Saturday, October 17, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Quick Coffee With Anna @ Starbucks.
Anna says...
I'm at Starbucks at the moment...10 minutes until class starts. I'm sipping a venti Passion Fruit tea on a leather couch. It's cold. I wish that I had an enormous throw to cover myself in because on a fall day like today...that's totally what a person needs...a warm blanket and something hot to drink. That's all I've got for erotica over here! I suffer from no imagination. It kind of sucks.
This past week has been a haze of assignments, mid-terms and sweat. I haven't much time to think of relationships (which is a good thing because at this point the entire prospect makes me depressed).
I had a meeting with a lawyer recently who talked about non-traditional legal careers. I was expecting her to tell all of us that there are other things you can do with a law degree...like join the circus...but really her whole message was "Bury yourself into your work. Become the law. Join every committee and say yes to every opportunity." So. I've decided to (attempt!) put sleep aside and get out there and meet new people. Will this get me a date? I have no idea. But perhaps the key is to stop looking and something will come along all on its own.
Ta for now. Off to sit through a three hour class (while sipping my tea...basically the highlight of my day!).
xoxo
Anna
I'm at Starbucks at the moment...10 minutes until class starts. I'm sipping a venti Passion Fruit tea on a leather couch. It's cold. I wish that I had an enormous throw to cover myself in because on a fall day like today...that's totally what a person needs...a warm blanket and something hot to drink. That's all I've got for erotica over here! I suffer from no imagination. It kind of sucks.
This past week has been a haze of assignments, mid-terms and sweat. I haven't much time to think of relationships (which is a good thing because at this point the entire prospect makes me depressed).
I had a meeting with a lawyer recently who talked about non-traditional legal careers. I was expecting her to tell all of us that there are other things you can do with a law degree...like join the circus...but really her whole message was "Bury yourself into your work. Become the law. Join every committee and say yes to every opportunity." So. I've decided to (attempt!) put sleep aside and get out there and meet new people. Will this get me a date? I have no idea. But perhaps the key is to stop looking and something will come along all on its own.
Ta for now. Off to sit through a three hour class (while sipping my tea...basically the highlight of my day!).
xoxo
Anna
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Neurotica Part 2
Ava Says...
So Amelia gave us her installment a couple months back and I found it so amusing I thought, why not make it a regular column of sorts. So here is my approach, for your reading pleasure.
“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” He said taking her hand in his and pulling her close.
She rolled her eyes. “Please, if Megan Fox was sitting in this living room I’m sure you’d trade up.”
“Nonsense” he exclaimed. “I think you are the most attractive, seductive, intelligent, funny, and charming woman I’ve ever met and I thank my lucky stars every night that you chose me.”
She turned her head away from him so to conceal the rosy flush surfacing on her cheeks.
“Don’t shy away from me” he started. “I mean every word. When you blush with embarrassment, I fall even more in love with you. You are so sexy. I hope you know that you’re the only one for me; it infuriates me to know that other men have hurt you in the past. Although at least their shortcomings have brought you to me so I guess in our case I should be thanking those douche bags who have hurt you” He smiled and enveloped her supple lips in an explosive kiss.
“I love the way you kiss me” She sighed. He smiled as his hands slowly trailed down to her ample bosom, gently caressing each mound.
Soft moans escaped her lips as his hands continued to explore every inch of her body.
“I love that you’re a real woman. I hate women who think starving themselves is attractive. You are perfect.”
“Really?” She asked surprised.
“Don’t sound so surprised” He said. “Real women have curves; there is nothing sexy about touching a bag of bones.”
His hands continued to wander, trailing down her stomach, landing comfortably on her moist, aching butterfly. He stopped, smirking as he slid out from under her clutches.
“Such a tease” She sighed slumping further into the couch.
“As much as I would love to pleasure you all night long, I have to make us dinner first” He kissed her forehead.
“Do you need any help” She called.
“Oh no” he replied. “I’ll be rewarding myself by having my gorgeous girl for dessert. Oh, and don’t feel the need to return the favour, men don’t really like oral sex.”
“Can I return the favour anyway?” She asked seductively.
“As long as I can have you first and for as long as you can take it. Me? Two minutes is enough, I don’t want to take time away from you” He responded kissing her gently on the nose.
“Deal” She replied.
“Deal” He smiled as he tied an apron tightly around his muscular frame.
"Picture perfect" She smiled.
So Amelia gave us her installment a couple months back and I found it so amusing I thought, why not make it a regular column of sorts. So here is my approach, for your reading pleasure.
“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” He said taking her hand in his and pulling her close.
She rolled her eyes. “Please, if Megan Fox was sitting in this living room I’m sure you’d trade up.”
“Nonsense” he exclaimed. “I think you are the most attractive, seductive, intelligent, funny, and charming woman I’ve ever met and I thank my lucky stars every night that you chose me.”
She turned her head away from him so to conceal the rosy flush surfacing on her cheeks.
“Don’t shy away from me” he started. “I mean every word. When you blush with embarrassment, I fall even more in love with you. You are so sexy. I hope you know that you’re the only one for me; it infuriates me to know that other men have hurt you in the past. Although at least their shortcomings have brought you to me so I guess in our case I should be thanking those douche bags who have hurt you” He smiled and enveloped her supple lips in an explosive kiss.
“I love the way you kiss me” She sighed. He smiled as his hands slowly trailed down to her ample bosom, gently caressing each mound.
Soft moans escaped her lips as his hands continued to explore every inch of her body.
“I love that you’re a real woman. I hate women who think starving themselves is attractive. You are perfect.”
“Really?” She asked surprised.
“Don’t sound so surprised” He said. “Real women have curves; there is nothing sexy about touching a bag of bones.”
His hands continued to wander, trailing down her stomach, landing comfortably on her moist, aching butterfly. He stopped, smirking as he slid out from under her clutches.
“Such a tease” She sighed slumping further into the couch.
“As much as I would love to pleasure you all night long, I have to make us dinner first” He kissed her forehead.
“Do you need any help” She called.
“Oh no” he replied. “I’ll be rewarding myself by having my gorgeous girl for dessert. Oh, and don’t feel the need to return the favour, men don’t really like oral sex.”
“Can I return the favour anyway?” She asked seductively.
“As long as I can have you first and for as long as you can take it. Me? Two minutes is enough, I don’t want to take time away from you” He responded kissing her gently on the nose.
“Deal” She replied.
“Deal” He smiled as he tied an apron tightly around his muscular frame.
"Picture perfect" She smiled.
Reason #374 Why I'm Not Making Babies
Amelia says -
Reason #97
I work with young adults who sometimes act like babies, sometimes could use some parenting, sometimes have babies of their own. And those babies are so vulnerable - they have no idea what kind of shit mom's been through, or how angry dad gets, or how easy it would be for both to screw up and that precious little baby family becomes broken beyond repair. I love those babies (both the adult and the new kind) and I will take them, bounce them, cuddle them, coo at them and then they puke in my face.
Reason #132
I have a lovely relationship with my twat. We get along great. I treat it with respect and demand that others do as well. It's only fair you know.
I remember surprising the crap out of a guy once who asked me if I were a red head. I said I'd dyed my hair red but no. He asked for clarification (because he's apparently crude AND stupid) - "so the carpet doesn't match the drapes?" He looked to his buddies for their smirks of approval while I said "I don't have a carpet. I like hardwood floors."
Now seriously, if I am protective, loving and completely responsible to my twat, why on earth would I ever want to force a watermelon through it?
Reason #256
When they're your babies, you can't give them back
Reason #374
I don't want to have to explain that I don't know whose it is. I thought about this the other day when trying to calculate my next period. If it didn't come, I would have no idea who was responsible. And I don't think it would go over to well when I tried to explain to everyone that we'd just have to wait 9 months to see what color it was.
Reason #97
I work with young adults who sometimes act like babies, sometimes could use some parenting, sometimes have babies of their own. And those babies are so vulnerable - they have no idea what kind of shit mom's been through, or how angry dad gets, or how easy it would be for both to screw up and that precious little baby family becomes broken beyond repair. I love those babies (both the adult and the new kind) and I will take them, bounce them, cuddle them, coo at them and then they puke in my face.
Reason #132
I have a lovely relationship with my twat. We get along great. I treat it with respect and demand that others do as well. It's only fair you know.
I remember surprising the crap out of a guy once who asked me if I were a red head. I said I'd dyed my hair red but no. He asked for clarification (because he's apparently crude AND stupid) - "so the carpet doesn't match the drapes?" He looked to his buddies for their smirks of approval while I said "I don't have a carpet. I like hardwood floors."
Now seriously, if I am protective, loving and completely responsible to my twat, why on earth would I ever want to force a watermelon through it?
Reason #256
When they're your babies, you can't give them back
Reason #374
I don't want to have to explain that I don't know whose it is. I thought about this the other day when trying to calculate my next period. If it didn't come, I would have no idea who was responsible. And I don't think it would go over to well when I tried to explain to everyone that we'd just have to wait 9 months to see what color it was.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Japenis
Amelia says -
I've seen a lot of dick in my life. Some of it intentional, some of it not (whoops!). And seriously, my idea of "a lot" is probably much less than your's - except you Anna - I've probably seen more than you assume. I'm not saving myself for marriage and I don't believe that my virginity is my "self", and I do believe in test driving cars and men, and sometimes I just believe in fun. Case in point, I am very comfortable with my dick-seeing.
I'm also in a point in my life that I'm very proud to be in. After my last relationship I felt kind of broken for a good chunk of time. And when I make a mental image of myself now, more often than not, I am ducked and covered. But I think that new protectiveness comes along with some self-awareness that I didn't have before. I'm ENJOYING being single. I'm not closing doors. I'm kind of seeing one guy - an artist - and I'm sleeping with another. And I'm happy. I know that the artist wants more, that he wants a relationship with me, he knows that I'm not ready but he's ready to give me whatever I need because I'm important to him. I know that I will probably never have more with the booty call. And I'm comfortable.
The first time I slept with the artist - who is Japanese - he asked me "what do you think of Asian penis?" I jokingly said "you know, it does the job". But I was thinking - seriously, I don't think you have an Asian penis. I was ready for disappointment and it didn't happen. I've seen Cauc-Asian penises that were smaller. The fourth time I slept with the artist he asked me "what is your favorite position?". I told him. The fifth time I slept with the artist we tried it. To no avail. I quickly suggested another position which disappointed him. He had wanted to enjoy my favorite with me. But with him, it was no longer a favorite. He said "I don't think we fit together". I balked - we're great together! We're hilarious! I love spending time with you! He said "physically".
I guess we're made with bigger bits (or should I say bolts), us caucasian girls are. Realizing that was one of the hardest relationship issues I've ever been faced with. There was nothing I could do. My innards were just too long, my body too tall. Realizing that I was crying was one of the most surprising revelations I've had. This guy could hurt me! I am SERIOUSLY into him! I ducked and covered.
We decided to keep seeing each other. That it worked before, it would work again, just not in certain positions and we may have to be creative. Creative is my middle name. Bring it on. But bring it slowly because I'm not quite ready to be seriously serious.
I've seen a lot of dick in my life. Some of it intentional, some of it not (whoops!). And seriously, my idea of "a lot" is probably much less than your's - except you Anna - I've probably seen more than you assume. I'm not saving myself for marriage and I don't believe that my virginity is my "self", and I do believe in test driving cars and men, and sometimes I just believe in fun. Case in point, I am very comfortable with my dick-seeing.
I'm also in a point in my life that I'm very proud to be in. After my last relationship I felt kind of broken for a good chunk of time. And when I make a mental image of myself now, more often than not, I am ducked and covered. But I think that new protectiveness comes along with some self-awareness that I didn't have before. I'm ENJOYING being single. I'm not closing doors. I'm kind of seeing one guy - an artist - and I'm sleeping with another. And I'm happy. I know that the artist wants more, that he wants a relationship with me, he knows that I'm not ready but he's ready to give me whatever I need because I'm important to him. I know that I will probably never have more with the booty call. And I'm comfortable.
The first time I slept with the artist - who is Japanese - he asked me "what do you think of Asian penis?" I jokingly said "you know, it does the job". But I was thinking - seriously, I don't think you have an Asian penis. I was ready for disappointment and it didn't happen. I've seen Cauc-Asian penises that were smaller. The fourth time I slept with the artist he asked me "what is your favorite position?". I told him. The fifth time I slept with the artist we tried it. To no avail. I quickly suggested another position which disappointed him. He had wanted to enjoy my favorite with me. But with him, it was no longer a favorite. He said "I don't think we fit together". I balked - we're great together! We're hilarious! I love spending time with you! He said "physically".
I guess we're made with bigger bits (or should I say bolts), us caucasian girls are. Realizing that was one of the hardest relationship issues I've ever been faced with. There was nothing I could do. My innards were just too long, my body too tall. Realizing that I was crying was one of the most surprising revelations I've had. This guy could hurt me! I am SERIOUSLY into him! I ducked and covered.
We decided to keep seeing each other. That it worked before, it would work again, just not in certain positions and we may have to be creative. Creative is my middle name. Bring it on. But bring it slowly because I'm not quite ready to be seriously serious.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Gerard Butler...if only I could get in your pants...
Anna says...
I remember once being asked (in grade 11) by my psychology teacher "Anna, how many times do you think about sex a day?" I remember being moritified. THINK...ABOUT...SEX?!?!? Me?? Of course not! I NEVER think about sex. I mean, it crosses my mind, but really for for a fleeting moment...(ehemmmm...can we change the subject please???).
Maybe I should clear something up. Just so that you know. Just so that we're all on the same page. I'm a 24 year or virgin. Yup. Nearing the cusp of actually being the 25 year old virgin soon. Funny, but I feel embarassed writing that even though I know I shouldn't. I mean, who cares? I don't think about sex afterall (....).
Okay. Question time. You're asking me why? A lot of reasons. I'm a practicing Christian (although I struggle with my faith weekly) which means that the 'big romp' only comes on your wedding night (in more ways that one...bodoomch). I'm East Indian which means that I come from an uberconservative East Indian family who thinks that if I ever did have sex (outside of being married) everyone in the mother country would eventually find out and the family reputation would be tarnished, no one would ever want 'used goods' (ha!) and I would be destined to be single and childless forever.
I don't think about sex.
That's a lie. I probably think about sex more than people who are actually HAVING sex. I'm curious... I wonder what it would feel like...Do you change afterwards? Is it like the sun explodes and you are never the same again? Does you mind become butterflies and fluffy cupcakes???
Religiously, I've always been sold that at after that point that you become one person, one flesh. I like that idea. I like the idea of being fused emotionally and spiritually with someone. You can't share that bond with just anyone.
I like the idea that a person would actually want to share something so personal and sacred with you. What a compliment.
I'm romantasizing. I know, I know. Sex can happen without a spiritual connection. Sex can happen without an emotional bond. But something in me wants that bond. Something in my head wants the "first time" (oh the cliches!) to be awkward and clumsy...and for the person who I shared this bond with to still be there when I wake up in the morning...to still think that I'm beautiful with no makeup on and a head of hair that remembles a bird's nest...Who will love me. Just me. All that there would be is love. Pure love. No dirty jokes. No crude comments...just love.
Can you imagine having that with someone? I can't. I cannot for the life of me imagine myself loving someone so much that it would literally hurt to see them leave. I cannot imagine waiting until the end of the day when I could see them again. Wonderful and painful.
So that's where I'm at. Very frank. But I'll keep you posted on my pro/con list. :)
I remember once being asked (in grade 11) by my psychology teacher "Anna, how many times do you think about sex a day?" I remember being moritified. THINK...ABOUT...SEX?!?!? Me?? Of course not! I NEVER think about sex. I mean, it crosses my mind, but really for for a fleeting moment...(ehemmmm...can we change the subject please???).
Maybe I should clear something up. Just so that you know. Just so that we're all on the same page. I'm a 24 year or virgin. Yup. Nearing the cusp of actually being the 25 year old virgin soon. Funny, but I feel embarassed writing that even though I know I shouldn't. I mean, who cares? I don't think about sex afterall (....).
Okay. Question time. You're asking me why? A lot of reasons. I'm a practicing Christian (although I struggle with my faith weekly) which means that the 'big romp' only comes on your wedding night (in more ways that one...bodoomch). I'm East Indian which means that I come from an uberconservative East Indian family who thinks that if I ever did have sex (outside of being married) everyone in the mother country would eventually find out and the family reputation would be tarnished, no one would ever want 'used goods' (ha!) and I would be destined to be single and childless forever.
I don't think about sex.
That's a lie. I probably think about sex more than people who are actually HAVING sex. I'm curious... I wonder what it would feel like...Do you change afterwards? Is it like the sun explodes and you are never the same again? Does you mind become butterflies and fluffy cupcakes???
Religiously, I've always been sold that at after that point that you become one person, one flesh. I like that idea. I like the idea of being fused emotionally and spiritually with someone. You can't share that bond with just anyone.
I like the idea that a person would actually want to share something so personal and sacred with you. What a compliment.
I'm romantasizing. I know, I know. Sex can happen without a spiritual connection. Sex can happen without an emotional bond. But something in me wants that bond. Something in my head wants the "first time" (oh the cliches!) to be awkward and clumsy...and for the person who I shared this bond with to still be there when I wake up in the morning...to still think that I'm beautiful with no makeup on and a head of hair that remembles a bird's nest...Who will love me. Just me. All that there would be is love. Pure love. No dirty jokes. No crude comments...just love.
Can you imagine having that with someone? I can't. I cannot for the life of me imagine myself loving someone so much that it would literally hurt to see them leave. I cannot imagine waiting until the end of the day when I could see them again. Wonderful and painful.
So that's where I'm at. Very frank. But I'll keep you posted on my pro/con list. :)
Friday, October 2, 2009
To the Exes in my life....
Ava says....
We’ve grown up, we’ve grown apart, we’ve moved on. We may have lost touch purposely or by accident. We fell for someone else, we fell out of love with each other, we just weren’t the same. You used to be so cute, so sweet, so unbelievably amazing. Now you’re not but you are to someone else. Yet, I still think of you.
I learned things from you. I learned that who I was with you is someone I’ll never be again. I learned who I should be and who I have become now. I learned what I don’t want and what I do want in terms of a relationship. I learned what I want for my future and why, unfortunately, you can’t be a part of it. I learned that in many ways, I’m happier now. I learned the touches I like, the kisses I want and the positions I yearn for. I learned that trust, communication, and chemistry are the most important parts to a relationship. I learned when one disappears, how difficult it is to get it back again, if at all. I learned that I’m always willing to try until the trying becomes fruitless. I learned that I believe the best in people even if they hurt me. Fool me once, shame on you….fool me twice, shame on me. I learned to stick to my guns, love myself and believe that I am a fabulous femme who doesn’t need a relationship to be happy. I learned how to bury you and all your associated baggage. I learned I can move on with someone new without looking back too much.
But sometimes I still think about you. I wonder how you’ve been. I wonder what you’re up to and whether you treat her any differently than you treated me. I’m sure you do. I think about your family and wish them well and wonder whether any of your dreams, desires, or aspirations we used to talk about has come true yet. I think about how we were each other’s “one before the one” and how maybe you’ve finally found your “one”. I realize it still hurts to say out loud. Although, I’m happy now…..the heart still misses what once was. I guess it’s the human condition.
We’ve grown up, we’ve grown apart, we’ve moved on. We may have lost touch purposely or by accident. We fell for someone else, we fell out of love with each other, we just weren’t the same. You used to be so cute, so sweet, so unbelievably amazing. Now you’re not but you are to someone else. Yet, I still think of you.
I learned things from you. I learned that who I was with you is someone I’ll never be again. I learned who I should be and who I have become now. I learned what I don’t want and what I do want in terms of a relationship. I learned what I want for my future and why, unfortunately, you can’t be a part of it. I learned that in many ways, I’m happier now. I learned the touches I like, the kisses I want and the positions I yearn for. I learned that trust, communication, and chemistry are the most important parts to a relationship. I learned when one disappears, how difficult it is to get it back again, if at all. I learned that I’m always willing to try until the trying becomes fruitless. I learned that I believe the best in people even if they hurt me. Fool me once, shame on you….fool me twice, shame on me. I learned to stick to my guns, love myself and believe that I am a fabulous femme who doesn’t need a relationship to be happy. I learned how to bury you and all your associated baggage. I learned I can move on with someone new without looking back too much.
But sometimes I still think about you. I wonder how you’ve been. I wonder what you’re up to and whether you treat her any differently than you treated me. I’m sure you do. I think about your family and wish them well and wonder whether any of your dreams, desires, or aspirations we used to talk about has come true yet. I think about how we were each other’s “one before the one” and how maybe you’ve finally found your “one”. I realize it still hurts to say out loud. Although, I’m happy now…..the heart still misses what once was. I guess it’s the human condition.
Monday, September 21, 2009
That's what he said
Amelia says -
You’re very cute when you’re tired and sleepy.
You’re like air. And some people think there’s nothing there but it’s everything and it’s so easy it can’t be anything but comfortable. You’re it.
I could say you’re like water but I don’t feel like I have to work at swimming with you, I just have to be and I love that.
You’re beautiful.
I want to eat you all day but my stomach will never get full. I always want more.
I don’t seem to be able to get enough of you.
I want to sleep with you just so I can wake up beside you.
Every little thing I do is much more fun with you. You’re a box of fantastic surprised!
It seems my heart beats a tiny bit faster when I think of you.
You don’t have to bring anything as long as you don’t forget to bring yourself.
You’re very cute when you’re tired and sleepy.
You’re like air. And some people think there’s nothing there but it’s everything and it’s so easy it can’t be anything but comfortable. You’re it.
I could say you’re like water but I don’t feel like I have to work at swimming with you, I just have to be and I love that.
You’re beautiful.
I want to eat you all day but my stomach will never get full. I always want more.
I don’t seem to be able to get enough of you.
I want to sleep with you just so I can wake up beside you.
Every little thing I do is much more fun with you. You’re a box of fantastic surprised!
It seems my heart beats a tiny bit faster when I think of you.
You don’t have to bring anything as long as you don’t forget to bring yourself.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Butterflies
Ava says...
You know that feeling you get when you kiss him for the first time? Or when his hand "accidentally"grazes yours even though you know he was just trying to hold your hand and chickened out? Or when he looks at you and you can’t seem to stop smiling? It sort of feels like you need to vomit or that there are hundreds of fluttering butterflies taking refuge in your stomach. It might not sound all that appealing when describing it in words but really there’s nothing like it and no one should settle for anything less than vomit-inducing butterflies.
It's hard to keep that feeling alive when you're in a long-term relationship. I was in a very (accent on the very), long term relationship and the butterflies disappeared far earlier than expected. It was my first relationship so really, I assumed it's just what happens when you stay with someone for so long. Don't get me wrong, I loved him very much but he was my first love and because I didn't have anything to compare him to, I figured it was normal. On the flipside, I've been dating my current boyfriend for just over a year now and still feel nauseous every time he touches me. This is the way it should be. Those butterflies are a surprisingly important part of a relationship. Your senses are heightened. Every touch, every kiss is just better. Every experience is special, they stay with you far longer and are the subject of many day dreams when you still have that feeling in the pit of your stomach. I can't believe I stayed in a relationship for so long without them.
Now I know all of you cynicists would argue that I could still be in the "honeymoon" stage with my current beau and that if I stick around long enough, those butterflies will flutter away also. Call me an optimist but I really don't think so. I have a fluttering feeling that those butterflies won't fly away anytime soon.
You know that feeling you get when you kiss him for the first time? Or when his hand "accidentally"grazes yours even though you know he was just trying to hold your hand and chickened out? Or when he looks at you and you can’t seem to stop smiling? It sort of feels like you need to vomit or that there are hundreds of fluttering butterflies taking refuge in your stomach. It might not sound all that appealing when describing it in words but really there’s nothing like it and no one should settle for anything less than vomit-inducing butterflies.
It's hard to keep that feeling alive when you're in a long-term relationship. I was in a very (accent on the very), long term relationship and the butterflies disappeared far earlier than expected. It was my first relationship so really, I assumed it's just what happens when you stay with someone for so long. Don't get me wrong, I loved him very much but he was my first love and because I didn't have anything to compare him to, I figured it was normal. On the flipside, I've been dating my current boyfriend for just over a year now and still feel nauseous every time he touches me. This is the way it should be. Those butterflies are a surprisingly important part of a relationship. Your senses are heightened. Every touch, every kiss is just better. Every experience is special, they stay with you far longer and are the subject of many day dreams when you still have that feeling in the pit of your stomach. I can't believe I stayed in a relationship for so long without them.
Now I know all of you cynicists would argue that I could still be in the "honeymoon" stage with my current beau and that if I stick around long enough, those butterflies will flutter away also. Call me an optimist but I really don't think so. I have a fluttering feeling that those butterflies won't fly away anytime soon.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Anything But Love
Amelia says...
Do you know what an ABC party is? It's a party where you wear Anything But Clothes. I recently ended up at one of these parties in a recyclable grocery bag top and garbage bag skirt (talk about sweaty inside all that plastic). My accomplice - who I refer to as "Just Friends" - wore a potato sack, coming extremely close to revealing his nut sack. Not that I haven't seen it before. Once or twice, under 20 times, I swear. We're just friends. Who kiss in public when we're drunk and make out like 13 year olds when we're bored. But that's just to pass the time. I'm not into him - I don't have that feeling, that vibe, that thing that you can never put your finger on but makes the really special ones so flipping special ... we just have everything but. And really, so long as it's anything but, and within reasonable limits, bring it on.
I went to eat Mexican food last night with a photographer pilot who changed our reservation from 6:30 to 7 without making sure I got the message that he left on the cell phone I don't have. It started out really well, I was half in the bag when he finally showed up. And he just wasn't as cute as I'd thought he was, and he wasn't as laid back as I'd hoped, or as open minded as I'd like, or as funny as I was looking for. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this guy except for the fact that he was into me, tried to hold my hand, and took it as a good sign when I agreed that I would maybe answer the phone if he called me to ask me out again tomorrow. I have no idea why not, but there is no way I am going. No, you can't make me, I won't do it.
So what the fuck is wrong with me? I practically have a relationship with a guy who I refuse to admit I practically have a relationship with. I go on dates with guys who I refuse to see the good in. You'd think I want to stay single and just be on my own right? Then why does my chest ache when I see sappy movies? And in India, why did I tie a red thread to a grate in a mosque and wish to find my person to be happy with forever? Why do I go to bed wishing I had someone in my bed to curl up against, to feel their warmth, their body, and to give the same sense of security back to? Why do I want to fall in love but refuse to do it?
Do you know what an ABC party is? It's a party where you wear Anything But Clothes. I recently ended up at one of these parties in a recyclable grocery bag top and garbage bag skirt (talk about sweaty inside all that plastic). My accomplice - who I refer to as "Just Friends" - wore a potato sack, coming extremely close to revealing his nut sack. Not that I haven't seen it before. Once or twice, under 20 times, I swear. We're just friends. Who kiss in public when we're drunk and make out like 13 year olds when we're bored. But that's just to pass the time. I'm not into him - I don't have that feeling, that vibe, that thing that you can never put your finger on but makes the really special ones so flipping special ... we just have everything but. And really, so long as it's anything but, and within reasonable limits, bring it on.
I went to eat Mexican food last night with a photographer pilot who changed our reservation from 6:30 to 7 without making sure I got the message that he left on the cell phone I don't have. It started out really well, I was half in the bag when he finally showed up. And he just wasn't as cute as I'd thought he was, and he wasn't as laid back as I'd hoped, or as open minded as I'd like, or as funny as I was looking for. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this guy except for the fact that he was into me, tried to hold my hand, and took it as a good sign when I agreed that I would maybe answer the phone if he called me to ask me out again tomorrow. I have no idea why not, but there is no way I am going. No, you can't make me, I won't do it.
So what the fuck is wrong with me? I practically have a relationship with a guy who I refuse to admit I practically have a relationship with. I go on dates with guys who I refuse to see the good in. You'd think I want to stay single and just be on my own right? Then why does my chest ache when I see sappy movies? And in India, why did I tie a red thread to a grate in a mosque and wish to find my person to be happy with forever? Why do I go to bed wishing I had someone in my bed to curl up against, to feel their warmth, their body, and to give the same sense of security back to? Why do I want to fall in love but refuse to do it?
Monday, August 17, 2009
Lessons On Loneliness
Anna says...
Here I am. It's the middle of August already and the summer seems almost like a flash of heat, sweat, rain and light. I spent my first summer away from home...away from my family and friends working for the man. That actually seems more depressing that it is. In all actuality, my summer was fantastic. I knit two scarves, I learned about wine, I learned to cook a few amazing dishes, I worked on my body, I went for walks, I tried new restaurants, I got some pretty good work experience, I met a few new people, I watched a ton of movies, I read a couple of books (more like magazines, but really what's the difference)...I cried myself to sleep only about three times (which really isn't that bad...I mean that’s like within 100 days of summer).
I read somewhere that humans aren't meant to be lonely. We are meant to be social creatures. When we become solitary we get trapped in our minds and within our own fantasies. Suddenly the world doesn't seem so wonderful because your thoughts become more fascinating and superficial chit-chat with colleagues and acquaintances seems almost like a bother. I'm at that stage right now. I've become so trapped in my own little world...in this white house in Edmonton looking outside blaming them and not me...
It's a lot easier when your alone...no one challenges you. You are always right, because you simply are. You enter the real world and when someone attempts to enter into a discussion with you on something that you have accepted as being a truth-you refuse to budge. Instead, you nod politely and wish you were alone to silently fume to yourself about their stupidity and ignorance.It's a dangerous place your mind.
I cried myself to sleep on July 28th because I reached a low. It was 9:00 PM (or so) and I was in bed early. I had been invited out to a friend's house but decided I would rather be alone in my own bitterness. I started to feel that way...(do you know what I'm talking about?) when you are just plain frustrated with yourself. You're frustrated with how you feel. You're frustrated in the insignificant speck that you are in people’s lives and you realize how small and inconsequential you are and that you are most likely just a passing thought in your friends' and family's minds.
So I cried. I sobbed into my pillow for about 15 minutes (loudly because no one could hear me) and then turned on "The Holiday"-the scene where Kate Winslet in her little cottage in the U.K. to remind me that it’s okay to feel like crap sometimes.
I started talking to my 30 and older friends and family about loneliness. They all agreed that it is phase that everyone must go through, kind of like a rite of passage. Being 24, I have no answers for you. I am lonely. My weekends consist of me going out to get groceries and quickly running back to the comfort of my own home.
I don't feel depressed, but sometimes at night...when I start to feel it...I start imagining what it would feel like for someone to hug me (isn't that pathetic?) or what it would be like to hold a baby in my arms (even more pathetic because having children is the furthest thing from my mind) but closeness, warmth, connection (and not in a sexual or romantic way) is something that I long for. Maybe it’s the woman in me, but I have the feeling that it’s more like the human in me. I can't wait to come home and get hugs and give hugs. CHEERS TO HUGS!!!
Here I am. It's the middle of August already and the summer seems almost like a flash of heat, sweat, rain and light. I spent my first summer away from home...away from my family and friends working for the man. That actually seems more depressing that it is. In all actuality, my summer was fantastic. I knit two scarves, I learned about wine, I learned to cook a few amazing dishes, I worked on my body, I went for walks, I tried new restaurants, I got some pretty good work experience, I met a few new people, I watched a ton of movies, I read a couple of books (more like magazines, but really what's the difference)...I cried myself to sleep only about three times (which really isn't that bad...I mean that’s like within 100 days of summer).
I read somewhere that humans aren't meant to be lonely. We are meant to be social creatures. When we become solitary we get trapped in our minds and within our own fantasies. Suddenly the world doesn't seem so wonderful because your thoughts become more fascinating and superficial chit-chat with colleagues and acquaintances seems almost like a bother. I'm at that stage right now. I've become so trapped in my own little world...in this white house in Edmonton looking outside blaming them and not me...
It's a lot easier when your alone...no one challenges you. You are always right, because you simply are. You enter the real world and when someone attempts to enter into a discussion with you on something that you have accepted as being a truth-you refuse to budge. Instead, you nod politely and wish you were alone to silently fume to yourself about their stupidity and ignorance.It's a dangerous place your mind.
I cried myself to sleep on July 28th because I reached a low. It was 9:00 PM (or so) and I was in bed early. I had been invited out to a friend's house but decided I would rather be alone in my own bitterness. I started to feel that way...(do you know what I'm talking about?) when you are just plain frustrated with yourself. You're frustrated with how you feel. You're frustrated in the insignificant speck that you are in people’s lives and you realize how small and inconsequential you are and that you are most likely just a passing thought in your friends' and family's minds.
So I cried. I sobbed into my pillow for about 15 minutes (loudly because no one could hear me) and then turned on "The Holiday"-the scene where Kate Winslet in her little cottage in the U.K. to remind me that it’s okay to feel like crap sometimes.
I started talking to my 30 and older friends and family about loneliness. They all agreed that it is phase that everyone must go through, kind of like a rite of passage. Being 24, I have no answers for you. I am lonely. My weekends consist of me going out to get groceries and quickly running back to the comfort of my own home.
I don't feel depressed, but sometimes at night...when I start to feel it...I start imagining what it would feel like for someone to hug me (isn't that pathetic?) or what it would be like to hold a baby in my arms (even more pathetic because having children is the furthest thing from my mind) but closeness, warmth, connection (and not in a sexual or romantic way) is something that I long for. Maybe it’s the woman in me, but I have the feeling that it’s more like the human in me. I can't wait to come home and get hugs and give hugs. CHEERS TO HUGS!!!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
I lost it to Kenny G
Amelia says -
And ever since there has been a string of men coming (cuming?) in and out of my life. I know, I'm often cruder than there is any need to be. They come with more and less interesting names than Kenny G did (not the singer - I do have standards). Like Demba (mmm .... favorite name, favorite face to go with it. Fuck he was beautiful) and ... Joel (favorite body, it's a shame he's a stripper with no brains).
I got stuck a few times. For progressively longer periods with guys who were progressively imperfectly suited to me. Shit hey?
And now I'm jaded and protective. While that's a fun place to be (sometimes), I'm not sure it's the kindest.
So I plow through them ... enjoying myself as often as possible along the way. Because I really do enjoy enjoyment, but if it isn't happening, I really will rip your head off and eat you alive. And now I'm on my second Sean (who I'm really into but in denial about), Ryan (a friend I sleep with when I'm bored), Jay (a friend of a friend I sleep with when I'm drunk), and Jerr (who I've yet to have a successful date with but who I'm strangely attracted to (at least physically - what?! the physical ISN'T all that matters?!) nonetheless.
(I didn't mean to but this seems to have turned into a post (host) of asides).
And ever since there has been a string of men coming (cuming?) in and out of my life. I know, I'm often cruder than there is any need to be. They come with more and less interesting names than Kenny G did (not the singer - I do have standards). Like Demba (mmm .... favorite name, favorite face to go with it. Fuck he was beautiful) and ... Joel (favorite body, it's a shame he's a stripper with no brains).
I got stuck a few times. For progressively longer periods with guys who were progressively imperfectly suited to me. Shit hey?
And now I'm jaded and protective. While that's a fun place to be (sometimes), I'm not sure it's the kindest.
So I plow through them ... enjoying myself as often as possible along the way. Because I really do enjoy enjoyment, but if it isn't happening, I really will rip your head off and eat you alive. And now I'm on my second Sean (who I'm really into but in denial about), Ryan (a friend I sleep with when I'm bored), Jay (a friend of a friend I sleep with when I'm drunk), and Jerr (who I've yet to have a successful date with but who I'm strangely attracted to (at least physically - what?! the physical ISN'T all that matters?!) nonetheless.
(I didn't mean to but this seems to have turned into a post (host) of asides).
Thursday, August 6, 2009
He told me he loved me, I puked my guts up
Amelia says -
My ex and I keep in touch - ish. About every 3 months or so I'll give him a call or he'll call me just to check in and see how the other is doing. We say we're going to meet up for coffee or something and then I consider my job done and forget about it until 3 months or so later when I figure it's time to give him another call.
But this time he called me on it. He asked me if I was ever really going to get together with him. I felt like a dick. So I said yes! Of course! Let's go to dinner next week. How about Monday?
So we went for dinner. At my favorite restaurant. A little Vietnamese place complete with bubble tea and all. Which I drank with my chow mein. And then I started to feel sick. I thought I'd just eaten too much so agreed to go for a walk with him. We started walking toward my house and I started to feel progressively sicker. So I said "walk faster. Just get me home without puking on myself ok?".
I made it so close. So close. I made it as far as the building next door to my house before I was bent over, one hand on the wall holding me up, puking pink noodles all over the place. He stood behind me rubbing my back and discretely stepping backward so I wouldn't vomit on his shoes. I managed to hold it down for a sec which I used to say "nice to see you bye!" and ran into my house.
That evening he called me. How nice. To see if I felt ok. To tell me that it was nice to see me. To tell me that seeing me brought up old memories. To tell me that he loves me. I'd successfully avoided a guy for 3 years and finally gave in and saw him and that's what I get?! Wasn't my behaviour poor enough to guarantee my safety from awkward situations like this? So I nicely told him that I didn't want to lie to him, because I thought that would only hurt him, and I just didn't feel it.
Now, when we are rejected, we have two options. One is to take it gracefully, or as gracefully as possible, and move on. The other, is to dig your heels in and fight. He fought. He asked me repeatedly why we couldn't be together. I explained repeatedly that I just didn't feel any chemistry any more. In my head I wished as loudly as I could for my roomate to come home, for someone else to call, for the apartment to catch on fire. Anything to get me off the phone. The pain finally ended when he, bawling now, told me that he couldn't see me anymore because it hurt too much, and my phone told me, beeping now, that it was going to cut off any second, and my conscience told me, you must have heard it screaming, that I was one hell of a bitch.
My ex and I keep in touch - ish. About every 3 months or so I'll give him a call or he'll call me just to check in and see how the other is doing. We say we're going to meet up for coffee or something and then I consider my job done and forget about it until 3 months or so later when I figure it's time to give him another call.
But this time he called me on it. He asked me if I was ever really going to get together with him. I felt like a dick. So I said yes! Of course! Let's go to dinner next week. How about Monday?
So we went for dinner. At my favorite restaurant. A little Vietnamese place complete with bubble tea and all. Which I drank with my chow mein. And then I started to feel sick. I thought I'd just eaten too much so agreed to go for a walk with him. We started walking toward my house and I started to feel progressively sicker. So I said "walk faster. Just get me home without puking on myself ok?".
I made it so close. So close. I made it as far as the building next door to my house before I was bent over, one hand on the wall holding me up, puking pink noodles all over the place. He stood behind me rubbing my back and discretely stepping backward so I wouldn't vomit on his shoes. I managed to hold it down for a sec which I used to say "nice to see you bye!" and ran into my house.
That evening he called me. How nice. To see if I felt ok. To tell me that it was nice to see me. To tell me that seeing me brought up old memories. To tell me that he loves me. I'd successfully avoided a guy for 3 years and finally gave in and saw him and that's what I get?! Wasn't my behaviour poor enough to guarantee my safety from awkward situations like this? So I nicely told him that I didn't want to lie to him, because I thought that would only hurt him, and I just didn't feel it.
Now, when we are rejected, we have two options. One is to take it gracefully, or as gracefully as possible, and move on. The other, is to dig your heels in and fight. He fought. He asked me repeatedly why we couldn't be together. I explained repeatedly that I just didn't feel any chemistry any more. In my head I wished as loudly as I could for my roomate to come home, for someone else to call, for the apartment to catch on fire. Anything to get me off the phone. The pain finally ended when he, bawling now, told me that he couldn't see me anymore because it hurt too much, and my phone told me, beeping now, that it was going to cut off any second, and my conscience told me, you must have heard it screaming, that I was one hell of a bitch.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
I just stared in awe and horror
at the woman in line in front of me at the grocery store. Easily 50, she stood there, all 4 foot 11 of her, in her striped leg warmers. Presumably she wore them to keep warm the legs she shamelessly exposed in a school-girl style mini. She topped off the ensemble with a matching hat. The hat matched the plaid pleated skirt, not the leg warmers bunched around her ankles - their lack of function indicating that she really just chose them solely for their stylish value.
So I stood there. And stared. I couldn't decide if I admired this woman who obviously still relished in her sexuality and wore it without shame. I couldn't help but wonder if she were married. Or had a lover. Perhaps a young lover - who inspired her to wear such age-inappropriate attire.
I couldn't decide if I was terrified of one day standing in her legwarmers being silently judged by the young woman behind me in line at the grocery store.
xo Amelia
So I stood there. And stared. I couldn't decide if I admired this woman who obviously still relished in her sexuality and wore it without shame. I couldn't help but wonder if she were married. Or had a lover. Perhaps a young lover - who inspired her to wear such age-inappropriate attire.
I couldn't decide if I was terrified of one day standing in her legwarmers being silently judged by the young woman behind me in line at the grocery store.
xo Amelia
Friday, July 17, 2009
My Boyfriend Bought me a Vibrator...
Ava says...
I’m not the most experienced when it comes to bedroom activity but the past year has definitely given me a crash course and opened my eyes to everything an active and spontaneous sex life has to offer. I don’t think I’ll ever revert back to shy and inhibited, although it still takes me a while to totally break out of my shell.
We’ve been discussing the idea of bringing “toys” into the bedroom for a while so I wasn’t really surprised when I was given the “Fukuoku”, a vibrating finger puppet with rotating heads, for my birthday.
My birthday was a happy one to say the least.
There were some ground rules when the idea of using toys first came up. I didn’t want anything freakishly large (as I wanted to remain in tact rather than torn in two), and requested a vibrator because I figured anything made with my “love button” in mind was worth trying out (my man needs no help with hitting the right spots internally).
I must say the addition of my “adults-only” finger puppet has certainly added more sparks between the sheets and spice in the bedroom (if that is even possible, my boyfriend is Latin after all).
For those of you out there who are a little wary of sex toys, take it from someone who was once in your shoes; trade in the loafers for a hot pair of stilettos, you just might surprise yourself.
I’m not the most experienced when it comes to bedroom activity but the past year has definitely given me a crash course and opened my eyes to everything an active and spontaneous sex life has to offer. I don’t think I’ll ever revert back to shy and inhibited, although it still takes me a while to totally break out of my shell.
We’ve been discussing the idea of bringing “toys” into the bedroom for a while so I wasn’t really surprised when I was given the “Fukuoku”, a vibrating finger puppet with rotating heads, for my birthday.
My birthday was a happy one to say the least.
There were some ground rules when the idea of using toys first came up. I didn’t want anything freakishly large (as I wanted to remain in tact rather than torn in two), and requested a vibrator because I figured anything made with my “love button” in mind was worth trying out (my man needs no help with hitting the right spots internally).
I must say the addition of my “adults-only” finger puppet has certainly added more sparks between the sheets and spice in the bedroom (if that is even possible, my boyfriend is Latin after all).
For those of you out there who are a little wary of sex toys, take it from someone who was once in your shoes; trade in the loafers for a hot pair of stilettos, you just might surprise yourself.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Invisible Force Field.
Sunday afternoon. I'm listening to Andrea Bocelli-Romanza, sitting in my new "home" watching cyclists and runners go by from my living room window...Will and Grace is on pause. Just one of those amazing (AMAZING!) days for rest and relaxation.
I went out yesterday night-to a place called O'Byrne after doing some window shopping on Whyte Ave. I was wearing a black tank and capris and it left marvelous to walk outside without the threat of rain/snow/a jacket...
So as i was walking I noticed that the patios were packed with people sipping on iced lattes, etc., laughing, smiling. My friend and I decided to stop for ice cream which I engulfed in a matter of seconds (caramal fudge + chocolate lovers chocolate). We then met up with another friend to have Blue Disco Lemonade at a place called Dadio's (vodka and lemonade). After three glasses-I us girls started doing what we do best...bitch (in all actuality, it was I who was doing most of the ranting). One of us had recently been rejected by one of our very close friends. Of course, this particular gal was all class and showed no sign of hurt feelings. We all applauded her grace...but then, (maybe it was the lemonade), but I started to get pissed. "Honestly, why the f*ck would he ever (EVER!) reject you?!?! You're gorgeous. You're in law school. You have a personality that every girl envies...I don't get it."
This brought back memories of Guy at which point I dished on the fact that I had printed out the email that he had sent me and highlighted portions I had disagreed with and arguments rebutting the statements he made. In all honesty, I guess it does sound slightly pathetic in hindsight. But it got me thinking-why us?
Sitting across from me at Dadio's were two beautiful, intelligent women-full of personality and enthusiasm. We started thinking about out common attributes (bubbly, happy, in law, etc.). Was it that men were intimidated by us? Was it that we were just too excitable? Was it that we weren't pretty enough? Is it that you sort of need to be a bit of a bitch (ie. cold) to show that you are confident?
We started analyzing the guys that we went for. Was it that they were too good for us? Was it that they were just really really different from the average male? Was it that they thought that they were too good for us? Was it that they thought that something better would come along???
I walked home, pondering these questions. What can I do to change myself? Is it something in my personality that is a bit too much??
I went to O'Byrne and stood at a table surrounded by guys from my class. Average looking guys (some would even say below average)...all with girlfriends. I looked around the bar at ugly as ass guys making out with gorgeous girls. Suddenly, I started to get that feeling. Mother f*ckers! What the hell is wrong with this picture???? I just don't understand!!!!! Here I am, looking as good as I'll ever look (I mean, I should be in my prime right?), but nothing. NOTHING. Not even a gaze in my direction (I swear).
Finally, in sheer frustration I coaxed the girls onto the dance floor to bust a move to 90s classics like ("Miami", and Lauren Hill)...not a glance....So, here's my theory.
You can knock yourself out trying to find someone...anyone (and let's be honest, by the time you're 24 and single you get a touch desperate), but it won't work. Why? We each have an invisible force field around us. It's not one thing like bad breath, or a bad personality, or being 'not so great looking' it's this shield that surrounds us that guys just pass over because they can't get through. In other words, it's not us...it's just how the world works. It's your religious you could even trump this us to God attempting to protect us from ass holes out there.
This theory will keep me going for the summer. I really hope.
I went out yesterday night-to a place called O'Byrne after doing some window shopping on Whyte Ave. I was wearing a black tank and capris and it left marvelous to walk outside without the threat of rain/snow/a jacket...
So as i was walking I noticed that the patios were packed with people sipping on iced lattes, etc., laughing, smiling. My friend and I decided to stop for ice cream which I engulfed in a matter of seconds (caramal fudge + chocolate lovers chocolate). We then met up with another friend to have Blue Disco Lemonade at a place called Dadio's (vodka and lemonade). After three glasses-I us girls started doing what we do best...bitch (in all actuality, it was I who was doing most of the ranting). One of us had recently been rejected by one of our very close friends. Of course, this particular gal was all class and showed no sign of hurt feelings. We all applauded her grace...but then, (maybe it was the lemonade), but I started to get pissed. "Honestly, why the f*ck would he ever (EVER!) reject you?!?! You're gorgeous. You're in law school. You have a personality that every girl envies...I don't get it."
This brought back memories of Guy at which point I dished on the fact that I had printed out the email that he had sent me and highlighted portions I had disagreed with and arguments rebutting the statements he made. In all honesty, I guess it does sound slightly pathetic in hindsight. But it got me thinking-why us?
Sitting across from me at Dadio's were two beautiful, intelligent women-full of personality and enthusiasm. We started thinking about out common attributes (bubbly, happy, in law, etc.). Was it that men were intimidated by us? Was it that we were just too excitable? Was it that we weren't pretty enough? Is it that you sort of need to be a bit of a bitch (ie. cold) to show that you are confident?
We started analyzing the guys that we went for. Was it that they were too good for us? Was it that they were just really really different from the average male? Was it that they thought that they were too good for us? Was it that they thought that something better would come along???
I walked home, pondering these questions. What can I do to change myself? Is it something in my personality that is a bit too much??
I went to O'Byrne and stood at a table surrounded by guys from my class. Average looking guys (some would even say below average)...all with girlfriends. I looked around the bar at ugly as ass guys making out with gorgeous girls. Suddenly, I started to get that feeling. Mother f*ckers! What the hell is wrong with this picture???? I just don't understand!!!!! Here I am, looking as good as I'll ever look (I mean, I should be in my prime right?), but nothing. NOTHING. Not even a gaze in my direction (I swear).
Finally, in sheer frustration I coaxed the girls onto the dance floor to bust a move to 90s classics like ("Miami", and Lauren Hill)...not a glance....So, here's my theory.
You can knock yourself out trying to find someone...anyone (and let's be honest, by the time you're 24 and single you get a touch desperate), but it won't work. Why? We each have an invisible force field around us. It's not one thing like bad breath, or a bad personality, or being 'not so great looking' it's this shield that surrounds us that guys just pass over because they can't get through. In other words, it's not us...it's just how the world works. It's your religious you could even trump this us to God attempting to protect us from ass holes out there.
This theory will keep me going for the summer. I really hope.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
The girl who never liked/lusted/loved
Amelia says -
Once upon a time there was a girl. She grew up in the middle of a city in the middle of a country in the middle of the world. Or so she thought. Turn the globe a bit and she's only on the periphery. She was perfect in every way. She had 10 little fingers and toes, all in the right places. 2 ears. 1 nose. A perfect easily given smile. Her mother was so happy to have her come into the world after a perfect labour and her waist line snapping back to a perfect size 6. Her father was imperfect - that slobbery, mangy, drunken bastard - so he was pushed out of the picture. But what nobody realized was that the girl wasn't quite as perfect as she seemed. She was just a little bit broken. And nobody really knew just what was broken either because no one can seem to determine whether we love from our heads or our hearts. But she couldn't love. She was made happy by gifts but they were quickly forgotten. She welcomed the attention and care she was lavished with but would not return favors with kind words, smiles, hugs or kisses. She laughed at the misfortune of others and could not understand just what kindness was made of.
This girl (let's call her Hita) grew into a beautiful young woman. Like a magnet, she drew every young man to her. They tried to woo her with presents, kindnesses, talent, bravado, culinary skills, mastery of the fine arts of knitting, skateboarding and composting ... all to no avail. what they did not understand was, she did not know how to love, lust or even love.
Through no fault of her own (how could someone so beautiful be at fault for anything?) she 'found' herself to be pregnant. And she began to grow in a new way. When the baby came, she too was beautiful but Hita did not know how to care for someone. She did not understand why she should be kind. She could not love the baby and she could not understand why she should stay in contact with the baby's father. He just wouldn't go away. So she killed him in his sleep. In court, she would not appologize no matter how hard his family cried or how often her lawyer told her it was in her best interest. She could not understand how two words could help anyone and she did not want to help in the first place. Deciding there was no hope for her, they had her sent to a psychiatric ward where she was chained to a bed, force fed through a tube and was rarely, if ever, bathed. No staff could stand her. She was so ungrateful and they could only conclude that she was egotistical, rude, uncivilized and boorish. Her beauty faded. She was neglected more and more frequently. She died in the afternoon with food on her chin, her hair in tangles, and her sheets full of filth.
And that, Anna dear, is what happens when you don't like, lust or love.
Once upon a time there was a girl. She grew up in the middle of a city in the middle of a country in the middle of the world. Or so she thought. Turn the globe a bit and she's only on the periphery. She was perfect in every way. She had 10 little fingers and toes, all in the right places. 2 ears. 1 nose. A perfect easily given smile. Her mother was so happy to have her come into the world after a perfect labour and her waist line snapping back to a perfect size 6. Her father was imperfect - that slobbery, mangy, drunken bastard - so he was pushed out of the picture. But what nobody realized was that the girl wasn't quite as perfect as she seemed. She was just a little bit broken. And nobody really knew just what was broken either because no one can seem to determine whether we love from our heads or our hearts. But she couldn't love. She was made happy by gifts but they were quickly forgotten. She welcomed the attention and care she was lavished with but would not return favors with kind words, smiles, hugs or kisses. She laughed at the misfortune of others and could not understand just what kindness was made of.
This girl (let's call her Hita) grew into a beautiful young woman. Like a magnet, she drew every young man to her. They tried to woo her with presents, kindnesses, talent, bravado, culinary skills, mastery of the fine arts of knitting, skateboarding and composting ... all to no avail. what they did not understand was, she did not know how to love, lust or even love.
Through no fault of her own (how could someone so beautiful be at fault for anything?) she 'found' herself to be pregnant. And she began to grow in a new way. When the baby came, she too was beautiful but Hita did not know how to care for someone. She did not understand why she should be kind. She could not love the baby and she could not understand why she should stay in contact with the baby's father. He just wouldn't go away. So she killed him in his sleep. In court, she would not appologize no matter how hard his family cried or how often her lawyer told her it was in her best interest. She could not understand how two words could help anyone and she did not want to help in the first place. Deciding there was no hope for her, they had her sent to a psychiatric ward where she was chained to a bed, force fed through a tube and was rarely, if ever, bathed. No staff could stand her. She was so ungrateful and they could only conclude that she was egotistical, rude, uncivilized and boorish. Her beauty faded. She was neglected more and more frequently. She died in the afternoon with food on her chin, her hair in tangles, and her sheets full of filth.
And that, Anna dear, is what happens when you don't like, lust or love.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Veno anyone?
Clearly...I accidently drank too much wine. And no, it wasn't a fun story of me sharing a glass of white with some friends...more like me...alone...in my room...trying to get through Constitutional law....
So, here I am...12:28 AM. Sitting in bed...with my laptop...dizzy...thinking about nobody and somebody at the same time. I can't believe that this 'somebody' keeps coming up...keeps disturbing my bliss. Wouldn't it be better to never lust/like/love? I think it would make things so much more simpler. I wish I could be the girl who turns everything off...
But I feel like, just when I turn off the feelings in my head, the light comes on again. Out of nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. I mean, it's really pathetic...and I keep telling myself "Anna...SNAP OUT OF IT! You are a strong independent woman! You are supposed to be smart and confident and everything that one is supposed to be at 24...!" But I go to sleep and my mind automatically drifts to him. And 'him' seems so much better at night after 1/2 bottle of wine.
'Him' seems so much better after learning that everyone and their dog is in a relationship. I know, I know....this is pathetic...this is not the sign of maturity. Really the advice or whatever it is that I'm posting is a bunch of crap since I haven't really figured what it is that I want, and who I am right now is not who I want to be when I'm in a relationship (seeing as though I am constantly doubting myself and seem to get dizzy everytime someone I find attractive comes into the room....). I think I'm going to try to stay away from attractive people...really it's more work than it's worth.
Someone told me that I needed to focus on me. Stop worrying about everyone else and do what makes me happy. I made a list...a long list (that I won't share...but it was a good one). It finally made me excited about life because I started thinking, "What does Anna want...?" The problem is that he keeps interrupting my moments of peace...and I want him to leave my thoughts. I mean, why can't he just me a distant memory...Something that I'm embarassed out and that I will laugh about later? Why can't that be it?
I want him to want me. I want him to love me. I want him to realize that I'm all that he's ever wanted...Why can't he see that? Why is it that I can, and he can't?
So, here I am...12:28 AM. Sitting in bed...with my laptop...dizzy...thinking about nobody and somebody at the same time. I can't believe that this 'somebody' keeps coming up...keeps disturbing my bliss. Wouldn't it be better to never lust/like/love? I think it would make things so much more simpler. I wish I could be the girl who turns everything off...
But I feel like, just when I turn off the feelings in my head, the light comes on again. Out of nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. I mean, it's really pathetic...and I keep telling myself "Anna...SNAP OUT OF IT! You are a strong independent woman! You are supposed to be smart and confident and everything that one is supposed to be at 24...!" But I go to sleep and my mind automatically drifts to him. And 'him' seems so much better at night after 1/2 bottle of wine.
'Him' seems so much better after learning that everyone and their dog is in a relationship. I know, I know....this is pathetic...this is not the sign of maturity. Really the advice or whatever it is that I'm posting is a bunch of crap since I haven't really figured what it is that I want, and who I am right now is not who I want to be when I'm in a relationship (seeing as though I am constantly doubting myself and seem to get dizzy everytime someone I find attractive comes into the room....). I think I'm going to try to stay away from attractive people...really it's more work than it's worth.
Someone told me that I needed to focus on me. Stop worrying about everyone else and do what makes me happy. I made a list...a long list (that I won't share...but it was a good one). It finally made me excited about life because I started thinking, "What does Anna want...?" The problem is that he keeps interrupting my moments of peace...and I want him to leave my thoughts. I mean, why can't he just me a distant memory...Something that I'm embarassed out and that I will laugh about later? Why can't that be it?
I want him to want me. I want him to love me. I want him to realize that I'm all that he's ever wanted...Why can't he see that? Why is it that I can, and he can't?
Thursday, April 2, 2009
What do you lie about?
Amelia says -
I was watching Sex and the City (that evil but wonderful display of female sexual liberty and independence - complete with freeom of cash flow and mostly independently beautiful, but sometimes gawdy, clothing and accessories). When it went to commercial, the network would flash little multiple choice questions related to celebs, the show, or to the things men and women do to and with one another. One such tidbit informed me that "39% of men have lied to get a woman in bed". Seriously? Could you go back and ask them all what they're lying about? Because that's a lotta lies, I tells ya.
Just by thinking about it I'm pretty sure I can guess some of the things they might be lying about:
"I really dig you" Often accompanied by "I'm totally sober" "I'm a successful ______" and "I've never had an STI"
"I'm single". Often followed by "didn't I mention I'm seeing someone?" or "what we had was just fun right?"
"I don't watch porn". Sometimes preceding or following you finding the names of multiple porn sites in their computer's "favorites" list.
"You're the prettiest/sweetest/best girl I've ever met" ... followed by silence after they bed you because they didn't even really like you - just wanted to get their rocks off.
and "I barely ever drink" contradicted by the drunken ass saying it.
I was watching Sex and the City (that evil but wonderful display of female sexual liberty and independence - complete with freeom of cash flow and mostly independently beautiful, but sometimes gawdy, clothing and accessories). When it went to commercial, the network would flash little multiple choice questions related to celebs, the show, or to the things men and women do to and with one another. One such tidbit informed me that "39% of men have lied to get a woman in bed". Seriously? Could you go back and ask them all what they're lying about? Because that's a lotta lies, I tells ya.
Just by thinking about it I'm pretty sure I can guess some of the things they might be lying about:
"I really dig you" Often accompanied by "I'm totally sober" "I'm a successful ______" and "I've never had an STI"
"I'm single". Often followed by "didn't I mention I'm seeing someone?" or "what we had was just fun right?"
"I don't watch porn". Sometimes preceding or following you finding the names of multiple porn sites in their computer's "favorites" list.
"You're the prettiest/sweetest/best girl I've ever met" ... followed by silence after they bed you because they didn't even really like you - just wanted to get their rocks off.
and "I barely ever drink" contradicted by the drunken ass saying it.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
menage a deux ... non?
Amelia says -
My boyfriend wants to have a threesome. Me, him, and … He said he wouldn’t care if it was a guy or a girl he thinks it would be kinky either way. He also said he understands if I don't want to do it. But still, wtf?! Sure he had had a couple beers but he was far from drunk when it just spilled out his mouth. I don’t even remember what we were talking about. And immediately I start thinking – it’s like cheating but I’m there, it opens the door to cheating in the future, blurring boundaries, I don’t want to share, some hoochie kissing my boyfriend, and my blood is boiling and I’m ready to kill this girl who doesn’t even exist. Notice that even though he said it could be him and another guy I’m assuming it would be a girl? Because honestly, who wants 2 guys on them? I’d feel way too intimidated and too many pressures to perform for both. It’s hard enough sometimes to perform for one when I still have to get the dishes done, and go work out, and make lunches for tomorrow, and that pile of books is getting higher and higher and there are so many other things that need doing. Every once in a while, can’t he do himself? Now he wants to do it with me – AND someone else. And if you do decide to do it, where do you do it? I’d be dead before I let some kinky stranger come into my home and find out where I live for future stalkerish purposes when she realizes just how hot my boyfriend is. But I also wouldn’t go to some stranger’s house where you could run into anyone on the sidewalk, in the kitchen eating dinner, in the bedroom closet with a video camera … And hotels are cheap. And skeezy. And I am neither of those. And how do you do it? It doesn’t bother me one bit that my boyfriend has a secret kinky fetish or two. I figure sexuality is what it is and so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, it’s all good. It’s just not necessarily true that his idea of sexy and mine are coinciding on this issue. And if he’s feeling kinky and I’m not, do I fake it? It’s like a cardinal rule that you don’t fake orgasms because for one, you’ll probably never have a real one again because he won’t know how to give it to you and he’ll expect you to be moaning in ecstasy within 2 minutes. It just doesn’t work that way. So is kinky the same deal? If you fake it once, are you stuck faking it over and over again until you decide that the guy just isn’t worth the leather pants suit and the secret password?
My boyfriend wants to have a threesome. Me, him, and … He said he wouldn’t care if it was a guy or a girl he thinks it would be kinky either way. He also said he understands if I don't want to do it. But still, wtf?! Sure he had had a couple beers but he was far from drunk when it just spilled out his mouth. I don’t even remember what we were talking about. And immediately I start thinking – it’s like cheating but I’m there, it opens the door to cheating in the future, blurring boundaries, I don’t want to share, some hoochie kissing my boyfriend, and my blood is boiling and I’m ready to kill this girl who doesn’t even exist. Notice that even though he said it could be him and another guy I’m assuming it would be a girl? Because honestly, who wants 2 guys on them? I’d feel way too intimidated and too many pressures to perform for both. It’s hard enough sometimes to perform for one when I still have to get the dishes done, and go work out, and make lunches for tomorrow, and that pile of books is getting higher and higher and there are so many other things that need doing. Every once in a while, can’t he do himself? Now he wants to do it with me – AND someone else. And if you do decide to do it, where do you do it? I’d be dead before I let some kinky stranger come into my home and find out where I live for future stalkerish purposes when she realizes just how hot my boyfriend is. But I also wouldn’t go to some stranger’s house where you could run into anyone on the sidewalk, in the kitchen eating dinner, in the bedroom closet with a video camera … And hotels are cheap. And skeezy. And I am neither of those. And how do you do it? It doesn’t bother me one bit that my boyfriend has a secret kinky fetish or two. I figure sexuality is what it is and so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, it’s all good. It’s just not necessarily true that his idea of sexy and mine are coinciding on this issue. And if he’s feeling kinky and I’m not, do I fake it? It’s like a cardinal rule that you don’t fake orgasms because for one, you’ll probably never have a real one again because he won’t know how to give it to you and he’ll expect you to be moaning in ecstasy within 2 minutes. It just doesn’t work that way. So is kinky the same deal? If you fake it once, are you stuck faking it over and over again until you decide that the guy just isn’t worth the leather pants suit and the secret password?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Ode to fictitious hunky man of my dreams
Amelia says -
I've been thinking lately about the guys I've dated. And the guys I didn't but wished I dated. I promise I didn't stalk them, and won't, I just think about them every now and then. And I suck at mushy but I wondered what I would say to each of them in a love letter ... And then I thought, what if writing the letter was the same as wishing and wishing was just a predecessor to real life happenings? (I know - I think too much. But it's fun so go with me). So, based on what I loved and still love about each of them, this is my call to some guy I'm sure doesn't exist.
We are in different places right now but when I close my eyes I can see yours. And if I think just a little bit more I can feel your curls wrapping themselves around my fingers. And you might be far away from me, but I know that if I need you I just have to ask and you're there. And when I see you, I smile. And you smile back, with your heart shining out at me through your mischevious eyes. I know that whatever adventure I am looking for, you're dying to take it along with me. You've always validated my beliefs about the world and showed me what it looks like to stand up for them. You embody ideals I have desperately wanted to mirror back to you. You always let me explore the world at my own pace while you sat back and adored every piece of me. And when I was ready to jump you were ready to jump with me. In you, I could recognize traits that I cherish in myself as well and I loved you for it. It maybe took a few drinks but your openness and honesty led us into deeply earnest intelligent conversations and when I became caught up in ideas I couldn't sift through on my own you would wait for me to catch up before moving on. I'm floored by your generousity and you never expect to receive anything in return. You are sturdy and reliable and I know that even when you're not here, I'm not alone.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Imagine your life in movie scenes
*image courtesy of photobucket.com
~Amelia says ~
What if your life were a movie? What kind of movie would it be?
Mine might be a boring one ... or maybe my life would be more exciting because of it ... no, it would probably be boring. The movie people took back to the store and demanded their money back from. Take my morning for example:
I woke up alone in bed (boyfriend was out last night and crashed on the couch watching tv). So the day started as a documentary. A day in the life of the girl with bad breath. I heard the tv on so I came out to the living room. Everything's a mess. There are cushions on the floor, a blanket too, along with a load of folded laundry, a gift from my sisters, an empty sour cream container, but my boyfriend's adorable. Then he farted. Which leaves us in (I hope) a romantic comedy. The guy just can't ever reach my expectations and someday, maybe tomorrow, I'll realize he's just fine the way he is. He woke up when I came in and rolled over without leaving any room on the couch for me. Let's do this one backwards. Switch to porno. I squeeze in with him, he runs his hands through my no longer greasy hair and wraps one arm around me while the other arm brushes the unfinished puzzle off the coffee table so we can make out on it. I know, I'm cheating. But maybe I need a little porno in my life.
Seriously though, I think most of my life would be documentary style: studying the strange behaviour of the independently attached mid 20s young professional woman. (Notice I somehow elevated my status in my description? I'm no longer the girl with bad breath). And I think everyone's life would be - aside from my boyfriend's sister and cousin. They're so goofy it would be straight up slapstick comedy. If I could add a few genres to my life, I'm desperately craving some romantic comedy. No drama. Fuck drama. Give me a bit of action hero. And porn. And they would come along with some movie star finesse. I'd always have shiny hair. And a great body. No pimples (damn you pimples!). And great shoes. C'mon shoes!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
I'll bet you taste delicious
*image courtesty of profiles.yahoo.com
Amelia says -
Being sexual is so hard. You must be visually stunning. And witty-intelligent-laid back-hilarious. Your voice must not be grating. You must have the softest skin possible, the sharpest curves (isn’t that an oxymoron?) imaginable, zero body hair, and the sexiest eye to hair to rosy cheek to full lips ratio you can manage. You must smell sexy. You can choose whether you want to smell like food (mmm … vanilla), cleanliness (ie: chemical perfumes) or B.O. Which one will you choose? And like a newly cleaned and impossible to maintain home you must be flawless and spotless at all times. People must be able to take you in with all their senses and be pleased by all sensory experiences of you and your goodness. Being sexual is HARD.
And people are often disappointed. I remember when I met my current boyfriend he told me that his last girlfriend called him the Candy Man. Don’t worry, he didn’t say this on our first date or anything but while we were still in the getting-to-know-you stages. I asked why. He said she told him that his ejaculate tasted like candy. He said this boastfully. Proudly. He lied.
Moving on.
At my birthday party someone asked me why I didn’t drink caesars. I said “I think they taste disgusting”. Defensively, he said “you taste disgusting”. Realizing it was my birthday - the day when one cannot be put down - he corrected himself saying “I’m kidding. I bet you taste delicious”. This was quickly followed by him blushing when he realized how sexual a comment that could be. Did I believe him? Who am I kidding? I taste like people. Skin and soap and well … skin.
Just the other day I was joking around with my boyfriend who was eating kippers. They stink up the whole house. And definitely stink up his breath. I kissed him and then said “yuck. Your lips smell like fish”. Can you see where I’m going? If you know how goofy I am you might guess that I followed that up with “I have to lips that probably smell like fish sometimes”. Did I go too far? I can tell you, that is the direct opposite of sexy. But got me a laugh. Which I might value more than an up and down body ogling. You know why? Because once you’re sexy you have to stay sexy. And sexy, is hard work.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Seriously?
Anna says...
Amelia, it was a sticky nine inch dildo? Seriously? Gross!!! Oh wait, I mean...sexy...
Guy emailed my friend to ask her why I was no longer on Facebook. I emailed him back instantaneously...Why do I do this to myself? Why can't I get let go?
If I could write Guy a message right now, it would go a little something like:
Dearest F*ckFace,
Why are you such a tool? I hate you. I hate you for emailing and phoning! I hate you for still wanting to be friends with me!!! Why can't you give up like a normal person? Why can't you leave me alone!
Anna
Amelia, it was a sticky nine inch dildo? Seriously? Gross!!! Oh wait, I mean...sexy...
Guy emailed my friend to ask her why I was no longer on Facebook. I emailed him back instantaneously...Why do I do this to myself? Why can't I get let go?
If I could write Guy a message right now, it would go a little something like:
Dearest F*ckFace,
Why are you such a tool? I hate you. I hate you for emailing and phoning! I hate you for still wanting to be friends with me!!! Why can't you give up like a normal person? Why can't you leave me alone!
Anna
Closet Dildo
Amelia says -
I'm talking about an actual slimy neon pink rubber 9 inch long sticky dildo I found in my closet - no, it wasn't mine.
I lived at home my first year of university - which didn't save me any money and really put a damper on my dating life. I was never home and I was paying a crapload to keep my car full of gas despite my 3 trips to town per day. So me an my wallet sat down and talked about my options. I had to move into town. I asked this girl from my class if she wanted to live together because I knew she would be looking for a place. She said sure and that one of her friends would like to come too. But they couldn't move in until the end of the summer. So I spent 4 months living in our huge (empty - broke students don't have furniture silly) apartment alone.
I was working at a bar so I would get home at 4 in the morning and get up at noon, go back to work. I never managed to be home much so I never bothered to have anyone over. Nobody even knew where I live. And then one day ...
I was cleaning my place and when I had dug through the pile of dirty clothes to get to the bottom of the closet I dropped everything. There is was. Shiny. With lint and hair stuck to it. Pink. I swear, I imagined it throbbing. A Dildo. How long had it been there? I hadn't cleaned in a week, so it could have been days ago. Who left it? Was it a joke? Did someone think this was funny?
I called the girls who had the keys to the place but they hadn't been anywhere near the place. They lived in another town and wouldn't be coming back until September when school started back up. I asked the neighbours if they had seen someone. No. I called my sister who said someone must have broken in and I had to call the cops - which I did. Can you imagine how that went?
Cop comes to my house: When did they break in?
Amelia: I don't know
Cop: How do you know it happened?
Amelia: They left a dildo in my closet
Cop: laughs ... it was your friends
Amelia: No it wasn't, they don't know where I live
Cop: when did you leave the door unlocked?
Amelia: I didn't. But you can break into this place as quickly as you can say sex toy (ok - I embellished that part. But I did lock myself and Ms Cop out of the apartment with a butter knife an get us back in in two seconds flat)
Cop: What did they take?
Amelia: nothing
Cop: What did they break?
Amelia: nothing
Cop: What do you expect me to do?
Amelia: I don't know! You're the cop! Someone came into my home and did something in my room with a dildo and then left it behind! That's gotta be illegal. Can you at least give me a report number so I can get my land lord to put a deadbolt on the door?
Can you imagine the paperwork Ms Cop had to put in?
I'm talking about an actual slimy neon pink rubber 9 inch long sticky dildo I found in my closet - no, it wasn't mine.
I lived at home my first year of university - which didn't save me any money and really put a damper on my dating life. I was never home and I was paying a crapload to keep my car full of gas despite my 3 trips to town per day. So me an my wallet sat down and talked about my options. I had to move into town. I asked this girl from my class if she wanted to live together because I knew she would be looking for a place. She said sure and that one of her friends would like to come too. But they couldn't move in until the end of the summer. So I spent 4 months living in our huge (empty - broke students don't have furniture silly) apartment alone.
I was working at a bar so I would get home at 4 in the morning and get up at noon, go back to work. I never managed to be home much so I never bothered to have anyone over. Nobody even knew where I live. And then one day ...
I was cleaning my place and when I had dug through the pile of dirty clothes to get to the bottom of the closet I dropped everything. There is was. Shiny. With lint and hair stuck to it. Pink. I swear, I imagined it throbbing. A Dildo. How long had it been there? I hadn't cleaned in a week, so it could have been days ago. Who left it? Was it a joke? Did someone think this was funny?
I called the girls who had the keys to the place but they hadn't been anywhere near the place. They lived in another town and wouldn't be coming back until September when school started back up. I asked the neighbours if they had seen someone. No. I called my sister who said someone must have broken in and I had to call the cops - which I did. Can you imagine how that went?
Cop comes to my house: When did they break in?
Amelia: I don't know
Cop: How do you know it happened?
Amelia: They left a dildo in my closet
Cop: laughs ... it was your friends
Amelia: No it wasn't, they don't know where I live
Cop: when did you leave the door unlocked?
Amelia: I didn't. But you can break into this place as quickly as you can say sex toy (ok - I embellished that part. But I did lock myself and Ms Cop out of the apartment with a butter knife an get us back in in two seconds flat)
Cop: What did they take?
Amelia: nothing
Cop: What did they break?
Amelia: nothing
Cop: What do you expect me to do?
Amelia: I don't know! You're the cop! Someone came into my home and did something in my room with a dildo and then left it behind! That's gotta be illegal. Can you at least give me a report number so I can get my land lord to put a deadbolt on the door?
Can you imagine the paperwork Ms Cop had to put in?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Practical Love
Anna says...
Is it possible to learn to love someone? Is this 'mature' love? The love that we are supposed to have?
I've been thinking about all the love stories I've heard over my lifetime...my great uncle, my uncle (I'll save that one for another day) and the war bride on CBC during Remembrance Day...We eat this stuff up, don't we? Something inside of us yearns for a love story....a passionate love story that is filled with sweaty palms and and lingering kisses...But what happens after the love story? What happens when the credits start to roll and you are left with each other...in the middle of a street in London (Bridget Jones' Diary)...in a Macy's (Serendipity)...looking at the stars (Sleepless in Seattle)...sitting on a bench (Notthing Hill)...on top of a fire escape (Pretty Woman)...when the carriage pulls away from the church (Emma and Pride and Prejudice...ahhh Jane Austin)....We are all left wondering, what happens when they get into a fight? What happens when she realizes that he leaves his dirty socks on the kitchen floor? What happens when HE realizes that she is actually pretty hairy when she doesn't shave? What happens when (GULP!) they eat really bad Indian and need to use the toilet at the same time....?!?!??!?!?!
I have another story to tell you...a story that may seem very unromantic to you (as it did to me when I first heard it). It is short and sweet and anything but romantic....there are no bells, no hallelujah chorus...just this...
Once upon a time in India there lived a family...a father, a mother, a brother and a daughter. The father and mother worked hard to provide for their children. The children worked hard to keep their parents happy. The son was bright and confident. The daughter was independent and the beauty of her village. She had long, thick, glossy black hair. A pale, olive complexion and full beautiful lips. To this day, she is remembered in her village for people walking behind her just to see her thick braid swing back and forth.
She was very innocent of the world. She spent most of her days on the farm, picking leaves from banana trees to feed the family cow, getting water from the well, taking her pet goat(Marathi) on walks through the forest. She didn't have many friends, but was very close with her mom. She often sat at the kitchen table and chatted with her for hours about silly things women talk about.
She went to university...it was her father's dream that she become a doctor, unfortunately for her she was not the greatest at math. She had just turned twenty-four and her parents (and her) decided that it was time to find a husband. So, they put an ad in the paper that went something along the lines of:
"Christian. Pale complexion. Daughter of _______."
Meanwhile....in a nearby village there lived a boy...a mischievous little boy. He was the youngest boy in a family of fourteen. He was not the most academic child, but tried very hard. Unfortunately, his family was quite poor and couldn't provide all that they could for him. He had a good life though. He spent quite a bit of time running through the forest with his brothers and friends, eating cassava, coconut, jackfruit and mangoes.
Eventually this little boy grew up...and became quite a dashing young man...although a little too skinny. He decided that it was time to discover the world. So, he packed his belongings said goodbye to his family and went to the Middle-East. He traveled through Oman, Musket, the United Arab Emirates...He met some friends and worked as a mechanic for a few years. There were a few sketchy moments during his time in the U.A.E. It was quite hard to be a Christian living in a Islamic state at the time. But he enjoyed himself immensely.
Eventually, he became lonely and knew that it was time to take the plunge and get married. He called his brother who arranged for him to meet a marriage broker back in his village. So, he went on a shopping trip and bought four different saris to give to his new wife (whomever she should be).
Meanwhile....the young lady was having no luck....although she had quite a few prospective suitors...business men, lawyers, accountants....none of them impressed her. Her parents were supportive and trusted her opinion. They knew she was an excellent judge of character. So, they kept looking.
One day. A meek looking man came to the door with his brother (OUR GUY!). He was dressed to impress in a white shirt and loungey, hair combed with sweaty palms...They sat for chai with her brother, her father and her mother. The conversation was easy, although the beauty barely spoke.
Finally, the man and his brother left. The woman turned to her parents. She had decided. This was him. He was solid. He was hard-working. He wanted the same things in life. He wanted to live in another country. He had ambition and drive. What more could she want?
Her father called the marriage broker and they were married within two days. He left for the Middle-East a couple of months later. Eventually they had two children. One (very annoying) daugther born in India. One witty and HILARIOUS daughter in Canada. They have been married for over twenty-five years now.
There was no passionate kiss in the rain (Four Weddings and a Funeral), not even a makeout session in an airport (Bend It Like Beckham)...I hope (shudder). But my parents love each other. You can tell by the way my mom wraps my dad's lunch in the morning. The way my dad puts out my mom's shoes before she goes to work. The way they sit in the dark watching the street. They love each other silently and respectfully and without resentment. My dad still giggles like a school-boy when my mom hugs him. My mom still cooks him his favorite meals. Their love is beautiful and pure. Isn't this the ideal? And to think...it all came about so practically...
Is it possible to learn to love someone? Is this 'mature' love? The love that we are supposed to have?
I've been thinking about all the love stories I've heard over my lifetime...my great uncle, my uncle (I'll save that one for another day) and the war bride on CBC during Remembrance Day...We eat this stuff up, don't we? Something inside of us yearns for a love story....a passionate love story that is filled with sweaty palms and and lingering kisses...But what happens after the love story? What happens when the credits start to roll and you are left with each other...in the middle of a street in London (Bridget Jones' Diary)...in a Macy's (Serendipity)...looking at the stars (Sleepless in Seattle)...sitting on a bench (Notthing Hill)...on top of a fire escape (Pretty Woman)...when the carriage pulls away from the church (Emma and Pride and Prejudice...ahhh Jane Austin)....We are all left wondering, what happens when they get into a fight? What happens when she realizes that he leaves his dirty socks on the kitchen floor? What happens when HE realizes that she is actually pretty hairy when she doesn't shave? What happens when (GULP!) they eat really bad Indian and need to use the toilet at the same time....?!?!??!?!?!
I have another story to tell you...a story that may seem very unromantic to you (as it did to me when I first heard it). It is short and sweet and anything but romantic....there are no bells, no hallelujah chorus...just this...
Once upon a time in India there lived a family...a father, a mother, a brother and a daughter. The father and mother worked hard to provide for their children. The children worked hard to keep their parents happy. The son was bright and confident. The daughter was independent and the beauty of her village. She had long, thick, glossy black hair. A pale, olive complexion and full beautiful lips. To this day, she is remembered in her village for people walking behind her just to see her thick braid swing back and forth.
She was very innocent of the world. She spent most of her days on the farm, picking leaves from banana trees to feed the family cow, getting water from the well, taking her pet goat(Marathi) on walks through the forest. She didn't have many friends, but was very close with her mom. She often sat at the kitchen table and chatted with her for hours about silly things women talk about.
She went to university...it was her father's dream that she become a doctor, unfortunately for her she was not the greatest at math. She had just turned twenty-four and her parents (and her) decided that it was time to find a husband. So, they put an ad in the paper that went something along the lines of:
"Christian. Pale complexion. Daughter of _______."
Meanwhile....in a nearby village there lived a boy...a mischievous little boy. He was the youngest boy in a family of fourteen. He was not the most academic child, but tried very hard. Unfortunately, his family was quite poor and couldn't provide all that they could for him. He had a good life though. He spent quite a bit of time running through the forest with his brothers and friends, eating cassava, coconut, jackfruit and mangoes.
Eventually this little boy grew up...and became quite a dashing young man...although a little too skinny. He decided that it was time to discover the world. So, he packed his belongings said goodbye to his family and went to the Middle-East. He traveled through Oman, Musket, the United Arab Emirates...He met some friends and worked as a mechanic for a few years. There were a few sketchy moments during his time in the U.A.E. It was quite hard to be a Christian living in a Islamic state at the time. But he enjoyed himself immensely.
Eventually, he became lonely and knew that it was time to take the plunge and get married. He called his brother who arranged for him to meet a marriage broker back in his village. So, he went on a shopping trip and bought four different saris to give to his new wife (whomever she should be).
Meanwhile....the young lady was having no luck....although she had quite a few prospective suitors...business men, lawyers, accountants....none of them impressed her. Her parents were supportive and trusted her opinion. They knew she was an excellent judge of character. So, they kept looking.
One day. A meek looking man came to the door with his brother (OUR GUY!). He was dressed to impress in a white shirt and loungey, hair combed with sweaty palms...They sat for chai with her brother, her father and her mother. The conversation was easy, although the beauty barely spoke.
Finally, the man and his brother left. The woman turned to her parents. She had decided. This was him. He was solid. He was hard-working. He wanted the same things in life. He wanted to live in another country. He had ambition and drive. What more could she want?
Her father called the marriage broker and they were married within two days. He left for the Middle-East a couple of months later. Eventually they had two children. One (very annoying) daugther born in India. One witty and HILARIOUS daughter in Canada. They have been married for over twenty-five years now.
There was no passionate kiss in the rain (Four Weddings and a Funeral), not even a makeout session in an airport (Bend It Like Beckham)...I hope (shudder). But my parents love each other. You can tell by the way my mom wraps my dad's lunch in the morning. The way my dad puts out my mom's shoes before she goes to work. The way they sit in the dark watching the street. They love each other silently and respectfully and without resentment. My dad still giggles like a school-boy when my mom hugs him. My mom still cooks him his favorite meals. Their love is beautiful and pure. Isn't this the ideal? And to think...it all came about so practically...
Saturday, March 14, 2009
I think I'll pass
Amelia says -
I think I can do without this love thing. Especially if it's the mushy gushy needy feeling that seems to follow me through my relationships. I can't handle romance. Maybe that's a sign of my immaturity (I'm turning 26 in 2 days) or maybe it's genetic (if you pick me flowers instead of skewering a cow you obviously won't make a good mate) or maybe it's a sign of the times (where efficiency and productivity is the way to go and I just can't figure out how this romantic BS is either of those).
But I went out last night with some friends and could totally see the appeal of the guy who was flirting with my friend via Indian Leg Wrestling on the floor - you'll just have to look it up if you don't know what I'm talking about - or my coworker who was incredibly drunk but indulged me in a few grappling sessions - again look it up.
Last I heard competing with the person you are wooing, especially competing in some type of physical challenge, isn't romance - but it's hot. The guy who sidled up behind me and slowly but surely grabbed my bum? Not hot. Just to clarify. Made my hands sweat but only because I felt incredibly creeped out. Goofing around, scrapping it out, making inappropriate jokes, dancing like a lunatic - hot. Made me sweat too but I'll happily pour for those activities.
So can hot replace romance? Just for a little while? Because I think I'd feel way more comfortable in that world. JT brought the sexy back for a reason. For some of us, it's just more important.
I think I can do without this love thing. Especially if it's the mushy gushy needy feeling that seems to follow me through my relationships. I can't handle romance. Maybe that's a sign of my immaturity (I'm turning 26 in 2 days) or maybe it's genetic (if you pick me flowers instead of skewering a cow you obviously won't make a good mate) or maybe it's a sign of the times (where efficiency and productivity is the way to go and I just can't figure out how this romantic BS is either of those).
But I went out last night with some friends and could totally see the appeal of the guy who was flirting with my friend via Indian Leg Wrestling on the floor - you'll just have to look it up if you don't know what I'm talking about - or my coworker who was incredibly drunk but indulged me in a few grappling sessions - again look it up.
Last I heard competing with the person you are wooing, especially competing in some type of physical challenge, isn't romance - but it's hot. The guy who sidled up behind me and slowly but surely grabbed my bum? Not hot. Just to clarify. Made my hands sweat but only because I felt incredibly creeped out. Goofing around, scrapping it out, making inappropriate jokes, dancing like a lunatic - hot. Made me sweat too but I'll happily pour for those activities.
So can hot replace romance? Just for a little while? Because I think I'd feel way more comfortable in that world. JT brought the sexy back for a reason. For some of us, it's just more important.
Friday, March 13, 2009
"L is for the way you look at me, O is for the only one I see..."
Ava Says....
Love, the elusive L-word. I’ve been in love and it was wonderful. It was also heartbreaking, terrifying, electrifying, exciting, sensual, and every other emotionally charged adjective you can think of. Unfortunately, we weren’t meant to last. It’s so hard for women these days to believe in love; cynicism and skepticism seem to be the way of the world nowadays. Unless you’re one of the few true romantics left in the world, like me, for example.
I agree with Anna – true love does still exist. Here’s my story.
Once upon a time, a seventeen-year-old girl totaled her car and had to take the bus to school. One day, she was riding the bus and a very handsome stranger caught her gaze. Immediately, this girl thought he was very cute and contemplated talking to him. However, before she could he got off the bus. Every day after that, this girl rode the bus hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy but alas, he never again boarded. Eventually the girl’s car was fixed and she no longer needed public transportation. A few months went by and as luck would have it, this girl found herself in another car accident that coincidentally put her back on the bus. For a brief moment, she thought that maybe, just maybe, that handsome stranger she saw on the bus that day would be riding again. He wasn’t. She rode the bus everyday, talking with her friend about another boy in her high school that had a crush on her. This girl didn’t really like this boy but decided why not give it a chance. When the girl boarded the bus for the last time (she was picking up her car that afternoon), she thought to herself that if the handsome boy was on the bus she would talk to him and if he wasn’t, she’d forget the fantasy and give this lowly high school boy a shot. When she boarded the bus, there he was. They met each other’s gaze and the boy started to talk to her. They talked through the entire bus ride and when he asked for her number, he invited her out to lunch the next day. She accepted and they have been together ever since.
True story. They’re married now. They’re friends of mine. A frivolous romantic comedy can be written based on this story, it really is amazing when you think about it. They’re the reason why I haven’t given up on love. They’re the reason why I think my prince charming is out there, riding the bus waiting patiently for me to board. Maybe we’ve already met….regardless; my love is out there, somewhere.
Love, the elusive L-word. I’ve been in love and it was wonderful. It was also heartbreaking, terrifying, electrifying, exciting, sensual, and every other emotionally charged adjective you can think of. Unfortunately, we weren’t meant to last. It’s so hard for women these days to believe in love; cynicism and skepticism seem to be the way of the world nowadays. Unless you’re one of the few true romantics left in the world, like me, for example.
I agree with Anna – true love does still exist. Here’s my story.
Once upon a time, a seventeen-year-old girl totaled her car and had to take the bus to school. One day, she was riding the bus and a very handsome stranger caught her gaze. Immediately, this girl thought he was very cute and contemplated talking to him. However, before she could he got off the bus. Every day after that, this girl rode the bus hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy but alas, he never again boarded. Eventually the girl’s car was fixed and she no longer needed public transportation. A few months went by and as luck would have it, this girl found herself in another car accident that coincidentally put her back on the bus. For a brief moment, she thought that maybe, just maybe, that handsome stranger she saw on the bus that day would be riding again. He wasn’t. She rode the bus everyday, talking with her friend about another boy in her high school that had a crush on her. This girl didn’t really like this boy but decided why not give it a chance. When the girl boarded the bus for the last time (she was picking up her car that afternoon), she thought to herself that if the handsome boy was on the bus she would talk to him and if he wasn’t, she’d forget the fantasy and give this lowly high school boy a shot. When she boarded the bus, there he was. They met each other’s gaze and the boy started to talk to her. They talked through the entire bus ride and when he asked for her number, he invited her out to lunch the next day. She accepted and they have been together ever since.
True story. They’re married now. They’re friends of mine. A frivolous romantic comedy can be written based on this story, it really is amazing when you think about it. They’re the reason why I haven’t given up on love. They’re the reason why I think my prince charming is out there, riding the bus waiting patiently for me to board. Maybe we’ve already met….regardless; my love is out there, somewhere.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Cinderella in Sweats
Anna says...
I have a book of fairy tales in my room. It contains about five different versions of Cinderella...Snow White...Beauty and the Beast. Do you know that almost every culture in the world has a variation of Cinderella? Some involving an 'ugly' and 'rude' prince....some with a vindictive fairy godmother. Some even with nice and supportive stepsisters. There's one similarity in all versions though...you guessed it the prince and Cinderella always make it in the end (okay, minus the Russian version where the prince never ends up finding her).
I have a love story to share with you...it begins in a small village in India...
There was once a man. I short man. A short brown man. He lived in a very small village in southern India in the late 1950s. He was smart and adventurous. So he decided that it was time for leave his small village and try something a little different...
He got on a boat and sailed for days and days. He got sick several times. Fever. Chills. Sweats. Vomiting. He didn't think that he would be able to make it. But finally...he arrived on the eastern coast of the United States.
He ended up in Illinois where he took odd jobs to pay tuition. Times were tough. The U.S. in the 1950s really wasn't the best place to be for a minorities.
One day, while working for a family he met a woman. She was innocent. Religious. Came from a very conservative family. They got to talking. Realized that they had a lot in common...eventually this blossomed into love.
He decided to propose. She accepted. After telling her family, they were staunchly opposed. It was too much.
So, he left. He scrawled his address in India on a small piece of paper and gave it to her. He was gone.
She decided that he was it. It didn't matter what anyone said because she knew...he was the one for her. So, she got on a boat. Got on a train. Got on an auto and found him. They got married and they've been together for over 40 years.
Pure love exists. This story of my great uncle proves it to me everyday.
I have a book of fairy tales in my room. It contains about five different versions of Cinderella...Snow White...Beauty and the Beast. Do you know that almost every culture in the world has a variation of Cinderella? Some involving an 'ugly' and 'rude' prince....some with a vindictive fairy godmother. Some even with nice and supportive stepsisters. There's one similarity in all versions though...you guessed it the prince and Cinderella always make it in the end (okay, minus the Russian version where the prince never ends up finding her).
I have a love story to share with you...it begins in a small village in India...
There was once a man. I short man. A short brown man. He lived in a very small village in southern India in the late 1950s. He was smart and adventurous. So he decided that it was time for leave his small village and try something a little different...
He got on a boat and sailed for days and days. He got sick several times. Fever. Chills. Sweats. Vomiting. He didn't think that he would be able to make it. But finally...he arrived on the eastern coast of the United States.
He ended up in Illinois where he took odd jobs to pay tuition. Times were tough. The U.S. in the 1950s really wasn't the best place to be for a minorities.
One day, while working for a family he met a woman. She was innocent. Religious. Came from a very conservative family. They got to talking. Realized that they had a lot in common...eventually this blossomed into love.
He decided to propose. She accepted. After telling her family, they were staunchly opposed. It was too much.
So, he left. He scrawled his address in India on a small piece of paper and gave it to her. He was gone.
She decided that he was it. It didn't matter what anyone said because she knew...he was the one for her. So, she got on a boat. Got on a train. Got on an auto and found him. They got married and they've been together for over 40 years.
Pure love exists. This story of my great uncle proves it to me everyday.
Mating dances
*image courtesy of hubpages.com
Amelia says -
Anna made me start to think about all the different mating dances we do. And there are a lot of them. And most of them mimic in some way the mating rituals found among animals. Of course that makes sense because when we are after a mate, we revert to our animal instincts: will you be a good provider? How much food will you bring home? What does your shelter look like? How many supports can you bring to my life? How good are your jeans (genes)?
Every now and then we all like to flash our tail feathers. Maybe for you that means your wallet. For me, I've got a great rack.
We also need to know that our prospects will make good mates. Like Anna said, that has a lot to do with your skills on the dance floor. The more they look like moves from the bedroom, the better a mate you must be. If you can accomplish that with clothes on, imagine the possibilities when naked!
Our mating calls. This must be boastful, directed and inviting. "How you doin?" is getting a bit old but never fear. Apparently it also wasn't direct enough so many mate seekers resort to lines like "hey hot stuff. We should do it". The more socially adept will say something along the lines of "can I have your number?" or "let me buy you a drink". They are proving that they will make superior mates because they will consider your needs and desires both inside and outside the bedroom.
Padding. We need to make our homes look inviting to the opposite sex. Bachelors who are looking to successfully "pick up" might clean the dirty towels off the bathroom floor, ensure that there is toilet paper in the bathroom because no girl likes to drip dry and make sure that there is at least juice in the fridge for breakfast. Bachelorettes will purchase a queen sized bed that is "much too large for just me", ensure that their fridge is stocked with bacon, eggs, juice and all the ingredients necessary for a breakfast of champions and will double check that their tampons, tweezers, birth control pills and sex toys are all hidden so as not to intimidate their prospective mates.
Well done all.
You should have succeeded by now.
You haven't? Call louder next time.
Anna made me start to think about all the different mating dances we do. And there are a lot of them. And most of them mimic in some way the mating rituals found among animals. Of course that makes sense because when we are after a mate, we revert to our animal instincts: will you be a good provider? How much food will you bring home? What does your shelter look like? How many supports can you bring to my life? How good are your jeans (genes)?
Every now and then we all like to flash our tail feathers. Maybe for you that means your wallet. For me, I've got a great rack.
We also need to know that our prospects will make good mates. Like Anna said, that has a lot to do with your skills on the dance floor. The more they look like moves from the bedroom, the better a mate you must be. If you can accomplish that with clothes on, imagine the possibilities when naked!
Our mating calls. This must be boastful, directed and inviting. "How you doin?" is getting a bit old but never fear. Apparently it also wasn't direct enough so many mate seekers resort to lines like "hey hot stuff. We should do it". The more socially adept will say something along the lines of "can I have your number?" or "let me buy you a drink". They are proving that they will make superior mates because they will consider your needs and desires both inside and outside the bedroom.
Padding. We need to make our homes look inviting to the opposite sex. Bachelors who are looking to successfully "pick up" might clean the dirty towels off the bathroom floor, ensure that there is toilet paper in the bathroom because no girl likes to drip dry and make sure that there is at least juice in the fridge for breakfast. Bachelorettes will purchase a queen sized bed that is "much too large for just me", ensure that their fridge is stocked with bacon, eggs, juice and all the ingredients necessary for a breakfast of champions and will double check that their tampons, tweezers, birth control pills and sex toys are all hidden so as not to intimidate their prospective mates.
Well done all.
You should have succeeded by now.
You haven't? Call louder next time.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Maitres chez nous.
I went to a thing today. It was a thing about careers in the foreign service. For the first time in my law school career I actually felt excited for me. I forgot how that feels.
We are "maitres chez nous"-masters of our own house. I think that I forgot that for a while. It's not like I've come to this sudden realization or anything, because tomorrow morning I'm going to be faced with the same self-doubt and anxiety about my lack of love life, but I forgot that waiting around batting my eyelashes is a douche move. I mean, we all have so much potential in us...don't we? Woman are more powerful than they EVER were and since WHEN (WHEN!) did we EVER need a GUY (a STUPID GUY!) to validate us? Crickets...I think I am the last one on the planet to come to this realization....didn't Betty Friedman write this in The Feminine Mystique like 50 years ago? Hmmmm...
Anyways...I realized that waiting around for Guy to realize that I AM worth is really quite pathetic. Yeah, he's witty. Yeah, he's kind of cute. Yeah, he makes me laugh...but so are a good 1/4 of the male population (please God...let this be true). I was going to back this up with an optimistic fact that there are TONS of men out there, but just discovered there is one male for every two females at the moment. Sonofab*tch.
In any case. I've made a decision. If I am 35 and single, I will:
- I will attend the Cordeau Bleau in France (I've always wanted to be a chef).
- I will take a ridiculous vacations to exotic locations like Malta or Crete.
- I will adopt a child (or a dog...maybe a puppy).
- I will stop going to the gym and begin a diet of high cal foods like Starbucks frapps and loafas from Cookies By George for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
- I would buy myself an enormous bed and sleep my entire weeked away.
- I will own my own house
What would you do if you were forever single?
We are "maitres chez nous"-masters of our own house. I think that I forgot that for a while. It's not like I've come to this sudden realization or anything, because tomorrow morning I'm going to be faced with the same self-doubt and anxiety about my lack of love life, but I forgot that waiting around batting my eyelashes is a douche move. I mean, we all have so much potential in us...don't we? Woman are more powerful than they EVER were and since WHEN (WHEN!) did we EVER need a GUY (a STUPID GUY!) to validate us? Crickets...I think I am the last one on the planet to come to this realization....didn't Betty Friedman write this in The Feminine Mystique like 50 years ago? Hmmmm...
Anyways...I realized that waiting around for Guy to realize that I AM worth is really quite pathetic. Yeah, he's witty. Yeah, he's kind of cute. Yeah, he makes me laugh...but so are a good 1/4 of the male population (please God...let this be true). I was going to back this up with an optimistic fact that there are TONS of men out there, but just discovered there is one male for every two females at the moment. Sonofab*tch.
In any case. I've made a decision. If I am 35 and single, I will:
- I will attend the Cordeau Bleau in France (I've always wanted to be a chef).
- I will take a ridiculous vacations to exotic locations like Malta or Crete.
- I will adopt a child (or a dog...maybe a puppy).
- I will stop going to the gym and begin a diet of high cal foods like Starbucks frapps and loafas from Cookies By George for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
- I would buy myself an enormous bed and sleep my entire weeked away.
- I will own my own house
What would you do if you were forever single?
Imagine the possibilities
*image courtesy of images4.cafepress.com
Amelia says -
We all have our fetishes.
I like to be ziggled (when you run your fingers along my back tickling me into ecstasy)
Some people like to cross dress, some people like certain foods, some are turned on by men doing housework (blush, gulp)
But imagine if you could guess someone's fetish based on their appearance. That's what Ava and I decided we were capable of doing at the pub on the weekend. And this is what we discovered.
That guy, across from us. Downing the beers in about 3 seconds flat. With the tee shirt that had a body outline on it - he likes to choke you.
The guy on the other side of the bar with the beret. He likes you to speak "naughty french" to him - even though he doesn't understand a word of it and you could probably make him cum in his pants just by whispering "ma puce est dans ton trou de cul" (my thumb is in your asshole)
That one with the bushy beard? He looks a bit like a leprechon? He likes girls with red hair. And his favourite position is the 4 leaf clover.
The lumberjack, he loves his trees.
We all have our fetishes.
I like to be ziggled (when you run your fingers along my back tickling me into ecstasy)
Some people like to cross dress, some people like certain foods, some are turned on by men doing housework (blush, gulp)
But imagine if you could guess someone's fetish based on their appearance. That's what Ava and I decided we were capable of doing at the pub on the weekend. And this is what we discovered.
That guy, across from us. Downing the beers in about 3 seconds flat. With the tee shirt that had a body outline on it - he likes to choke you.
The guy on the other side of the bar with the beret. He likes you to speak "naughty french" to him - even though he doesn't understand a word of it and you could probably make him cum in his pants just by whispering "ma puce est dans ton trou de cul" (my thumb is in your asshole)
That one with the bushy beard? He looks a bit like a leprechon? He likes girls with red hair. And his favourite position is the 4 leaf clover.
The lumberjack, he loves his trees.
Do you know what she said?!
Amelia says -
I was driving back to work today and happily listening to the radio - until ...
"Rhianna is getting back together with Chris Brown to collaborate on a song. They are writing a love song together to symbolize forgiveness and moving on together. Rhianna says she is doing it because she believes it is her fault he hit her"
That was the first part that made me go "oooh! No!!!"
I'm sorry but if you get mad at me and you hit me, that is NOT my fault and I'm never going to say that it is. It's YOUR fault. YOUR'S.
Then ...
Announcer With Everything 1 "I don't know what to say about that. How can she say that?"
Announcing Service Speaker 2 "But what if it becomes the best love song ever?"
Awe: "I think that would make it worse"
Ass: "Well, it's saving Chris Brown's career"
Ass - you need to be smacked upside of the head. Who cares if it's the best love song ever? And sorry, but I doubt it. Most of the music produced by Rhianna and Chris Brown while catchy, is fleeting. But even if it were, Awe is right. It would be awful if a woman took responsibility for her abusive boyfriend's behaviour and then we decided that the results of that behaviour were love. That's not love. That's calling scapegoats. That's MY-SO-GE-NY. In other words ... BS
I was driving back to work today and happily listening to the radio - until ...
"Rhianna is getting back together with Chris Brown to collaborate on a song. They are writing a love song together to symbolize forgiveness and moving on together. Rhianna says she is doing it because she believes it is her fault he hit her"
That was the first part that made me go "oooh! No!!!"
I'm sorry but if you get mad at me and you hit me, that is NOT my fault and I'm never going to say that it is. It's YOUR fault. YOUR'S.
Then ...
Announcer With Everything 1 "I don't know what to say about that. How can she say that?"
Announcing Service Speaker 2 "But what if it becomes the best love song ever?"
Awe: "I think that would make it worse"
Ass: "Well, it's saving Chris Brown's career"
Ass - you need to be smacked upside of the head. Who cares if it's the best love song ever? And sorry, but I doubt it. Most of the music produced by Rhianna and Chris Brown while catchy, is fleeting. But even if it were, Awe is right. It would be awful if a woman took responsibility for her abusive boyfriend's behaviour and then we decided that the results of that behaviour were love. That's not love. That's calling scapegoats. That's MY-SO-GE-NY. In other words ... BS
Monday, March 9, 2009
Confessions of a Video Store Vixen
*image courtesy of calendarlive.com
Ava Says....
While Amelia and I were out gallivanting on Saturday night, we thought it would be interesting to investigate the fascinating characters that frequent the pornography section of a local video store. Coincidentally, both of us have friends that work at said video store so we thought, what better way to research the individuals who enjoy pornographic films than by interviewing those that sell them.
Some highlights of our conversations:
1. VSV: Do you watch The Simpsons?
Us: Yes
VSV: They all look like Millhouse’s dad
2. VSV: One customer returned a porno film he purchased a few weeks before claiming
it didn’t work. I asked him if it was scratched or damaged in any way and the
gentleman said no, it didn’t get me off.
3. VSV: One customer often comes into the store three times a day and rents three
different movies each time. Then he returns later on in the evening when the
staffing changes and rents six more. That’s 15 porno’s a day!!!!
4. VSV: They all have bad breath and wear sweatpants
5. VSV: It is most entertaining to hear how they justify what they’re renting; “Who
Fucked Rocco”, cause it’s a mystery.
Apparently, some pornography fans like to stick to their own, like the elderly Asian man who seems to enjoy the Oriental Sex Academy series and his elderly wife who doesn’t mind returning it by the designated due date.
Later, Amelia and I decided to investigate the tiny squared adult film section of the video store. As we both wandered through the doorknob-less door (an issue that Amelia and I discussed at length and I will return to later), I’m pretty certain the young man perusing the best sellers wall blew a load in his pants when as he watched two hot chicks wander into the porn room.
Now I’m not sure if pornographic films are honoured with any sort of award show or recognition special but such witty titles as “Gaping Talepipes”, “Broke Back Mount Him”, “School of Cock”, and “Face Fucking Incorporated” should certainly be applauded for their…imagination? Personally, I am much more impressed when I see titles like these instead of “Big Titties” 1-45. You can bet these are films we’ll never see on the Oscar stage; and the nominees for best picture are, Slumdog Millionaire, Milk, Frost/Nixon, Doubt, and Gaping Tailpipes….riiiiight.
After copious amounts of laughter, Amelia and I decided we’d had enough smut for the evening (and then proceeded to discuss sexual positions that don’t exist, so maybe we didn’t fulfill out smut intake for the evening). We then pondered why there was no doorknob on the door and contemplated crawling underneath it to avoid catching any roving STI that might be lying stagnant. Thank goodness, for purse sized hand sanitizer.
Overall, we don’t quite understand the appeal of pornography but one thing is for certain, it makes for one hell of an amusing blog.
While Amelia and I were out gallivanting on Saturday night, we thought it would be interesting to investigate the fascinating characters that frequent the pornography section of a local video store. Coincidentally, both of us have friends that work at said video store so we thought, what better way to research the individuals who enjoy pornographic films than by interviewing those that sell them.
Some highlights of our conversations:
1. VSV: Do you watch The Simpsons?
Us: Yes
VSV: They all look like Millhouse’s dad
2. VSV: One customer returned a porno film he purchased a few weeks before claiming
it didn’t work. I asked him if it was scratched or damaged in any way and the
gentleman said no, it didn’t get me off.
3. VSV: One customer often comes into the store three times a day and rents three
different movies each time. Then he returns later on in the evening when the
staffing changes and rents six more. That’s 15 porno’s a day!!!!
4. VSV: They all have bad breath and wear sweatpants
5. VSV: It is most entertaining to hear how they justify what they’re renting; “Who
Fucked Rocco”, cause it’s a mystery.
Apparently, some pornography fans like to stick to their own, like the elderly Asian man who seems to enjoy the Oriental Sex Academy series and his elderly wife who doesn’t mind returning it by the designated due date.
Later, Amelia and I decided to investigate the tiny squared adult film section of the video store. As we both wandered through the doorknob-less door (an issue that Amelia and I discussed at length and I will return to later), I’m pretty certain the young man perusing the best sellers wall blew a load in his pants when as he watched two hot chicks wander into the porn room.
Now I’m not sure if pornographic films are honoured with any sort of award show or recognition special but such witty titles as “Gaping Talepipes”, “Broke Back Mount Him”, “School of Cock”, and “Face Fucking Incorporated” should certainly be applauded for their…imagination? Personally, I am much more impressed when I see titles like these instead of “Big Titties” 1-45. You can bet these are films we’ll never see on the Oscar stage; and the nominees for best picture are, Slumdog Millionaire, Milk, Frost/Nixon, Doubt, and Gaping Tailpipes….riiiiight.
After copious amounts of laughter, Amelia and I decided we’d had enough smut for the evening (and then proceeded to discuss sexual positions that don’t exist, so maybe we didn’t fulfill out smut intake for the evening). We then pondered why there was no doorknob on the door and contemplated crawling underneath it to avoid catching any roving STI that might be lying stagnant. Thank goodness, for purse sized hand sanitizer.
Overall, we don’t quite understand the appeal of pornography but one thing is for certain, it makes for one hell of an amusing blog.
How I Met Your Mother
Anna says...
My friend calls them "dark club girls." Do you know who I'm talking about? They're those girls who may not have 'it', but who think they have 'it'...but are idiots and use flirtation and cleavage to make themselves feel desirable. Okay, yes...I'm bitter because I'm sure something deep within me wishes that I could be a dark club girl.
Dark club girls come out at night...Their technique involves them going to darkly lit places (ie. clubs) where they swoop in for the kill. They chat up random (and for the most part) creepy guys to bolster their self-esteem. They then tell everyone (including prospective lust-interests and uninterested friends/acquaintances/basically anyone who will listen to them) their success stories. They can be identified by the following dialogue:
- DCG: "Yeah! I had an awesome time last night...but this guy kept asking me for my number! Gross!"
- Anna: "Really! Was he cute?"
-DCG: "Hmmmm...kind of, but he was really creepy."
-Anna: "Ohh! Nasty. Shutter."
-DCG: "Yeah, and he keeps phoning me! I mean what's up with that?!?!? I mean, I kept trying to get away from him all night!"
-Anna:"How'd he get your number?"
-DCG: "Oh...I gave it to him."
-Anna: "Oh."
-DCG: "Yeah, well I didn't want to be mean..."
-Anna: "Don't you have caller ID on your cell?"
-DCG: "Yeah. But I don't want to be mean...Oh! And today, he kept saying hi to me when I walked down the hall!"
-Anna: "Seriously? Oh wait...was that the guy that you smiled at today and walked over to say hello to??"
-DCG: "Yeah. Well...I didn't want to be mean."
-Anna: "Oh....hmmm...ok. Yeah."
I've run into a lot of DCGs in the last year...and to be honest with you...they are f*cking annoying (ok...my apologies...I'm attempting to not swear because it's a nasty habit that I'm sure makes me seem like a douche).
I think I'm just a touch jealous. I wish I could flirt...but I can't and it's not in me and I really don't understand how it works. I hate it when people try to touch me in a sexual way (hip rubbing, back rubbing, thigh rubbing...etc.) it makes me feel uncomfortable and I would never want to inflict that torture on someone else. I also don't see what the point is...I mean, if you try flirting with someone for the night most of the time you'll never end up meeting up ever again...unless you give them your number in which case you'd end up feeling rejected when they didn't email/phone, etc. Yeah, I'm really OPTIMISTIC about this, but the approach to dating these days seems to be:
Step #1: Get plastered. Or act more plastered than you really are (the pre-game).
Step #2: Go to a club (or bar) with a dance floor.
Step #3: Attempt to dance.
Step #4: (Guys) Watch. (Girls) Dance...with a lot of hip movement and hair tossing...the mating dance.
Step #5: (Guys) Pretend to be really REALLY plastered and muster the courage to grind with some girl. (Girl) Keep dancing....but try to catch a glimpse of who you're dancing with.
Step #6: (Girl) Turn around. (Guy) Hands on hips/ass....defining moment...if the girl pulls away you know that it's off. If you know it's on then (Girl) moves in closer and puts hands on neck.
Step #7: Dance facing each other.
Step #8: Potentially kiss (but it's okay, because your drunk your not responsible for your actions).
Step #9: Make a decision...go home (with Guy/Girl). Get a number (which if you get then you can 'forget' to phone because you can make the excuse that you're drunk about you lost it). Pretend it never happened (and if your friends ask then you can pretend that it never happened and that you were SOOOOO drunk!!!!!).
Forgive me if I would not like to participate in this mating ritual. I'd rather have a guy who had the balls to say he liked me and wanted to go out sometime (and run away!) than Mr. I'm So Hammered I Can Barely Say My Name Let Alone Yours trying to grab my ass all night...
My friend calls them "dark club girls." Do you know who I'm talking about? They're those girls who may not have 'it', but who think they have 'it'...but are idiots and use flirtation and cleavage to make themselves feel desirable. Okay, yes...I'm bitter because I'm sure something deep within me wishes that I could be a dark club girl.
Dark club girls come out at night...Their technique involves them going to darkly lit places (ie. clubs) where they swoop in for the kill. They chat up random (and for the most part) creepy guys to bolster their self-esteem. They then tell everyone (including prospective lust-interests and uninterested friends/acquaintances/basically anyone who will listen to them) their success stories. They can be identified by the following dialogue:
- DCG: "Yeah! I had an awesome time last night...but this guy kept asking me for my number! Gross!"
- Anna: "Really! Was he cute?"
-DCG: "Hmmmm...kind of, but he was really creepy."
-Anna: "Ohh! Nasty. Shutter."
-DCG: "Yeah, and he keeps phoning me! I mean what's up with that?!?!? I mean, I kept trying to get away from him all night!"
-Anna:
-DCG: "Oh...I gave it to him."
-Anna: "Oh."
-DCG: "Yeah, well I didn't want to be mean..."
-Anna: "Don't you have caller ID on your cell?"
-DCG: "Yeah. But I don't want to be mean...Oh! And today, he kept saying hi to me when I walked down the hall!"
-Anna: "Seriously? Oh wait...was that the guy that you smiled at today and walked over to say hello to??"
-DCG: "Yeah. Well...I didn't want to be mean."
-Anna: "Oh....hmmm...ok. Yeah."
I've run into a lot of DCGs in the last year...and to be honest with you...they are f*cking annoying (ok...my apologies...I'm attempting to not swear because it's a nasty habit that I'm sure makes me seem like a douche).
I think I'm just a touch jealous. I wish I could flirt...but I can't and it's not in me and I really don't understand how it works. I hate it when people try to touch me in a sexual way (hip rubbing, back rubbing, thigh rubbing...etc.) it makes me feel uncomfortable and I would never want to inflict that torture on someone else. I also don't see what the point is...I mean, if you try flirting with someone for the night most of the time you'll never end up meeting up ever again...unless you give them your number in which case you'd end up feeling rejected when they didn't email/phone, etc. Yeah, I'm really OPTIMISTIC about this, but the approach to dating these days seems to be:
Step #1: Get plastered. Or act more plastered than you really are (the pre-game).
Step #2: Go to a club (or bar) with a dance floor.
Step #3: Attempt to dance.
Step #4: (Guys) Watch. (Girls) Dance...with a lot of hip movement and hair tossing...the mating dance.
Step #5: (Guys) Pretend to be really REALLY plastered and muster the courage to grind with some girl. (Girl) Keep dancing....but try to catch a glimpse of who you're dancing with.
Step #6: (Girl) Turn around. (Guy) Hands on hips/ass....defining moment...if the girl pulls away you know that it's off. If you know it's on then (Girl) moves in closer and puts hands on neck.
Step #7: Dance facing each other.
Step #8: Potentially kiss (but it's okay, because your drunk your not responsible for your actions).
Step #9: Make a decision...go home (with Guy/Girl). Get a number (which if you get then you can 'forget' to phone because you can make the excuse that you're drunk about you lost it). Pretend it never happened (and if your friends ask then you can pretend that it never happened and that you were SOOOOO drunk!!!!!).
Forgive me if I would not like to participate in this mating ritual. I'd rather have a guy who had the balls to say he liked me and wanted to go out sometime (and run away!) than Mr. I'm So Hammered I Can Barely Say My Name Let Alone Yours trying to grab my ass all night...
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Sex positions that aren't
*image courtesy of photobucket.com
Amelia says -
While sitting with Ava having drinks at a pub we started talking about the names of sex positions. And laughing over them. Which led us to think of names for sex positions that don't exist but just sounded like they should. Of that list, here's the creme de la creme:
Bottle Rocket: shake until he blows
Virtual Golf: close your eyes and focus on your follow through
Moosehead: akin to "fisting" but using the foot
Gold Platter, Silver Spoon: the male equivalent of a money shot - they mount you from behind, pull out at the crucial moment, aim up
4 Leaf Clover: you decide
Double Jointed Donkey: kick with both legs
Leaping Lassoo: you wrap your legs around him, he gyrates
Little Red Riding Hood: likes it in grandmother's bed. With the husband from next door. Please use discretion as it WILL end your current relationship
Flying Scotsman: moans must resemble the bagpipes
Sweater Vest: acceptable presence of chest and back hair (more of a fetish but warranted inclusion)
Spit and Polish: self explanatory
Track and Field: this can be broken down into the long jump, the shot put and the caber toss
While sitting with Ava having drinks at a pub we started talking about the names of sex positions. And laughing over them. Which led us to think of names for sex positions that don't exist but just sounded like they should. Of that list, here's the creme de la creme:
Bottle Rocket: shake until he blows
Virtual Golf: close your eyes and focus on your follow through
Moosehead: akin to "fisting" but using the foot
Gold Platter, Silver Spoon: the male equivalent of a money shot - they mount you from behind, pull out at the crucial moment, aim up
4 Leaf Clover: you decide
Double Jointed Donkey: kick with both legs
Leaping Lassoo: you wrap your legs around him, he gyrates
Little Red Riding Hood: likes it in grandmother's bed. With the husband from next door. Please use discretion as it WILL end your current relationship
Flying Scotsman: moans must resemble the bagpipes
Sweater Vest: acceptable presence of chest and back hair (more of a fetish but warranted inclusion)
Spit and Polish: self explanatory
Track and Field: this can be broken down into the long jump, the shot put and the caber toss
The birds and the bees
*image courtesy of profiles.nlm.nih.gov
Amelia says -
Who are the birds and the bees? I can never figure out which one's supposed to be the boy and which one's the girl. Maybe it's neither. Often it seems like they're both boys and it's an age old homoerotic reference. Either way, I thought it would be amusing to do my figuring publicly. So here goes:
Birds ~
It's another word for your wang! Therefore the birds are boys
Birds eat bugs .... therefore they are girls (do I need to explain that one? That a bee can fit inside a bird ...?)
Birds are peckers ... so are boys
Birds are pretty (so must be girls)
Unless they are turkeys or vultures with their greyish, pinkish wrinkly skin (ahem ... boys)
Bees ~
Sting
and pollinate
and visit many "flowers" in one day
(I can't even think of any reasons why the bees would be the girls)
Therefore it is my conclusion, based on my entirely scientific reasoning and the *majority rules rule* that both are boys. Which is cool. But where do I fit in?
Who are the birds and the bees? I can never figure out which one's supposed to be the boy and which one's the girl. Maybe it's neither. Often it seems like they're both boys and it's an age old homoerotic reference. Either way, I thought it would be amusing to do my figuring publicly. So here goes:
Birds ~
It's another word for your wang! Therefore the birds are boys
Birds eat bugs .... therefore they are girls (do I need to explain that one? That a bee can fit inside a bird ...?)
Birds are peckers ... so are boys
Birds are pretty (so must be girls)
Unless they are turkeys or vultures with their greyish, pinkish wrinkly skin (ahem ... boys)
Bees ~
Sting
and pollinate
and visit many "flowers" in one day
(I can't even think of any reasons why the bees would be the girls)
Therefore it is my conclusion, based on my entirely scientific reasoning and the *majority rules rule* that both are boys. Which is cool. But where do I fit in?
Saturday, March 7, 2009
You're So Vain...You Probably Think This Blog is About You...
Anna says...
If I had the courage...I would write the following to the jerks that I have met this past year (and the scrum that is Guy):
Dearest Douche Bags,
Thank you for leading me on. Thank you for making me check my Facebook account every 10 minutes to see if you've messaged me. Thank you for disappointing me every time my phone rings. Thank you for pretending that I am the coolest, most attractive girl on the planet but refusing to acknowledge my existence and then make out with someone right in front of my face. Thank you for making me loose my cool every time I see that you've moved on. Thank you for acknowledging the fact that I will most likely be alone forever. Thank you for basically telling me that I'm not good enough. Thank you for making me feel invisible.
Yes you mother fuckers, I hate you, and hope that you suffer a violent case of runs for the next week and break out in hives from too much boozing...(or catch a very nasty STI that causes itching and peeling during exam time). You ass holes are a waste of viable sperm.
Sincerely,
Anna
(You remember me don't you?That girl you thought was amusing and good for a laugh).
What brought on this sudden sense of rage? I went out tonight...(is that enough of an explanation?). I felt so uncomfortable...and invisible (as always). It was an awful experience, and I left at 11:00 PM after coming to the realization that "he" was not here. Why?
1. I had no confidence tonight (I'm assuming that if I was supposed to meet "him" I would feel sexy and delicious...but I was wearing enormous boots and a long sleeve top...making it difficult to dance without hearing large 'thudding'.)
2. I was wearing little to no makeup (I was having coffee with a friend when another friend phoned to tell me that there was a party...Had "he" been there, I'm assuming that I would have looked perfect).
3. We aren't going to meet at a bar. It just wouldn't work that way...(I hope).
I suppose that we live and learn from every experience...although the only thing I learned from this experience is that I seem to be the chick who blends into the decor of a room-adds diversity, but nothing to talk about. Maybe I should get some heels?
If I had the courage...I would write the following to the jerks that I have met this past year (and the scrum that is Guy):
Dearest Douche Bags,
Thank you for leading me on. Thank you for making me check my Facebook account every 10 minutes to see if you've messaged me. Thank you for disappointing me every time my phone rings. Thank you for pretending that I am the coolest, most attractive girl on the planet but refusing to acknowledge my existence and then make out with someone right in front of my face. Thank you for making me loose my cool every time I see that you've moved on. Thank you for acknowledging the fact that I will most likely be alone forever. Thank you for basically telling me that I'm not good enough. Thank you for making me feel invisible.
Yes you mother fuckers, I hate you, and hope that you suffer a violent case of runs for the next week and break out in hives from too much boozing...(or catch a very nasty STI that causes itching and peeling during exam time). You ass holes are a waste of viable sperm.
Sincerely,
Anna
(You remember me don't you?That girl you thought was amusing and good for a laugh).
What brought on this sudden sense of rage? I went out tonight...(is that enough of an explanation?). I felt so uncomfortable...and invisible (as always). It was an awful experience, and I left at 11:00 PM after coming to the realization that "he" was not here. Why?
1. I had no confidence tonight (I'm assuming that if I was supposed to meet "him" I would feel sexy and delicious...but I was wearing enormous boots and a long sleeve top...making it difficult to dance without hearing large 'thudding'.)
2. I was wearing little to no makeup (I was having coffee with a friend when another friend phoned to tell me that there was a party...Had "he" been there, I'm assuming that I would have looked perfect).
3. We aren't going to meet at a bar. It just wouldn't work that way...(I hope).
I suppose that we live and learn from every experience...although the only thing I learned from this experience is that I seem to be the chick who blends into the decor of a room-adds diversity, but nothing to talk about. Maybe I should get some heels?
Neurotica
Amelia says
*This is my own very special idea of what really turns me on*
- borrowed from Captain Joshua Regal by A.M. Hartnett (and slightly - or drastically - altered after the fact):
"Fucking hell! I'm so tired I could gouge my eyes out, but my head won't stop humming." He lifted his chin to survey the length of his body and the pitifully limp thing between his legs. Mischief shone in his eyes. "Give us a kiss, woman. You're the very thing I've been looking for forever but never knew I needed till now"Eden rose up and hovered over his mouth, nibbling his bottom lip and teasing his tongue, drawing back when he offered her more. His body stiffened in expectation of what else was to come but she pushed herself up and walked away instead. Studying her face in the mirror she saw him walk up behind her and felt his soft bites on the side of her neck. She heard him whisper "you are beyond perfect just as you are". It was her turn to anticipate what he would do - the familiar hands gripping her breasts and moving their way downward until they found what they were looking for. She was pleasantly surprised when instead, he reached around her with a cupped hand and swept his crumbs off the dresser top where he had put on an amusing show earlier trying to eat biscuits while shaving. She watched him sweep his hand across the wood ensuring that every last bit was accounted for and, mesmerized, she followed his hand as it moved to the trash bin emptying its contents and reoffered to her as a symbol of openness, willingness to start fresh.
So maybe not everyone found that hot ... but that's what I want. A fine balance between sexual intrigue, gentleness, personal validation or praise, and shared responsibility for the home. My heroine may seem quiet and passive to some of you, but if the story were to continue you would see that she is one tough cookie who is not willing to settle for anything less than she deserves. Who demands that respect be mutual and does not accomodate disrespectful behaviour with sexual gratification.
What a woman ... sigh
*This is my own very special idea of what really turns me on*
- borrowed from Captain Joshua Regal by A.M. Hartnett (and slightly - or drastically - altered after the fact):
"Fucking hell! I'm so tired I could gouge my eyes out, but my head won't stop humming." He lifted his chin to survey the length of his body and the pitifully limp thing between his legs. Mischief shone in his eyes. "Give us a kiss, woman. You're the very thing I've been looking for forever but never knew I needed till now"Eden rose up and hovered over his mouth, nibbling his bottom lip and teasing his tongue, drawing back when he offered her more. His body stiffened in expectation of what else was to come but she pushed herself up and walked away instead. Studying her face in the mirror she saw him walk up behind her and felt his soft bites on the side of her neck. She heard him whisper "you are beyond perfect just as you are". It was her turn to anticipate what he would do - the familiar hands gripping her breasts and moving their way downward until they found what they were looking for. She was pleasantly surprised when instead, he reached around her with a cupped hand and swept his crumbs off the dresser top where he had put on an amusing show earlier trying to eat biscuits while shaving. She watched him sweep his hand across the wood ensuring that every last bit was accounted for and, mesmerized, she followed his hand as it moved to the trash bin emptying its contents and reoffered to her as a symbol of openness, willingness to start fresh.
So maybe not everyone found that hot ... but that's what I want. A fine balance between sexual intrigue, gentleness, personal validation or praise, and shared responsibility for the home. My heroine may seem quiet and passive to some of you, but if the story were to continue you would see that she is one tough cookie who is not willing to settle for anything less than she deserves. Who demands that respect be mutual and does not accomodate disrespectful behaviour with sexual gratification.
What a woman ... sigh
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