Interesting point to consider regarding the week of sex. Don't think that I wrote the past 7 blogs because I'm a horny kid looking for some type of gratification. Rather, I wrote these to correspond with my Master's thesis on what draws people to blogs, subject and content-wise. An interesting number to chew on, is this: 55%. That is the percentage increase in post views this week alone, compared to my average viewing. Meaning that I have more than doubled the amount of views on my blog simply because of the dirty three letter word. Props to all of you readers, thanks for being as perverted as I am.
With that being said, I will address one of the most frustrating things that my beliefs and my culture have made me into; the 26-year old virgin. And no I'm not Steve Carrell. I am Jill's nipple. (LTT) I'm not angry or upset that I'm a virgin, but I am getting a little bit behind times as I think I am the only "normal" 26-year old who hasn't tied the knot and/or doinked.
I am Jack's medulla oblongata.
I would like to paint a picture that I would like to use to dovetail into my next monthly topic of the M-word, which I will be addressing next month. Picture me this morning in my Grandparent's church, biding my time, enjoying a spiritual uplifting, when out of the blue a random patron who shall be called Mother Dick Fighter, comes up and approaches me. The following conversation ensued:
MDF: "Hi Brock, how's the love life?"
Pause for nearly slapping Mother Dick Fighter in the face for her initial inquiries. By the way I may add that this woman has tried to set me up with not only her daughter, but also a Portugese exchange student who did not speak a lick of English.
Myself: Veins bulging, sitting on clenched fists, and through gritted teeth. "I'm fine, how are you doing?"
MDF: "You dating anyone?"
Pause for 3 milliseconds while I debated asking about her sex life and her pursuit of spawning the world with little Dick Fighter's everywhere, or why she gives a rats who I settle down with solely because of my pursuit of changing my Facebook status from "Virgin" to "is now getting his freak on".
Myself: "Nope. Thanks though."
Putting my head down on my knees I ignored the rest of the rantings from Mother Dick Fighter's dating service. She has failed miserably the last two times, and I'm not looking forward to getting set up with some foreign diplomat who's looking to push kids out from between her legs quicker than Lady Gaga delivered a half pound of sparkles last night on SNL. Thanks anyway, Mother Dick Fighter, I've got my own inflatable Russian mail order bride to worry about, so you can just shut your pie hole.
I am Bob's overwhelming rage.
The point of this whole story is that I am fine with being a 26-year old virgin enveloped by a culture that views me as some kind of menace to society who has "issues" now that I'm not married. I can now see the frustrations that my cousin Eric, my Uncle Brett, and Uncle Scott all went through being 27, 28, and 35 before they tied the knot. They were all lost causes in many people's eyes.
I enjoy the fact that I am still in the V-club. There is much more to life than just sex alone, and I understand that it is an important part of life and procreation, and progression, and all of that other positive stuff, but just because I'm a single guy who's not looking to tie the knot any time soon does not mean I'm a porn-viewing, filth-encrusted pervert who watches "Two Girls, One Cup" on a nightly basis. I am fine with sticking it out until she comes around, and when that day finally arrives I'll take all of the feedback and advice that I've been given this week and try to give her the best hot tub ride of her life.
I am Brock's single penis.