of the stewards came around and the thrill of being caught excited them even more.  She felt that the people sitting on the other side of the isle had an idea of what was going on but did nothing.  The closest was an elderly lady who had a disgusted look on her face but couldn't keep her eyes off the movements beneath the blanket.  Annie said she had another orgasm when she touched his penis.  He'd taken it out of his pants for her and it was smooth thick and erect.  Never before had she wanted someone so badly.  She gave him a handjob and his reaction was so different of that of her husband.  The idea of a man moaning turned her on even more.  She had never even given her husnabd a blowjob before but for the first time in her life she desperately wanted to.  I don't know if she did, she didn't say.  She went on about how they did it 3 times sleeping inbetween.  When she got to her stop, they parted ways with a hug and a kiss.  All she knew was his first name and that they'd shared an experience she'd never forget.  

Why she told ME, another complete stranger, I don't know but she sure looked relieved to get it off her chest.  Not only had she gone bungy jumping with a complete stranger, trusted him she'd had a sexaul experience with him.  Frankly I think she did this whole thing to get back at her husband who had kicked her out over another woman.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-77344903?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77344903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/77344903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#77344903' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76543342</id><published>2002-05-14T14:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-14T14:26:18.306-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Faking&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Guys say some women cheat themselves by faking.  Fankly, ifit doesn't bother her and it makes him happy to think she's being satisfied, why should he even care.  I don't think it should be  a problem.
Have I ever faked?  Yes I have.  Why?  To speed things up, to make him feel better about himself, to spice things up.  But I'd never tell him.  Oh no! That's between me and you guys.
So what do I do when he's happily fast alseep?  Masterbate and then happily fall asleep. He's happy, I'm happy, you're happy.  We're all happy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76543342?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76543342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76543342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76543342' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76509298</id><published>2002-05-13T17:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-13T17:18:33.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes..
The love it's all around me.  It's everywhere I go..
It's written in the wind, it's everywhere I go..

You know I love you, I always will..
My mind's made up 'bout the way that I feel..
There's no beginning there'll be no end...
Cos on my love, you can depend...

I don't know who sang it or what it's called but it was used on one of the Gap commercials.  I really like that song.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76509298?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76509298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76509298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76509298' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76460262</id><published>2002-05-12T11:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-12T11:11:18.556-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Personality&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
What exactly is personality?  I hear people say that they're looking for someone with personality.  We ALL have personality, we're all human.  Part of being human is having personality so what exactly do they mean?  Shouldn't they be saying "someone wth a personality I like", or "someone with a personality compatibl to mine".
And what is a great personality?  What if what seems so great to you isn't great to the next person?  Sounds pretty subjective to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76460262?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76460262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76460262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76460262' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76346545</id><published>2002-05-09T11:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-09T12:01:25.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;My loud loud neigbours.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;

There's this attractive young woman who lives on the floor above mine.  Not directly above me but that doesn't seem to make a difference.  About once a month and on holidays, she and her lover have sex.  Wild crazy sex.  How do I know?  Oh HOW do I know?  I can hear them that's why.  Correction, I can hear HER!  I understand that some women are screamers but this is just insane.  She's not moaning, she's yelling at the top of her lungs.  You'd think someone was trying to kill her.  Sometimes I wonder, is the guy hurting her with his cucumber penis or is she just putting on a show?  I saw the couple once.  A very attractive couple I might add.  How does he stand the screams?  Our walls aren't that bad.  You never hear anyone talking not even from next door but this lady, oh my gosh!  She should have a soar throat by the time she's had one orgasm.

Someone once called the police.  Yes, that's how bad it was.  And every now and then you'll hear some of her immediate neigbours yell at her and her lovers to keep it down.  I feel sorry for her neigbours, some of them have children.  I'd advise the guy to gag her but they might think I'm making fun of them.  Maybe I'll just slip a note under her door as a suggestion.

The sad part is whenever I hear her bed pounding, I know she's about to start screaming. What do I do?  I mute the tv.  The pervert in me always wants to listen.  The fool in me wants to go bang on her door and tell them to keep it down.  What to do?  Maybe I should record her screams and put it in her mailbox just so that she can hear just how loud she is.  I have nothing against screamers but this woman sounds like she's on the loud speakers!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76346545?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76346545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76346545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76346545' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76267851</id><published>2002-05-07T13:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-07T13:10:12.650-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"I would give everything I own
give up my life, my heart, my home
I would give everything I own
just to have you close to me..."

&lt;i&gt;Can't get the song out of my head!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76267851?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76267851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76267851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76267851' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76235726</id><published>2002-05-06T18:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-06T18:05:39.080-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>What is an emotional meltdown?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76235726?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76235726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76235726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76235726' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76128071</id><published>2002-05-03T14:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-03T14:50:55.843-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Where did I hear that?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;

&lt;i&gt;"If you could trade the one you love for perfect happiness, would you?"&lt;/i&gt;
Why trade happiness for more happiness?  Just like all murder is murder, all happiness is happiness.

&lt;i&gt;"If you could spend one year in perfect happiness but not remember it after that year, would you want to?"&lt;/i&gt;
Damn right I would!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76128071?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76128071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76128071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76128071' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76084105</id><published>2002-05-02T12:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-02T13:14:39.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;There is a chemistry that stems fom being apart.  When together, the feelings is subdued but when apart, it's like a heartache or the feeling of heartbreak.&lt;/i&gt;

&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Lori and Paul&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;

Lori always has something nice to say about Paul.  She has a satisfing relationship with her  man but as soon as Paul comes into the picture, all hell breaks loose.  It's almost as if he has some kind of hold on her.  How can she leave her daughter with strangers and jeapordize her marriage for some fling.  Problem is, it's almost like a ritual.  She soo reminds me of the way I used to be.  I don't believe what she'll ever change but she's convinced she can.  Maybe she can, who am I to judge but I doubt she truely wants to.

 Every year or other year, they meet up.  I don't know if it's coincidence or arranged.  If it's coincdence then maybe it's a sign that they should be together but she claims she doesn't love him.  I would never go behind her back to tell her husband and there seems to be no way I can convince her that she should tell him.

This year they met for some local event.  They had lunch, did some catching up and went for a walk until it started raining.  Later that day, they played a game, talked some more as they slept in each others arms while the rain fell.  I thought that was very romantic but with Lori, there's always more.

She kept repeating the words "can I kiss you?" and for a moment, I thought she was coming onto me.  Then she said those were the words Paul used that set her off.  She said he seemed so comfortable while she felt so nervous yet she let him kiss her.  He told her she had a beautiful body and she believed him.  This woman must have self esteem issues.  She's gorgeous, has a gorgeous husband who worships the ground she walks on.  Guys hit on her everyday yet she has a thing for wishy washy Paul.  I believe there's some sort of attraction between them but I'm not sure about his true intentions.

Lori loves to brag about sexual things she's done.  She's a sexaul creature yet she claims the thing she loves most about Paul is that they're never intimate?  That I don't understand.  Isn't a kiss intimate?  Do you have to have sex to be intimate?  Isn't an admittance of having feelings for each other intimate?  What does it mean to share intimacy?  Maybe I'm the one who's got it all wrong.  Maybe there's nothing wrong with that they did. 

Sometimes I think she creates drama so she can rub it in my face.  She's got a great job, good looks, understanding husband, beautiful kid, friends galore who hang on every word she says and a deliciously twisted secret life she loves bragging to me about.  She knows what I think about it, yet every now and then she'll tell me about something outrageous she's done.  Then we argue about the morality of the issue and  she'll point out that I'm no saint either.  Then I threaten to tell, she promises to stop, we don't talk for a while and it starts over again.  I used to think I was jealous of her but I feel sorry fo her now.  What am I, her outlet?  I know she wouldn't dare tell anyone else and I'd like to tell her that I don't want to hear anymore of her stories but who am I kidding?  They're always so juicy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76084105?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76084105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76084105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76084105' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76044166</id><published>2002-05-01T12:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-01T12:50:01.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>What would you do to &lt;b&gt;someone who rapes a friend&lt;/b&gt;, daughter or partner?  Would you kill them, hurt them, forgive them?  Tough question, isn't it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76044166?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76044166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76044166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76044166' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76044067</id><published>2002-05-01T12:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-01T12:47:02.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Who was that guy on Crossing Jordan?  &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
The guy Jordan once had a casual fling with?  He's so yummy in an unattractive sort of way.  How is that possible.  I don't see him as attractive but there's something about his character, his demeanor that beckons to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76044067?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76044067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76044067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76044067' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-76009008</id><published>2002-04-30T14:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-30T14:50:35.196-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;I'm extremely bi-curious&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
 I have no idea what exactly that means but I like the sound of it.  I'm curious about gays and lesbians just like  I used to be curious about jews and indians.  Could this be a phase?  I hope not.  I'd love to have gay and lesbian friends.  I need to diversify my range of friends anyway.  Did that come out right?
I just think some gay people are really cool... they can be cruel too but aren't we all?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-76009008?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76009008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/76009008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#76009008' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75969616</id><published>2002-04-29T14:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-29T14:23:05.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;My friends&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
I live my life vicariosly through my friends.  No, I'm not ashamed to admit that they have much more interesting lives than I do.  I like my calm life.  The only craziness I'll accept in my life are the things that go on in my head.
So, from time to time, I'll be telling you about the fascinating things they've been up to.  Keep in mind, I have a wide range of friends who don't necessarily get along with each other.

There's Christine. I never did understand her interest in certain men.  She's loud, pretty and very independant but she once dated a guy who treated her like crap.  I think that has something to do with the guy she's going to marry.  I'm not sure she really loves him.  She was pushed into him has by the betrayal of another man.  A man she's been inlove with for over 8 years.  How do you let a 8 year relationship go and not feel bitter about it?
Christine and Tom were childhood sweethearts.  They'd been keeping in touch ever since Christine left Japan.  Over the years they grew closer and closer.  What happened between then and now?  Life happened.  Tom had a child and Christine went about her life dating men who could never compare with Tom but they still kept intouch.

Eventually, she met a sweet caring loving older man.  He was inlove and she felt that they were compatible.  They'd been dating for a year and he asked her to marry him.  Around this time Tom came back into Christine's life.  He asked her to move to Europe with him.  Of course she never hesitated but she never told her fiancee either.  She knew her sweet fiancee would find a way to make her stay if she told him so instead she played along.  She was making wedding plans with him while at the same time she was arranging to move to Europe.
When the time came close for her to leave, she was going to tell her fiancee that she wanted to take a trip to see a friend who wouldn't be able to make it to the wedding.  Little did he know that she never meant to come back.  A week before she was to leave, she called Tom.  He seemed excited about the whole thing.  He'd even bought a house and a new car just for her.  Christine was besides herself with joy.
  
One night she called me at 2am.  She said she couldn't sleep and she felt something was wrong.  I just wanted to go to sleep ad I think I must have doozzed off sometime while she was still talking.  The next morning when I woke up, the phone was off the hook so I placed the reciever back on the rest.  Just as I did that, the door bell rang.  There was Christine.  She looked like she'd been hit by a train.  She hadn't slept all night and it was obvious that she hadn't brushed her teeth either.  She just stood there at the door.

I made her sit down at the kitchen table and calmed her nerves with some decafe tea.  After a while, she told me what had happened.  After talking to me, she called Tom.  Some woman picked up.  Apparently Tom is married to the woman he had a child with and THEY just bought a new house.  And he had just bought his wife a new car for her birthday.  Tom had bought another house and another car where he planned to place Christine as his mistress.

She was so stunned that she got in her car, not knowing where she wa going and ended up at her fiancee's place 2 hours later.  (Note he only lives 30 mins away from her)  When she got to his place she saw something quite disturbing.  Her fiancee in lingerie maked up like a whore sleeping handcuffed to the bed.  On his face and body was what looked and smelt like a mixture of cum and pee.  Lying next to him was a bare chested man in leather underwear.  A man she'd seen before.  She said the place smelt so funky she felt like throwing up. They hadn't woken up when she came in so after the initial shock she simply retraced her steps back out the door.

What a morning it had been for her.  She blamed herself.  She said her bad karma had caught up with her.  I personally didn't believe either of it.  I know her fiancee.  A sweet older man who nobody would mistake as gay.  What I don't understand is after all that she went through that night, she's decided to go ahead and marry the guy.  "At least she's not married", that's what she said.  I've tried to tell her to confront him about what she saw that night but now she says she's not even sure that's what she saw.  Talk about denial.  And as for Tom?  Well, she just blocked his number... the end of a 8 year relationship.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75969616?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75969616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75969616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75969616' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75931972</id><published>2002-04-28T15:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-28T15:09:08.350-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;You don't believe in love?  &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
How could you NOT believe in love?  It's all around you.  You see it everyday.  How could you not believe your eyes?  Love for ones children, brotherly love, romantic love, agapi love...  How can you refuse to believe in love???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75931972?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75931972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75931972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75931972' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75899550</id><published>2002-04-27T14:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-27T14:34:50.786-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Online love&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Is it possible to fall inlove with someone online?  Can you fall inlove with someone you've never seen? And when you do get to see them and realize that they're not how you imagined them, do you simply fall out of love with them?  I believe you can be inlove with someoneyou've never seen and with someone you're not attracted to.  Love with attraction is a plus but that's not all there is to love, is it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75899550?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75899550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75899550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75899550' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75862214</id><published>2002-04-26T17:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-26T17:22:13.186-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Love at first sight&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
I believe that there can be chemistry, some intese connection between two people when they first meet.  Somehow, I just can't believe in love at first sight.  Wow, that's a first.  I believe in almost anything.  I guess this is one of the few things I just don't believe in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75862214?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75862214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75862214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75862214' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75830939</id><published>2002-04-25T22:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-25T22:14:21.250-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Why do some women feel like they have to degrade a man because they can?  &lt;/b&gt;Especially when she knows that he's crazy about her yet she has no interest what so ever in him.  She'll do stuff like make them strip, make them dress up as a woman spend his money or something even worse.  Why, why why can my fellow women be so cruel?  My male friends keep asking me yet I have no answers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75830939?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75830939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75830939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75830939' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75779038</id><published>2002-04-24T15:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-24T15:58:46.466-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Looking through personals (especially african-american) personals you sometimes see, "&lt;b&gt;Not looking for someone who plays games&lt;/b&gt;".  What exactly does that mean?

As an african woman, I've always been curious.  &lt;b&gt;What would it be like to kiss a white guy?  &lt;/b&gt;Call me niave but I always imagine a guy with a long nose that gets in the way.  Still, I'm curious.

 &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75779038?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75779038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75779038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75779038' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75774071</id><published>2002-04-24T13:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-24T15:49:45.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Waist Beads&lt;/b&gt;
Are waist beads sexy?  All guys african and non-african seem to think so.  Then again, wouldn't any guy love anything that accessorises the mid-lower body area?  I'll never forget my very first non-african boyfriend.  He loved the soft rustling sound the beads made.  He said they reminded him of falling leaves.  The thought that on a hot summer day I'd sleep wearing nothing but my beads was such a turn on for him.  They seem to have the magic my aunts talked about.  Yup, I miss those beads!
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75774071?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75774071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75774071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75774071' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75740916</id><published>2002-04-23T17:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-23T17:40:12.010-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Imagine an old fashioned african &lt;b&gt;village woman &lt;/b&gt;in the states for the first time.  Now imagine her dating an American.  The cultural differences alone are mind bogling.  What on earth would the bedroom scene be like.  I can only imagine what would be going through her head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75740916?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75740916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75740916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75740916' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75698583</id><published>2002-04-22T16:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-22T16:50:25.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Circumcised Penis&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Why is being circumcised such a big deal?  It's not even natural.  A circumcise penis only looks weird because we're not used to that look.  Have you seen the average vagina?  Flower of paradise it is not.  It's an ugly looking thing.  There is a reason why they say beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder (or beer holder).  
I can understand that it's done for religious reasons but as a child?  Come on, babies feel pain too.  You don't even get a say in it.  I hear it's sexually more pleasurable for a man to be circumcised but what does it do for the woman?  Not a thing.  It makes no difference.  A dick is a dick is a dick.  If you're all hung up about size, it has nothing to do with being circumcised.  Is a freaky looking penis really a mood killer?  Well aren't freaky looking breasts?
Maybe that's why guys are so horney.  There might be less rape and more of a balance between the male and female sex drive if not for soo many circumcised penises flapping around looking for a whole to fill.
There, I said it. So sue me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75698583?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75698583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75698583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75698583' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75657379</id><published>2002-04-21T15:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-21T15:39:25.640-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sometimes you don't want to fall inlove for the mere fact that the heartache that comes with it is too much to bare.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75657379?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75657379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75657379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75657379' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75596492</id><published>2002-04-19T16:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-19T16:11:34.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>How do you get your &lt;b&gt;sexual apettite &lt;/b&gt;back after having a baby?  Is it normal for some women to experience a drastic  fall in libido?
&lt;br&gt;
How do you make a &lt;b&gt;marriage&lt;/b&gt; that's not working out work?  Is it worth it to stick it out just because there are children involved?
&lt;br&gt;
What is &lt;b&gt;Emotional Infidelity&lt;/b&gt;?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75596492?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75596492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75596492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75596492' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75558504</id><published>2002-04-18T16:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-18T18:25:11.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Don't you just hate it when a guy bitches about wearing a condom?  It's the number one turn off.  In this day and age, you wonder what the heck is wrong with them.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75558504?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75558504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75558504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75558504' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75514222</id><published>2002-04-17T14:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-17T14:58:46.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cuddling&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
I can't decide if I like cuddling or not.  I guess it depends who with and when.  I seem to have a problem that people don't get.  A muscular fit guy is great to look at but not someone I'd want to cuddle.  Cuddling Mr Muscular is like cuddling a rock.  We don't stuff our pillows with stones, why would I want to cuddle one? 
As for when... I don't like to cuddle if it's too hot, humid or if the guy is going to make a big deal about it.  And when a guy takes the idea of cuddling to mean foreplay. No no no no no!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75514222?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75514222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75514222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75514222' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75513975</id><published>2002-04-17T14:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-17T14:49:53.333-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;How would you describe an orgasm?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
It feels like a natural high. (Not as if I'd know what an unnatural high feels like.)  It feels like an out o body experience.  At first you're just hovering over your body and then you're flying to high that the air gets thin.  But at that point, you start falling.  Not the scary type but the peaceful type.  As if you're falling onto a bed of pillows.
How woud YOU describe it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75513975?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75513975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75513975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75513975' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75513775</id><published>2002-04-17T14:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-17T14:44:42.253-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Best place to find a date&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Where do you usually pick up your dates?  What are the oddest places you've ever picked someone up?  Where would you like to pick someone up? 
I'd have to say... the airport, wedding or divorce court.
Worst places to pick someone up?
Jail, shrinks office, hospital, AA metting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75513775?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75513775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75513775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75513775' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75395592</id><published>2002-04-14T15:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-14T16:19:15.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.geocities.com/peumarix/april11.html"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Missing Condom&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
You think it's funny untill it happens to you.  If you're not on &lt;a href="http://www.plannedparenthood.org/BC/YOU_AND_PILL.HTM"&gt;The Pill&lt;/a&gt;, there's at least the option of &lt;a href="http://www.morningafterpill.org"&gt;The Morning After Pill&lt;/a&gt;.  Frankly, I'd prefer &lt;a href="http://jama.ama-assn.org/issues/v287n5/ffull/jfd20002-2.html"&gt;The Patch&lt;/a&gt;.  It gives the impression that you're trying to quit something... sex.  Ha!
I wonder if there's a &lt;b&gt;Celibacy Patch &lt;/b&gt;out there for nymphos.  Not that I am.  It's a simple concept really.  Find the chemicals that inhibit the sex drive and.... fill in the blank.  I guess the target market would be religious institutions.  They'd make a killing!!  Is that a great idea or what?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75395592?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75395592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75395592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75395592' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75374762</id><published>2002-04-13T21:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-13T21:55:18.553-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;R&amp;B&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
There are so many songs out there about love.  I know that's what R&amp;B is mainly known for but how about something original for a change.  We need a change ot subject.  Songs about sex and sex and sex, it gets old after a while.  I guess that's why there's so much sampling going on.  I wish the oldies would give more musicians inspiration.
Plus, I'm sorry but not all R&amp;B musicians can sing.  Just because you can yell in 20 different octives for long periods of time doesn't mean you can sing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75374762?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75374762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75374762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75374762' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75374611</id><published>2002-04-13T21:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-13T21:48:35.423-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Fathers Rights&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
If a woman is pregnant and decides she doesn't want it, she can abort it.  The father of the baby really doesn't have a say in the matter.  Yet once the baby is born it's the responsibility of both parents.  So if the mother decides to give the baby up for adoption without the fathers consent, should she be allowed to?  The law in the US says no.  
Who represents the rights of the child when it's born?  Who's better for a child, it's adopted parents or it's biological parents?  Should it be who the kid wants to be with or whoever can take better financial care of the child?  Just because a family has money doesn't always mean they can raise a child better than a family that doesn't.  Just as being the biological parents has nothing to do with the ability to raise a child.  Does being the biological parents give you the right to decide what's best for the child after you've given it up for adoption?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75374611?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75374611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75374611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75374611' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75374410</id><published>2002-04-13T21:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-13T21:41:12.103-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Chewed Food&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
People are disguested when they see someone eating chewed up food of another person.  They say it's nasty.  Excuse me, kissing is nasty.  A dogs mouth is much cleaner than a humans mouth even after brushing.  If you think about it, kissing is nastier than eating someone elses chewed food.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75374410?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75374410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75374410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75374410' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75335069</id><published>2002-04-12T15:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T21:43:07.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Last Romantic Date&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
My last romantic date.  Hmmm... my memory seems to fail me right now.  I'll have to get back on that one.
Don't look at me like that!  Do you remember yours?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75335069?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75335069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75335069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75335069' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75335004</id><published>2002-04-12T15:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-14T16:21:34.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;What's better than sex?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
--Cheese cake is better than sex.
--Marshmellows make me sick to the stomache but it's better than sex. 
--A warm hot shower after a long hard cold day is...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75335004?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75335004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75335004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75335004' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75334884</id><published>2002-04-12T15:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-14T16:27:56.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hmmm...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;
Narcisistic Love... a good thing.
---------
When passion becomes an obsession... a bad thing.
---------
Why are people &lt;b&gt;afraid to commit&lt;/b&gt;.  Why are people &lt;b&gt;afraid to be alone&lt;/b&gt;?  Why are people pron to &lt;b&gt;love hate relationships&lt;/b&gt;?
---------
Sex is only important when you're not getting any.  Sex is only important when you have somebody.  Sex is only important when you have a sex drive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75334884?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75334884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75334884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75334884' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75334469</id><published>2002-04-12T15:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-14T16:29:05.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Everyone needs love... &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
even the sick, ugly, hungry, poor, diseased, plain, stupid, dying, amuptated, boring, smelly, mean, sadistic, suicidal, weak, deaf, dumb, blind, drunk, and even the castrated.
&lt;b&gt;Enuch : &lt;/b&gt;a castrated man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75334469?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75334469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75334469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75334469' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75334343</id><published>2002-04-12T14:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-14T16:33:00.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Enema:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; the injection of a liquid, as a pergative, medicine etc., into the colon through the anus. 
Sound familiar to any Ghanaian?  Oh the evil forms of punishments recieved as a Ghanaian kid!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75334343?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75334343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75334343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75334343' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75332944</id><published>2002-04-12T14:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T21:46:01.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Show my yours and I'll show you mine.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
Do you remember playing that as a kid?  I do.  The one time that it happened.. in my entire childhood, it was with another girl.  A white girl.  She was curious to see if my "peepee place" looked like the rest of body or like the palms of my hand.  Of course I was chicken.  So after she showed me hers, I ran off and told the teacher.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75332944?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75332944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75332944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75332944' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75332706</id><published>2002-04-12T14:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T21:46:56.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Thoughts provoked from some tv show...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
I don't know how I feel about one night stands with someone whos name you don't know.  Especially if it turns into regular casual sex.
&lt;br&gt;
I know many Ghanaians never really got the "sex talk".  The only form of a sex talk I heard was "You get pregnant and you're dead."  I know many guys who got the "You get anyone pregnant and you're dead."  Growing up, I thought of a penis as a lethal water gun when loaded.  I never believed in the "babies come from God" story.  Besides, how could anything that can throws up, cry and poop at the same time come from God?
&lt;br&gt;
Parents who don't care or who don't know how to care shouldn't be parents.  That's easy to say.  If one parent wants a child and the oher doesn't, I don't think they should have one.  Doing something just to please your mate isn't always a smart idea.  What if they die and you're left with the child you never wanted in the first place.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75332706?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75332706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75332706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75332706' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75332175</id><published>2002-04-12T13:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T18:19:38.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Is it normal to feel &lt;b&gt;self-conscious &lt;/b&gt;for two months after you start dating someone?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75332175?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75332175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75332175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75332175' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75332091</id><published>2002-04-12T13:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T13:48:45.756-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You know you're horny when the old Chinese guy at the convenient store starts looking good to you. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75332091?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75332091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75332091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75332091' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75300705</id><published>2002-04-11T18:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T18:17:41.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;The things you find online...&lt;/b&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.waytoopersonal.com"&gt;Way Too Pesonal&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.sexetc.com"&gt;Sexetc&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.emode.com"&gt;Emode&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.weeklybitch.com"&gt;Weekly bitch&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.my3cents.com"&gt;My 3 cents&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.thriveonline.com"&gt;Thrive online&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75300705?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75300705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75300705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75300705' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75300492</id><published>2002-04-11T18:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T21:50:27.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Can women and men just be friends?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
I think some can, some can't.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75300492?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75300492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75300492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75300492' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75299637</id><published>2002-04-11T17:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-14T15:21:16.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cuties...  &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
&lt;a href="http://www.therock.com"&gt;The Rock&lt;/a&gt;.  Antonio Bandares.  
Something about them makes me think that's what Adam must have looked like.
And of course Eve must have looked like Selma Hyack.  No doubt about it. 
Steve Harris from the Practice
Nester Corbonell from Suddenly Susan
Micheal Rosenbalm from Smallville
Frank Nicotero from Street Smarts
&lt;i&gt;I know, my tastes vary.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75299637?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75299637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75299637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75299637' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75299523</id><published>2002-04-11T17:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T18:18:54.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;For the ladies:  &lt;/b&gt;All you need to know about the &lt;a href="http://myvag.net"&gt;vagina&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75299523?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75299523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75299523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75299523' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75298490</id><published>2002-04-11T17:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T21:48:55.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Where did I hear that?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
::I miss the days when sand was considered a toy.
::No woman is a bitch all of the time.
::No woman is an angel all of the time.
::Broken hearts can mend.  Lost souls can be saved.
::There's no fool like a fearless fool.
::It's easy to fall inlove.  Staying inlove is the problem.
::A bitch locked in a man's body.
::They call me Mr Glass.
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75298490?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75298490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75298490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75298490' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75298299</id><published>2002-04-11T17:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T21:49:28.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Bachelor on ABC.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
What woman wants a guy seeing a bunch of women at the same time?  Isn't that the definition of a player?  If she were a spinster/bachelorette, she'd be considered a slut.  They could at lest have had 2 bachelors.  Give the rest of the ladies a chance.

What kind of a woman does a millionare want?  Refined, gorgeous, cultured and sophisticated?  The best money can buy.

What's the difference between a prostitute and someone who gets married for money?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75298299?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75298299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75298299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75298299' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75298097</id><published>2002-04-11T16:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-12T21:50:02.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;Soul Mates&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt; 
Is it possible o have more than one soulmate?  I think so.  Is it possible that they're of the same sex?  I think so.  Do soul mates fight and disagree?  Possibly.  So what's the difference between a soul mate and a really close friend?  Beats me!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75298097?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75298097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75298097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75298097' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444498.post-75296276</id><published>2002-04-11T16:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-11T16:41:55.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Relationships, Love and Sex can only lead to the addiction of Aspirin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3444498-75296276?l=aspirin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75296276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3444498/posts/default/75296276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aspirin.blogspot.com/index.html#75296276' title=''/><author><name>J. D.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15056773419356849166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
