Rudynate

I like them that way too. A couple weeks agon I had them that way for the first time in a very long time.

Just tell them to make your scrambled eggs without any added cream or milk.

To me, they're completely separate diseases. The naming convention is unfortunate. Type II is "insulin resistance" in which your system needs more and more insulin to produce the same effect. It is at least parially reversible through habit change. Type 1 is an inability to produce sufficient insulin and is usually irreversible. In my mind, there is a big difference between the two. But I make my living drawing distinctions so others might not see such a big difference.

The rapid test is an antibody test. The fact that they can detect antibodies in minutes rather than days or weeks doesn't change how long it takes an antibody response to develop. The only test that can detect a recent infection is a viral load.

Who is supposed to do it or whose job it is isn't the proper question. In my experience, escorts come ready for most eventualities. But if the client is going to do everything he can to insure a safe, satisfying encounter, he won't assume that the escort will furnish everything. It's a question of responsibility, not who owes who.

I think carrot cake would be great with french buttercream icing. I've always found cream cheese icing sort of gloppy and excessively rich

I like to make a cranberry chutney. The recipe I use has kind of a savory flavor to it because it has quite a bit of onion. When I host Thanksgiving dinner, it triggers my control issues because I don't like any of what I call "desserts masquerading as side dishes" at Thanksgiving dinner. But if I have even a handful of guests, of course somebody's going to bring glorified rice, somebody else will bring sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top and so on. I just have to take a deep breath and let it all happen.

That they do.

Same phenomenon. We have nearly perfect weather in San Francisco. And yet, after mid-October you see all these people going around all bundled up against the nearly perfect weather.

I actually thought about that this time. Shaving all over is really a chore, and I thought, "Why don't I hire somebody to do it?" I ran out of time before I left for LA, though.

It's funny. People here in San Francisco love getting out their winter gear. As soon as the temperature drops below sixty, everybody puts on their heavy overcoats, their scarves and their wool hats. In truth, except for a few really cold days, a light jacket is enough. But you would never know it from the way people dress when it starts to get cool.

I don't much like leftovers, so my habit is to fix enough for one meal. I just did another bodybuilding contest. This time around I learned a lot about preparing food in advance, like bodybuilders do. I realized I'm a bodybuilder (not just somebody who's playing at bodybuilding) which incentivized me to start adopting the things that bodybuilders do. When we went to LA for the contest, I brought all of my meals pre-cooked and packed in a cooler. We drove to LA from SF and I brought healthy snacks for the road and a 2-liter jug of water. It was an amazing experience to have imposed that degree of control over my food.

Bad time Bad time of year to start. You're setting yourself up for failure.

The bright cheeriness isn't all. There is a lot of irony in the bright cheeriness. Yes, much of his work depicts sort of sunny, languid Southern California afternoons. But they scream with existential despair.

I really love their Polo sweaters. Maybe I'll treat myself to another one for Christmas.

I was a corpsman in the Army. It wasn't unusual for guys to get circumcised in adulthood. These guys of course were young adults -mid 20s to early 30s. I knew a British guy, who was probably in his mid-30s. He had some sort of diplomatic position with the British government. When he found out he was being posted to Toronto, he got a circumcision before he left Europe. I thought it was a little extreme.

There is quite a bit of covert male-on-male sexual activity in the military, but I highly doubt that much of it constitutes rape. Just guys doing a buddy a favor, as the Marines say.

I think "happiness" is the wrong goal. My days are filled with moments of joy and contentment and moments of deep frustration. But in general, I wouldn't describe myself as a very happy person. But I'm a very satisfied person. I have worked hard and developed my skills and my intellect. My income is in line with my professional and intellectual development. My work is very challenging. It's something that only a few people are up to doing. My personal trainer tagged me on his instagram page a few days ago and said I have a "fiery determination to be the best." I get a lot of satisfaction from "my fiery determination to be the best," but it isn't all a bed of roses.

My partner loves fresh fruit. Periodically, he forgets that it isn't a "free"food like green vegetables and starts putting away 4 or 5 servings in a day. Inevitably, he starts to put on belly fat. When he wonders why he's getting fat in spite of eating well, I always have to remind him to rein in the fruit. He makes that one change and in 2 or 3 weeks the gut is gone.

One time, I was going through the checkout line at the grocery store. The checker was scanning my meat, fish, fresh vegetables, fruit, etc . She suddenly asked, "Who fixes all this?" I said, "I do." She smiled and raised her eyebrows and didn't say anything.

I'm off of hiring just now. I don't know whether it's permanent or just a mood I'm in.

I decided to leave that unsaid.

They might be in the wrong business.

To me, that falls into the category of "just common sense." Nobody can take a gut punch without bracing their abs. It's the whole point of this particular fetish- how much can you take? Guys with strong abs who can really brace them can take a lot.

I loved to go to the barbershop with my father. The barbershop charged more for kids on Saturday. So he would wake me up early on a weekday, we would go to a diner for coffee (cocoa for me) and doughnuts, then to the barbershop. The shop was owned by a good-looking Italian guy named Carl and he had his equally sexy younger brothers, Tony and Sammy working there too. I had little-boy crushes on all three of them. Sometimes we were the first customers. The men would all sit there smoking and chatting while I got my hair cut. It's a very fond memory.