Women can be loud for a number of other reasons. For instance, women off a crack high are loud, and when they go back to a crack high, they are loud. Women who come out of jail are loud. Schizophrenic women can be loud. People who are very angry can be loud.

So much for the types of women in my usual and customary social circles.

Young women can be loud.

Women during childbirth can be loud.

Women who find out I just spend our life savings on Honoloulou hoola-hoops and donated those to the Archbishop of Canterury, are loud. Women who find out they mixed up their hairspray with the toilet air freshener are loud. (My aunt did that in 1963.) My mother fried some fishfingers for me in apricot jam, by mistake, also in 1963, and I was very loud.

IIiiiii.... don't know.

I often (not VERY often) admit I am wrong. At least 87% of those times when I think I am wrong. The remaining 13% when admitting does not follow to being truly wrong, I am in an insane state.

But I do admit to being wrong. The forums had two of those by me three days ago or so.

And YET I am arrogant.

I am arrogant because my opinion formed by logic is closely followed by a love affair between me and my opinion, and it's hard not to defend ferociouslyone's own love. Even if the love is unrequited.

So.

Also, I am sure I am and come across to many (not so much on this site, but at least to a large majority here too), as overbearing, presumptious, and an ego-maniac. Pretentious... not so much, and that's an effect of the conversational style in my writing contrasted to the formal style, also found in my writing.

Two weeks ago my pscyhiatrist gave me a new diagnosis, of narcissistic personality disorder. it relaxed me, for several reasons:

1. I had suspected some decades ago I had it, but a friend of mine talked me out of it.

2. It makes sense, and it does explain a lot of my inability ot form meaningful bonds with others.

3. It lifts the onus off me to exert effort to appear human. I have a disease which makes me speak and act arrogant and selfish and egotistic; you see, your honour, it wasn't me, it is my disease that constantly keeps on making me commit crimes against humanity (like telling jokes that I and I alone find funny, and laughing at them uproariously).

Ha! Buddha, Zeus, and others, you never had it so good.

Your image to the flock, on the push of a button!!

Except... humans can be herded like a flock of sheep, but... who amongst us has the ability to herd cats?

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On a different note, Soufie, do you have enough clear close-up pics of my member? Because if you have none, I can send you a few. (Just don't let my cats know. They would tear me apart in a jealous rage, as if I was an old couch in bad need of reupholstering.)

Maybe "bell" and "graveyard shift" should not be used in the same sentence... at the same time.

"Bring out your dead" comes to mind when you do.

Oh yeah?? Well, you can always beat me in the wisdom department, young lady.

Just watch.

Plus medicdoc could have meant not me, but you, or any one or more of the participants in this forum.

So much for my ability to accept a compliment gracefully.

Confucius say, "Hitler was genuine person, he really had it in for the Jews."

I am nitpicking now. I shouldn't have said this. This was bad. Sorry. I apologize.

You know, most people and the media displays cats as beguiled, dubious, narcissistic characters, who use everyone at every opportunity... or else they depict them as cuddly toys, soft, purring, curling up relaxation pieces or conversation pieces.

I think of cats differently. I think of them as little biological objects, guided very appropriately by the pleasure principle and the fight for survival. Cats are unpretentious, as are all animals; cats are nice to touch, especially when they purr; cats have uncanny sense of socializing, like dogs, pigs, roosters, etc. Cats, at their best, are trying to balance their lives of pleasure seeking with surviving... and that's what I like about them. Their ability to relax and their ability to fight and hunt. Going seamlessly from one to the other, and not lose even one heartbeat. Cats, at the same time, and as a response to Nature's conditioning, are also capable of social life, and that endears them to me. They can love, fear, get angry at; that's easy. But their dignity can get hurt, they can lose their natural trust or built-up trust. They know how to make a monkey out of a human, but they do it with love if they receive love.

Yes, this is why I like cats: their emotions and behaviour are reflective, they give you what you give them. In our relationship with cats man calls the tune, but the cat follows on key.

I love cats. They are dignified, opportunistic, smart, social, and even have a sense of humour. They are narcissistic, giving, like to entertain, and love parties.

Cats are every inch after my own image.

I actually purr after a good meal or sex, and I play with my balls. If you pull my tail, I slap you with my fingernails "out". If you take my food, I hiss. If you deny me sex, I go hyssteric.

(This is general "you", not a person or any one or more persons particular to this site.)

Behold!! Me, the cat-god.

(Others can be gods to dogs... those people are smart, but dyslexic. I am...smart but crazy. Big difference.)

Thanks for asking, I'm somewhere between "grouchy" and "morose" right now.

Strapping I think that word means big and strong. Meaning that his muscles can be as taut as leather straps, or he breaks straps, or whatever. But it means very tall, very strong, and looks it, too.

And how are you?

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Before your mouth goes :-( I must tell you that both grouchy and morose are sorta "happy" for me, considering my mood that I am in most of the time. I mean, it's better, much better, than average, for me in particular.

Gimme Liberty, or gimme the Bell.

That should be big enough, huh?

Yo! What happened?

Soufie...??? The kettle was whistling, or your Man, rrrr.

I've been standind here, ringing the bell, and no service at the front desk.

Oh, this was deadly.

Ayy. You forgot tall, erudite, hospitable, generous, starpping, likes opera, scuba diving, and is related to the Kennedys, or better, one of them. Yeah, scratch the "related to", heck.

Warmth: Exclusively for women: Physical beauty.

It turns me on, but sometimes she does not; she just looks beautiful and that fills me with warmth, without increasing my testosterone levels.

I find this especially when I watch a movie, and the actress is like Emma Thompson, but blessed with the beauty of Yonalda Drazsdnyikovarcjski, an exquisite Byelorussian Beauty.

Actually, if I really turn on the internal thermo-dar, I have nothing to warm up to. Nothing warms me emotionally. I can get sentimental, and moved emotionally; but to warm, I think it means to trust and grow to like someone.

I am too competitive to do that. If I like someone, I try immediately to beat him or her with trying to be more likeable than he or she.

Five exceptions. Two men in my childhood, they appeared to be normal, understanding parents, to the max, very unlike my father.

Then much later two men, in their early twenties, one a co-worker, he was blessed with a natural charm and guilelessness. The second, and altogether fourth I could warm to, was David Usher. I saw his photo on the cover of his CD, and I couldn't beleive how much I warmed to him.

The fifth... not Beethoven's fifth, but the fifth I warm up to... what's wrong with you memory, it was Gypsy.

Maybe I am a latent homosexual, but I never have phantasies of sex or even holding hands with a man. It is just I warm up to them. Or at least I don't warm up to others.

Women I primarily want to f, so I get hot, not warm, around them. Secondarily I want to impress them, and that works with 1/10th of all intelligent women. 9/10th of even those hate my guts.

The only woman I ever warmed up to was Gyspy. Okay, not woman, but female feline.

There was one person I warmed to, no matter what, when, and independent of mood. She was the light of my life, though she was totally black, from head to toe, save for her teeth and the white of her eyes.

She was Gypsy, my short-haired domestic cat. She was gorgeous, friendly, inquisitive, curious, trusting and sweet.

And a glutton for pleasure, I should say.

But she was not lazy, she jumped up and down the furniture all day long.

She was the only cat that I ever had, that greeted me at the entrance every day when I came home.

Sometimes I told her this: Hey, Gyp... you. A chunk of warm, living life. (Dzsipszi, te... egy darab meleg elet.)

I fpeak wids a lifp and a Hungarian accident.

I am drying becauve I alfo loft the dollar Mummy gave me to buy a towel with, in cafe I have to wipe off fome difgufting ftuff if I have fekf with a claffmate.

I guess it's hard for me to warm... because I have to be in a mood. Which in my case very strongly means I have to be out a mood of sorts. The best time to catch me if you want to warm me, is when I am not angry (2% of all waking time), not hungry (50% of all waking time) and not sleepy (62.5622 perfent of all waking time.)

I think a few of us good men should get together and stop the world from ending.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going.

Let`s get going, guys!!

Now as a test... how many here think I'm again swinging, unwittingly and without my being aware of it, to the far-, and socially unacceptable side of 'nitpicking'?

Blame my Mother... she said, ''A., my son, stop picking your nose. Pick something els. NO, STOP!! No picking there either,'' and she would leave the room carrying the fully laden laundry basket.

I am a picker. Guys with small peckers are pickers, usually.

So I am reduced to pick on the only allowed thing by Mother, and that is nit. Nit is it.

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edit:

Nit is it for a nitpicking nit wit.

I remember when yesterday you quoted from that movie. You were, from today`s viepoint, Ex-Citing.

I would rather receive emails of pleasure, than displeasure.

Same on dates, and during sex.

You are a strange person, and now I have the extra duty and work to do, against my own wish, to email this to you as well as having it said here.

Now you know why you get those emails of displeasure. You screw people by doubling their workload -- the workload of leisure. So don`t be so surprised with having a full mailbox every day.

don’t take that wrong. it was jsut an opinion, not a statement of facts.