Stream of... Something

As I sit here, watching Season 1 Episode 8 of Ally McBeal (...yeah, that's right.) I realize something.

Two things.

One, is that I am more drunk than I thought I was. Hm.

Two, I realize that the more I talk about sex, the more this blog will be read.

But do I want this blog to be read. I don't know the answer to that, so I figure an experiment is in order. Not yet though. I am too drunk to accurately write about my sexual exploits. Right now at least.

I am sitting in an apartment right now with two people that I admire greatly. One is a woman who has involved herself in numerous campaigns and is at the point in her career where she can be showered with job offers, decline them all and know that her reputation is not in jeopardy.

The other is a guy. A guy whom I consider to be my older brother. And I have never told him this because I feel that he would be insulted by me calling him my older brother (because he is older, yet trying I think to cling to his youth). But I feel so much affection for him and he is the kind of person I imagine an older brother to be. He... is just great.

As the oldest of four, I don't know what an older brother should feel like. Which opens up a whole host of guilt, in that I feel like I should have been a much better older to my siblings.

I get the feeling that this post is exposing more of myself than I have before. And that comforts me. I feel like I'm chatting with a friend, but I'm really just chatting with myself,

I like you.

"When you make love to a guy, do you look him in the eyes?"

YES.

Calista Flockhart just seems goofy on Ally McBeal after watching her on Brothers and Sisters.

(I am currently downloading the complete series of Ally McBeal, so I look forward to watching it in it's entirety. That and "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia".)

LINES. We are drawing lines.