Wow, I didn’t know I was better than a pigeon at transmitting information across long distances.

I’m here for your large data transfer needs, business fellows!

Damn, I’m glad you’re out here spreading the good word. I literally wear holes in the sides of my shoes from the outside toes rubbing against the toe box sides. I treasure the rare shoe that I find that doesn’t ruin my day with pinching (because pinching should be enjoyable, goddamnit!), and am pissed off that I never seem to be able to find those shoes again (how many fucking different shoes do we need, and why do they have to change every year, goddamnit!).

Only if I can include other various phallic shaped objects in the contest.

The great thing about being bi (and all the flavors of it, which are way beyond me and my small brain), is ultimately that I don’t have to care what I am. I just care about the person I’m looking at. Am I interested in their company, their genitals, or just to hang out? Then I go from there.

I’m not saying that you should not consider who you are, but your physical reality is going to be a better guide than anxiety driven by doubts. It might just be that you haven’t met the right one. I know that my preferences range wildly between dudes and dudettes… and those preferences are not at all mainstream. If I had never met, in person, the partner who made me realize I wasn’t just into one gender, I would never have known because society tends to present a sort of master image of what is attractive, and that would never have made me look twice.

We constantly get accused of taking two lovers, thus lowering the amount available for others, despite the incredible challenge of just trying to keep one around when they think you want to cheat on them with someone of the opposite sex.