I really hate hearing about how awesome and special other people’s marriages are. I find it really gag-provoking.

I hate when married couples make a point of letting us know that they are spending special time alone together. They refuse an invitation to hang out with the group because they’ve set the night aside as a date night for the two of them. Puh-LEEZE, I always think. Make it another night. Or morning. Or afternoon. You guys live together, for goodness sake; the possibilities are endless. There are only two of you; it can’t be so hard to coordinate a night between the two of your schedules! Make it a breakfast date for tomorrow morning.

Maybe there’s just something wrong with me. I also get annoyed seeing parents look gaga-eyed at their own offspring, particularly if the child isn’t a particularly attractive specimen. Get a room, I think.

I roll my eyes when I hear the lilting words “I gotta get home to my hubby!” at the end of a girls’ night, or reading “I have the most wonderful husband in the world!” on some woman’s Facebook status. For some reason, I find their expressions of affection irritating. The worst is when husbands and wives address each other directly on a public forum like Facebook, writing on each other’s walls, “Have a wonderful day, honey! I love you! You are wonderful!” Excuse me while I shove a finger down my own throat. Couldn’t you guys have said that in, like, a face-to-face encounter? In private? In your home?

I saw a friend do this again recently – gush to her husband over Facebook about how awesome he is – and I immediately went back to my blog to delete any mushy stuff that may have occurred on it between me and Ben. (I am happy to report that I only had to delete one thing). I don’t want to be that couple, that is constantly broadcasting their love for one another.

It’s not that I don’t want people to have happy, romantic marriages – I do. That’s part of the reason I started this blog in the first place. And it’s not that I’m jealous of these couples – I’m not. Ben and I are very happy together. It’s just that  . . . I generally loathe hearing about other people’s matrimonial bliss. Maybe I’m a Love Grinch or something.

It makes me think of Algernon from Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, who complains about being seated next to a married woman at dinner who always flirts with her own husband. “It’s not pleasant,” he says. “Indeed, it is not even decent . . . The amount of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous. It looks so bad. It is simply washing one’s clean linen in public” (Act I).

How true, Algy, how true.

As a consequence of my sudden impulse to delete any and all mushy stuff between me and Ben, I later prohibited Ben against leaving any more comments on here.  It actually hurt his feelings, to tell you the truth, and I feel bad about it. “You don’t want me to engage your writing any more?” he asked. “Are you embarrassed of me?”

Oh maaaaaaan!

I had to explain that I love it when he responds to my writing. It fills me up with warm fuzzies when my hunny-buns leaves insightful comments on my blog.  But I’m afraid of being gross and “washing our clean linen in public.” I told him that maybe he should just respond to me in private, since we live together and all. I said I was afraid that his comments might look like PDA’s to other people – like making out in public. Ewies.

What do you guys think, though? Do you like witnessing other couples’ love, or do you find it gag-inducing, too? Does it make a difference, do you think, if you’re single or if you’re in a relationship?  And does the format influence your reaction to it? (Like, if the couple is self-conscious and funny about it, does that make it OK? Or is it more romantic if the couple is completely unaware that anyone can see them?). If you’re married or in a serious relationship, do you try to avoid public displays of affection, or do you let them fly like clean white linen flapping in the breeze? Why or why not?

Also: am I a complete jerk? Should I not have told Ben to hold off on the comments??

I often wonder above and beyond all things, what is it that draws people to each other?

Sure certain circumstances cause people to cross paths, strike up conversations, find common ground… but what is it that makes a person stay so linked to another person?

Why do we feel love? affection? adoration?
Why do we find some people smarter? humorous? sensitive?

To each their own too… People are perceived differently by different people.

So why is it that we feel the way we do?

And time is not a factor. That variable doesn’t change anything.

I find it so intriguing.

And it’s not just between the opposite sexes. Platonic friendships can have just as strong a bond.

Why is this? I’d love some insight.

Dressed for the afternoon.  A turtleneck, black jeans, boots, and a little somethin’ – somethin’ underneath…just for my baby.  I don’t usually tell Hubby stories about where I’m going…especially, when it comes to Stephen.  But I did today. Why?  Not sure…but I did.  So I hid my lingerie under my street clothes.

Long, black, wool, winter coat  – it was chilly today – covering the clothes I was wearing.  Before I showed up at Stephen’s office, I went to a local grocery store and pulled my jeans and turtleneck off and left my nightie and underbritches on with my naughty boots…wrapped myself up in my coat and off I went.  I got out of the car (after waiting for my chronically, delightfully tardy lover) and walked into the office, dropped my things on the filing cabinet and propped my happy ass up on the desk, with legs crossed and coat still on. 

“Hello, baby,” he said as he kissed me sweetly.  I promptly unbuttoned my coat and slowly slipped it off and dropped it back on the desk.   “I have to get my camera and capture  you right there.”  I sat still and looked into the camera as if I was looking at him – wait…I was and was looking at him like I always do – with great affection.  He took lots of pictures of my tits, my back, my smile…and the two of us kissing.

We moved to the futon…and he made a video of us kissing and touching…”I think it’s important to take video of us kissing…it shows us how sexy it can be.”  I couldn’t agree more.  I loved watching us connecting.

I rolled over onto my tummy and he started at the top of my boots and licked to the back of my knees.  It is amazing how this man can find the one place, at any given moment, that can send me into a tailspin.  He, orally, made love to the backs of my knees.  I could hardly contain myself.  I had to look back to watch him doing it.  He caught my gaze and our eyes locked.  Connection, indeed.

This man, made sure that I knew that he is my boy…he licked and fucked me like a champ.  “You make me feel like no one else has…,” I said.  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said.    He slid my legs together, closely and slid his cock into me from behind…he held my hands and kissed me deeply.  (I secretly started to cry…I didn’t want him to see.) 

As he came, he gripped my shoulders hard and groaned as he blew deep inside of me.  I live for that shit.  I live for his shit.  I turned my head and realized that he saw my tears.  He wiped them away as I said, “I didn’t want you to see that.  It was just a rush of emotion.  I’m sorry.”  “Never worry about that, baby,” Stephen said. 

Dammit.  Every time we fuck, he kicks my ass.  I’m smitten.

A surgeon was speaking to a small group of university students about his work in the Gaza Strip. He was reminding the students that we North American “fat cats” knew nothing about gratitude.  Nothing!

On one occasion, he had stopped at a peasant hovel to see a woman on whom he had performed surgery.  She and her husband were dirt poor.  Their livestock supply consisted of one Angora rabbit and two chickens.  For income the woman combed the hair out of the rabbit, spun the hair into yarn and sold it.  For food she and her husband ate the eggs from the chickens.

The woman insisted that the missionary surgeon stay for lunch.  She insisted on showing her gratitude to him this way.  He accepted the invitation and said he would be back for lunch after he had gone down the road to see another postoperative patient.  An hour and a half later, he was back.  He peeked into the cooking pot to see what he was going to eat.  He saw one rabbit and two chickens.

The woman had given up her entire livestock supply–her income, her food, everything – to say “thank you.”  He concluded his story by reminding the students that, as Americans, we know nothing of gratitude.  He wept unashamedly.

Old Abandoned Truck ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg (2009)

There is another incident concerning gratitude that will never be forgotten.  It is about a woman who poured costly perfume over our Lord’s feet as she wiped them with her hair.  Make no mistake–the perfume was expensive, three hundred denarii, a year’s income for a laborer in Palestine.  Enough to keep a family alive for twelve months.  Also, in that culture, a woman’s hair was among her most precious personal possessions.

Some, who witnessed that event, including Jesus’ closest disciples, objected to such an extravagant display of affection in view of personal need – or even need of others.  Jesus asked a very pointed question, “Who loved more – the one forgiven much or the one forgiven little?”  Obviously, the answer was – and still is – the one who was forgiven much.

In view of what Christ did for us, how can we be stingy in our worship, our praise, our tithes and offerings, our time in his service or in fellowship with his body – the Church.  The vivid portrayal of Christ’s extravagant sufferings for our sins in Mel Gibson’s movie, “The Passion of the Christ,” should move us to be just as extravagant in showing our gratitude and worship to our Heavenly Father and Savior, the Lord Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.  And yet, according to the surveys made by Barna Research, the average Evangelical Christian gives only about 3% or their income to the ministries of their local church.  Americans spend more on dog food annually than on giving to charities or mission work!

Perhaps it is time some of us got more extravagant in our worship.  It is about time we got radical in our display of gratitude for all that God has done for us and ‘sold the farm’ or ‘broke the bank.’  After all, how much do we really love Him?  How thankful are we?

©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2009)

The last couple of weeks have held more excitement and general crappiness than I care for. I aim to live as simple and drama-free life as possible (which is seriously like the complete opposite of how I used to be), and so when shit happens, I feel the stress and tension very keenly and sink a few feet into depression. Not fun. Really, it’s not. Don’t try this at home.

As I work my way past some crap that’s recently transpired, I still have life to attend to; specifically, life with kids aging from 3-12 or the oldies aging from 50-60. They are the pillars of society residing in orphanages and old homes. Life with a 3-year-old who is himself going through his own transitions at the same time that he has to sort out all the shit and not living in the same house anymore. He is adjusting far better than I ever dreamed, but it’s nothing short of foolish to think he’s not struggling. Because he is, and I can see it.

And to say that it makes me ache in the most awful way is an understatement. I am so aware of him, his moods and behaviors, that when I see this thing in him that I can’t identify but which clearly indicates some kind of pain or confusion in him, it sends me into an emotional tailspin. How do I handle it? How can I comfort him? What do I have to do to make it better, and more, to keep the scarring to a minimum?

I am thankful that overall, this guy seems to be o.k. There has been no red flag, no one thing that stands out as a warning that this situation might be effing him up – and believe me, I have both eyes open for it. Still, I can’t help but wonder if even if he grows up with this as his *normal* – will there be any lashing out at his end? Will he be all out of sorts for years because life with me is, and will always be, different than life with his father and mother, even if we work together on making it a loving, healthy life? Will he come to resent and blame me?

Things have happened – things are happening – that fill me with questions as to how to help him be a well-adjusted, mentally and emotionally healthy person. Between regular growing pains and this period of adjustment, a lot can be gained, and a lot can be lost.

I just want to find the right balance.

Rejection is something we have all experienced. Many of us have been rejected by our families, our church, a prospective school, employer, or publisher. As humans, we have a huge capacity and desire for love. The biggest rejection of them all is by a love interest.

I will admit that I used to watch talk shows on a regular basis. My favorites ones were The Maury Povich Show and of course The Jerry Springer Show. I just never had enough of these guests who would willingly go on their shows and sometimes even embarass themselves on national television. Private rejection hurts, but public rejection is the ultimate worst.

I can’t count how many times I watched as a woman in love was ruthlessly rejected by her man. Some were so broken down and desperate for love that they would beg for affection, hoping that he would stay with them. There are women who have purposedly gotten pregnant, thinking that he would step up to his responsibilities and marry them. Ladies, no man is ever going to respect you if you don’t respect yourself first.

As woman, the matters of the heart never come easily. It’s usually an emotional rollercoaster with plenty of heartache. Many of us know how to mask the pain well, while others crack under the immense pressure, struggling to put back the pieces. Although I am considered too young to know the game as you would call it, I’ve had my fair share of love. I have had enough experience to have a good idea of relationship do’s and don’ts. With every year that passes, I know there will be more added to both sides of the list, but in the meantime, here’s what I  have learned.

This post is mainly for the ladies. For the men who may choose to read this, feel free to take notes, or better yet submit a response.

First things first, men do not validate you! YOU VALIDATE YOURSELF! Too many women have been killed as a result of domestic violence. If he isn’t treating you well, move on. Your life is worth more than him.

Second, please don’t waste your time waiting patiently by the phone for his call. Nor, are you to jump the minute it actually rings. The last thing to do is wait on them hand and foot. Once it starts, it’s usually hard to break away from it.

Third, why oh why do we allow men to have so much weight on our appearance and behavior? You are your own individual. You can take his opinion and suggestions under consideration. His words are not law. Remember that!

Fourth, compromise is essential in any relationship. You can cook on this day and he can step and cook for you every now and then. Thankfully, God creates us with two hands and two feet, why not use it?

Fifth, have you ever wondered why some men expect you to dress a certain way with them showing the curves and other assets that are now off the market? Then expect you to dress like a nun when they’re not around. Uhh, ladies the word is balance here.

Sixth, women tend to lose their dignity and self-respect trying to build the ego and confidence of their man. I’m not saying it’s wrong but the job is not entirely yours. They have to carry some of that responsibility too. You can’t do all of the work.

Seventh, trust your instincts and make the decision for yourself. It’s great to have the support of your family and friends, but it isn’t always guaranteed. Before you get into any relationship, make sure he is exactly what you’re looking for. Never settle and don’t even think that you have the mystical power to change who he is. The last thing you want to do is look back five years later at time wasted on a brother who won’t settle down with you or worse.

Eighth, avoid drama. It’s not a good look nor does it do any good for you. You ever notice that even when it’s the man’s fault, the women are always the ones stressing. It’s always the women fighting, cussing. pulling hair. The man just stands aside watching the show. Give the blame to whomever it belongs. Regardless of the situation, you’re a woman first. So act like a lady at all times.

Ninth, we need to draft a woman’s bill of rights. Some men, nowadays, take women for granted and need a big wake-up call. I am not your mother. I will not baby you. If you want to be a grown man, you will be treated like one and nothing less. No I will not run all around town with a metrocard, when you have a perfectly good and working car. No I will not wash your drawers when you still live at home with momma. No I will not do the grocery shopping so that you and your boys can have snacks during the game. When was the last time you took me out?

Tenth, women need to be united. Enough of this backbiting, creeping, man-stealing foolishness. Enough of the weave fights and expensive hair repairs. Cut the car-keying and tire-slashing.

If you can’t handle a relationship and the twists and turns involved, DON’T DATE!

WHY THE SEX STOPS WHEN THE RELATIONSHIP BEGINS

Well I was the one who opened my big mouth and said I had all the answers and oh em gee was I put to the test. Someone asked me, “Hottywood, why is it that people stop having sex once they’ve gotten into a committed, monogamous relationship?”

Not only was I left dumbfounded by this astonishing question that makes absolutely no sense, I also broke the golden rule of answering a question with a question – “What the…???”

I went back and forth in my mind on how I would approach this. I decided to start by giving some statistics: Research indicates that over 55% of partners are not interested in having sex once a relationship has been set in motion.

I’ve spoken with a ton of men and women and have learned that the problem is generally not a lack of sexual desire – it’s that they are not interested in sex with their partner for one reason or another.  Though there is no definite answer to this question, I’m going to give you a few ideas of what the hell the problem is with these idiots who want to give up the most fun part of being in a relationship.

Before I break it down and kick some knowledge to you, let me begin by telling you the school-book definition of two fools who are determined to sleep back to back every night. Yes, there is an actual definition for this bullsh*t.

The technical term is Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder (HSDD); defined by the American Psychological Association as “a deficiency or absence of sexual fantasies and desire for sexual activity, producing marked personal or interpersonal distress, but not the result of alcoholism, a general medical condition or substance use (medication) or abuse (street drugs).”

Sexuality in long term relationships is the result of loving energy flowing between two people. If something is blocking this energy, the sexual energy between them often gets blocked as well. 

There are a few reasons why the well has gone dry, and these reasons are not as complicated as you may think.  Follow along and learn something:

One of the partners in the relationship is one lazy mutha SHUT YOUR MOUTH!  Get off your ass and clean up.  Help with the dishes.  Put away your dirty underwear.  Take out the trash.  Put down those chocolates.  Get off the damn phone.  Pick up the kids once in while. 

You’re making your partner angry by being so lazy.  It’s good to have some skills under the sheets, but if you can’t do a damn thing else but f*ck, then your ass need to be demoted to a booty call. There is a reason why people say, “I can do bad all by myself.” 

No affection.  Believe it or not, people actually appreciate conversation.  It’d be nice to have a little small talk before you start stripping.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the right away get down, but people, especially women would like for someone to get into their mind before you discover their Victoria’s secrets.  Cuddling, or as I like call it – “spooning”, could also earn a few brownie points.  It’s okay to go the extra mile.  No one else will know besides you and the person you’re humping.   

Lack of Communication.  Communication is key!  If you don’t talk to each other, and ask the real questions why the bed is so cold, then you’re going to continue masturbating while you’re partner is not home or taking a long, cold shower.  Get to the bottom of this nonsense and do it quickly.  CHEATING is on both of your minds, and trust me, that’s a whole nother problem you probably aren’t ready to deal with.   

Too needy.  The bottom line is that this is a turn off for anyone.  Most women are turned on to a man when he is in his power and feeling good about himself. Neediness is not a turn-on. Men, too, are often not turned on to a needy woman; a woman who needs him to make love to her for her to feel safe, worthy and lovable. 

Man, woman, gay or straight…get this sh*t together.  Chances are you weren’t a needy prick before things became official.  So now you’re going to add “liar” to your list of reasons why you aren’t getting any?  If you really are needy, then you need to check that quickly or else you’ll never get laid again.   

You are now too comfortable.  Ut oh…you and your partner have become so comfortable with each other that you are no longer “get it” material.  You’re more like siblings. 

Unless you’re into incest, you can pretty much hang it up.  You’d better invest in a blow up doll, a dildo or a paid escort.   

You’ve let yourself go.  Face it, you’re not going to get any if you stop making the same effort it took to bag your partner in the first place.  Men, shave your wolfed out beard.  Ladies, shave your armpits.  Try not to get 40lbs heavier than you were before your relationship became official.  Personal hygiene is a plus and a nice outfit won’t kill you.  Let your partner know that he/she is worth you getting all jiggied up for.   

Boredom.  It isn’t uncommon for sex to become routine.  This is a sure way to lose interest.  You don’t want to know what to expect each time you lay down for the grown-up.  Explore new positions and places to be intimate.  Hell, if you have to, invite someone to watch or join in.  No, I’m not promoting infidelity or orgies, but if you aren’t getting laid right now, are you really going to rule out all the options? 

Poor self esteem – If you don’t feel good about yourself you’ll find it difficult to see yourself as a sexual person. Your partner will be seeing a very private side of you and that takes confidence.  Get a backbone and stop being such a wuss.  Up the prescription meds on your wacked out self esteem issues and stop holding out.  You can’t expect anyone else to feel good about you if you don’t feel good about yourself.  This is worse than being needy.  

Someone can do it better.  I’m going to say these phrases once and let them marinate: ‘For every one person who’s good at something, there’s always someone better.’ AND ‘Someone is always willing to do to/with your partner what are you aren’t willing to do.’  POW!   

Your partner just isn’t into you anymore.  You could be as sweet as grandma’s apple pie, but it could be terribly possible that you just aren’t attractive to your mate any more.  There’s not much you can do to fix that.  Once someone is turned off by you, they won’t miss you until you’re gone.  And IF they miss you and reconnect, chances are you’ll remind them why they stopped being attracted to you in the first place.  It’s harsh, I know, but it’s also reality.  Deal with it.   

To put it mildly, you or your partner are f*cked up and you really need to get your sh*t together.  You may get some ass every now and then if you’re lucky, but it’ll be more like a chore than a privilege.  And that one or two times you get that horse shoe out of your ass will not solidify a lengthy relationship.

Sex is too much of a beautiful thing to be deprived of it.  Meet your lover half way and talk about what your real issues are. 

Meanwhile, here are a few tips for increasing sexual desire:

• Relax. This is the most important thing you can do. Have a bath, use deep-breathing techniques or buy a relaxation tape, and drink PLENTY of alcohol. 
• Check your environment. Be sure there are no distractions to you becoming aroused and that the atmosphere suits your mood.
• Enjoy being sensual before you’re sexual. Take your time and allow your body to focus on the pleasurable sensations of touch.  In other words, masturbate.  This may even turn your partner on…it’d be even better if you’re doing it for each other.  When all else fails, oral sex is a total winner!!!
• Change your view. Get sex into the forefront of your mind by reading or watching something more raunchy than you’d normally choose. PORN PORN PORN!  Hey, it’s a form art. 
• Focus on positives. If there’s something about your partner or yourself you don’t like, don’t think about it. Force yourself to look at and think about the positives, instead.  Basically what I’m saying here is picture yourself with someone else.  This may be crude, but if you aren’t willing to grow some balls and end the relationship all together, then you can get a fantasy going inside that warped out brain of yours. 
• Stimulate your sympathetic nervous system. Exercise, watch a scary movie, go on a roller coaster – anything that will speed up your heart rate. Research suggests that 15 to 30 minutes later your body is more sexually responsive.

Here’s a little humor for all you married women who just aren’t into it right now. Raise your hand if you can relate:

“I give birth to your kids and you complain we don’t have sex? How do you think they were born, osmosis? Who takes care of them, drives them to school, picks them up for after school activities, drives them to sports, takes them to their friends houses, plays chauffeur, cleans, cooks, goes to PTA meetings and then caters to your sorry whiney ass when you get home. To top it off, after you eat, fart and burp, you walk out the door to go out with your buddies.

You want sex? Go  f*ck yourself!  I’m too tired.”

Well kids, 90% of any effort is getting started.  So hop to it! 

Quote of the week:       “In the sex war, thoughtlessness is the weapon of the male and the vindictiveness of the female.”

Follow me on Twitter at http://twitter.com/mrhollywood2009

High fancy words-bonding, attachment et al.
Love and affection do not come rationalizing.You like someone, that’s it.The moment you rationalize it becomes a deliberate action, it is not not spontaneous.The question of adjustment does not enter your mind at all.When such thoughts enter,be sure your initial action of love is not true and it is more of a pity and a craving for recognition from peers and society that you have done a great social service.
Again, it is advisable not to adopt children if you have children of your own for it creates problems for all children, including the adopted one later in life.
Imagine the position of the child being shunted out from home to home.
I have observed , in recent times, even one’s own children consider parents as a mill around their neck once they are grown up and find that they no longer feel that parents are needed and euphemistically declare ‘parents do not suit their lifestyle.’
All under the name of individuality!
One must remember you are what you are to day because of your parents and the anguish of parents that they are no longer needed is very painful,as Shakespeare puts it ‘Ingratitude of children,worse than winter’s bitterest cold’
Relationships have now become a matter of being useful to another.
One must remember, Tree will also produce seeds and seeds will also grow to be a Tree and seeds will again reject trees.
Story:
The first time I considered giving up my baby, Dan, I was lying alone in bed. It was midnight, my children were asleep and my husband, a serviceman, was deployed away from home. I was so taken aback by my thoughts that I sat bolt upright, ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. It was dark, but I could see my silhouette in the mirror and I stared to see if I was looking at a demon instead of Dan’s mother.

I ran to Dan’s room, afraid that he was already gone. But he was there, lying on his Thomas the Tank Engine sheets, sucking his thumb and breathing evenly. I caressed his cheek with two fingers and he exhaled. “I love you, little man,” I whispered and kissed his forehead, swallowing down the knot in my throat. I went back to my room and sobbed into my pillow.

Dan was my adopted son. He’s a little boy from South America who became part of my family several months before that frightening night. He arrived through Miami international airport on a Monday afternoon and I was so anxious that on my six-hour drive to pick him up, I dug my nails into the steering wheel leaving marks I can still see today. I couldn’t contain my excitement.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/nov/21/adoption-anita-tedaldi

Today has been a morning of very .. confusing events, and with a certain degree of weirdness.   Last night I went to bed, tossing and turning over things with Chaos.  While my consciousness  is slowly weeding him out, my subconscious keeps dragging him back into my mind and making it harder.  I don’t know -why- I like him, -why- I want him, -why- I can’t get him out of my mind.   All I know is that I’ve reached the point where I know I need to have ‘the talk’, and it shall be had one way or another.

So I woke up and sent him a message on Faboo asking if I could pop by after work to get some tv shows off of him.  Which I actually do need to do between (a) visiting the parentals this weekend, and (b) visiting a friend next weekend.  I  need entertainment!  And for this I really  need to get some downloads off of him.  So I figured the situation would be win-win, being that I could get the episodes off of him and try and have ‘the talk’ at once.  Unfortunately he’s busy, so that’s not going to happen this week.  He did offer for me to stop by during the week before work, so maybe I’ll go that route.  Unlikely to have ‘the talk’ then though, just snatch the files and run.  Zoom!

Ironically when I opened up my email there was a message from my buddy, and one from Chaos.  So I went onto Faboo to answer S’ message and I forgot that I was logged into chat.  A guy that I went to highschool with started messaging me — we haven’t talked since the summer when we tried to meet up for a date, but nothing ever panned out.  Which was kind of good, because I really didn’t want to go on the date with him, but was willing to do so in order to prove to him that we are incompatible.

After some dialogue he ends up asking me out … again.  It made me laugh .. loudly.   I ended up being non-committal about the whole process since he kept pestering me to go out again.  In fact he said it’d be nice if we could hook up a few times over the holidays.  I told him we’d see what happens.  And at the same time as trying to ease out of a date with this guy I was replying to S’ message, and buying a plane ticket to visit another guy.  The whole situation was just very weird and complicated.

But yay for vacations to visit boys who are non-complicated!  My friend is freshingly honest about his intentions, something I have never EVER experienced with Chaos.  So yeah, fun!  I haven’t committed to anything there, but I plan to just let things go and play it by ear.  The whole idea of curling up on a couch with an Evangelion marathon with a guy does sound kind of nice to me though.

“Unless commitment is made, there are only promises and hopes; but no plans.” – Peter F. Drucker

Image by amanky via Flickr

The following is the game of 20 questions played between me and a significant other.

An excerpt:
He:1> Do u get intimidated if ya c another women havin assets better than u
Me:Intimidated would be the wrong word. Depending on the asset, I would say my reaction would range from acceptance that the other female has good assets, to pure envy.

But intimidation, never, because that depends on self-esteem. And i may be wrong but in my opinion, i would rate my personality and my mind(intelligence) as more important than mere looks.

So if a female had better assets than me, i would wish that i had her asset, but it wouldnt matter in the long run coz i would kick her butt nyways! (GRIN!)

UR question: Why do you respond in one word (“Nothing”), when clearly there is “Something ” on your mind?

He:wat a bulls eye question .. he he … its not that i jus wanna say nothin
but da fact that i think the other person would not understand wat i would
say … actually i think the person would think am little too crazy …. he
he …
2> how do u feel rite now i.e — your current state of mind ?
Me:My currnet satte of mmind? U’l be wondering why the wierd spelling….but thats how it is in my head when i read your question.

My mind is always in a state of upheaval, with a million things trying to get center stage.

So i wouldnt be able to tell you exactly wats going on in my head, coz by the time the email reaches you ,..it would be something else anyways.

The one word however thats always in my mind….Universal response if you will…”WHATEVA!”

2) Wat is the one thing you would want to change in me?

He:actually speakin knew u would say that … background processes runnin
in ur head would go to millions n still attention would be given to the
current situation ….

actually speakin booo , u mite think am jus sayin it .. but da fact is
that i accept da way u are .. would not change any quality of urs .. little
too cute , little too stubborn , little too … ah .. out of words … i
would want all da qualities u have to remain …. he he …

3>If you learned you had only 120 days to live, how & with whom would you
spend those days?

Me:Very good answer…

Here’s the answer to the 120 days…

If i had 120 days to live, it would take me precisely 2 days to get over the shock…. after which, I would sit my mother down in front of me and tell her everything, from day1 to day end… what ever it is i have done in my life, have wanted to do, amy aims, my aspirations everything.

Then i would meet the people who i consider important, spend one day with each of them doing the same.

I would also forgive and embrace, those who ive kept away.

then, i would go off to the holy land, for a spiritual journey for spiritual cleansing, for thanking god for the life i lived.

and then finally, i would bring everyone whom i love together with me under one roof, so that i can look at everyone i love for one last time and die happily.

Come to think of it, Dat is the best way to die, knowing you ave enough time to right what you did wrong, and atleast ask for forgiveness for what is beyond repair.

(Continued from Ch-ch-ch-changes . . . )

Growing up, I was never big into hugs.  As a teenager, I grew to rather dislike them.  And by the time I was a young woman I positively dreaded them.  I just didn’t like touching people.  Human bodies are all so warm and moist and mushy, especially women’s bodies.  To me, human bodies feel like overgrown, sentient, animate mushrooms.  Skin is doughy and disconcertingly balmy, and the fabric that we humans use to cover it gives me the shivers when it touches me, all warmed by another person’s body heat.  All stiff and pulled tight over the round bulks of mushy flesh: yugh.  No thanks.  Every time girl friends would make their rounds with hugs as they said goodbye after a night out would I would stiffen.  Oh crap: hug time.  We were suddenly going from being abstract generators of words to living bodies of flesh that were going to touch each other: YIKES.  I would back away from the group slowly, looking around casually to avoid notice, in the hopes that they’d overlook me.  I wouldn’t have cared if I had never gotten a hug in my life.  In fact, I probably would have been happy to arrange that.  Oh bliss: to be left alone!  I had only ever had one boyfriend before, and we had broken up partly because I couldn’t stand his touch.

I don’t know how I got this way: my parents were always affectionate and hugged me and my siblings quite regularly throughout my lifetime; no one ever did anything to make it weird for me.  I was never abused or anything.  When I was a teenager my mom would cry and ask what she’d done wrong to make us that way – for my sister was the same as me.  We never touched one another even though we were best friends and even shared a bed.  We never, ever hugged.  If we both wore sleeveless shirts and had to sit in the back seat of a car together we would put a sweater between us so our skin wouldn’t touch.  At least we understood each other.  But I don’t know how we got that way.

So with all this inside of me, I knew I faced a dilemma when I started dating Ben.  On our first few dates, we had hardly touched – we just exchanged quick goodbye hugs at my front door when he dropped me off, and we were wearing winter jackets and gloves when we did it.  That hardly counts.  Then, when he asked me to be his girlfriend and I accepted, he soon wanted to know what I was comfortable with physically.  Surprisingly I hadn’t really thought that far yet.  Up until then I had only been concerned with showing him that I liked all the right songs and had read all the right books.

“Um . . . I’m okay with holding hands in public and stuff,” I answered lamely.  I realized even then that this was rather pathetic.  This was my boyfriend.  Holding hands probably wasn’t going to cut it.  But what was I supposed to say?  “I’m not crazy about hugs and I think kissing is gross”?  I don’t think that would have gone over too well.

Fortunately he was bolder and more impatient than I expected and ended up plowing through all my boundaries rather quickly.  In the first few days he took the liberty of holding my hand often, and touching my knee tenderly whenever his gear shifter bumped into my leg when we were driving in his car.  He kissed me after only two weeks of being together – an appallingly short time span for me – and it rather upset me.  Soon he was coaxing me to lean on his chest when we watched a movie together in his room and putting his hand on my waist when we walked together.  Every new advance always made me uncomfortable, but thankfully I found it a little exciting as well.  And I liked his gentle words and his sweet little love notes and his quirky ideas about science and politics so much that I let him do all these things to me.

It didn’t come naturally to me, but with time, I slowly warmed up to these things – kissing, snuggling, hugging.  Eventually I even learned to like them.  He smelled exceptionally nice, and with time his skin and clothes and arms and lips didn’t feel gross anymore.  In fact they felt nice.  His body was warm and comfy.  With time I found it felt less mutant-mushroom-y, and more electric blanket-y, or comforting like bread fresh from the oven.  Cozy, soothing, homey.  I felt protected and cared for when he put his hand on my shoulder.  I felt loved when he played with my hair.

It took conscious effort on my part to show affection back to him: I had to decide to put my hand on his back when he leaned forward beside me during a movie.  It took me a rather long time.  But I got better and better with time.

I was still not super-affectionate by the time we got married, but I was more or less like a normal human being.   I liked to put my cheek against his and smell his fabulous leather-and-fabric-softener smell.  But ever since we’ve been married I’ve developed something new:  I actually crave his affection.  I long for his embrace when I’m not with him.  I’ll watch him while he talks sometimes and stop paying attention to his words, becoming distracted by how nice his lips look for kissing.  I prefer to watch movies right next to him so I can feel his body right next to mine the whole time.  After four years of marriage I hunger for it more than ever.  I’ve come to the point where I ask him half a dozen times a day to hug me, and to let me sit on is lap while we look at something together on the computer.  I need his touch.  I need those kisses and hugs and caresses.  They’ve become like food – I need them every so often in order to survive.

I know that in some ways this sounds like a bad thing – like I’ve gone backwards, from being independent to becoming deeply dependent.  I was fine without affection before, but now I’m addicted to it.  When I say it like that, it seems wrong in every way.  But I think this new weakness is actually a strength.

For one, it has made me more sympathetic to the rest of humanity who needs affection.  I understand a little better now why people do the crazy things they do for love.  And now that I’ve come to appreciate affection, I can more easily offer it to others who need it – like my future children.

And for another thing, I think it has made me more fully human.  As social animals, it is pat of our very humanity to want, share and offer physical affection.  Before, when I hated touching, I was something unnatural, unhuman.  Now, I’m a more complete human being, more fully alive.

Even though it makes me needier, I believe that I am better off needing affection than not knowing what I’m missing.  I needed to become dependent on someone.  I needed to become more fully human.  So change turned out to be a good thing.

As a side note, I still hate hugs from girls – those big mushy breasts all squishing up against my own (. . . yugh!) – but at least I’ve made some progress.  I don’t sneak out of the room when the girls start giving each other hugs — I can endure them without flinching.  I once hugged a friend when she told me she was pregnant.  If I try really hard, I can imagine how someone might find a girl-hug enjoyable.  I’ve even voluntarily hugged a couple of babies in the last year or so, something I never imagined I would do, which would probably make my mother weep for joy if she knew.  I’m getting there.

So I admit – marriage did change me.  But it wasn’t an immediate change.  It was a slow, imperceptible change that eventually made me a wider, deeper, and healthier human being.  I’m glad it happened to me.

Sybilia

Such is the study in your eyes –
That I am caught between a dream and a desire.
Have I waited too long to embrace you,
even though every moment I ever wanted was to be with you.
Yet as my heart trembles in want of your whisper
you have made it a better place
- To be.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

My nephew is quite the chatterbox and I really love hanging out with him.  He’s almost three and his vocabulary has grown exponentially in the last few months.  He can understand questions and respond appropriately.  One of my favorite conversations involves asking what nicknames we have for him.  It goes like this:

• Auntie CWG: Hey, Matt.  What does Nanny call you?
• Matt:  (with affected French accent) Bebe!
• Auntie CWG:  And what does Pop-Pop call you?
• Matt:  Weezer!
• Auntie CWG:  What do I call you?
• Matt:  Sugar Booger…

And it goes on like this for several more minutes, with my nephew answering my inane questions.  I love hearing him tell me all the nicknames we have for him; it’s all snuggly puppies and sparkly unicorns for me.  (No, I’m not having any maternal stirrings, so don’t be alarmed.)

But doesn’t everyone have a nickname– a name that only your significant other calls you?  Maybe your grandmother or parent had a nickname for you?  Well, I want to hear about it!  Of course, first I’ll bore you with my nicknames, though.

All my life, I’ve been ’Nat’, ‘Natty’, ‘Gnat’, or other variations.  My uncle calls me ‘Naturally’ and my dad used to call my sister and me ‘Kapusta Pek’ (kapusta pekinska is Polish for Chinese cabbage: We are neither Polish nor Chinese.) or he’d call us “Mon Petit Chou” (French for My Little Cabbage [We aren't French either]).  Both names lead me to believe that my father has some type of preoccupation with leafy green veggies.  Dad also called us “Sug-Sug” (pronounced “shug-shug”), short for Sugar.  And he called my sister Weezer or The Wheeze, though I was the one with bronchial asthma. 

My mom has recently taken to calling me “Rat-A-Lee”.  Nice, right?  It has a certain charm. 

Husban-dito has, over the last 17 years, called me Froggy, Frogzy, Frogger, or Frog, suggesting some type of amphibian obsession.   When I’m in trouble, he calls me SWEETLE (pronounced Sweet-UHL) and I typically run and hide when I hear him use this name.

Do you have a nickname that you just can’t shake?  What does your significant other call you?  Did your parents or grandparents have special names for you?  Inquiring minds want to know (I want to know!).

Hubby was telling me about something that happened to him when he got into bed last night.  He said that I immediately cuddled up on him and started rubbing his head, his back, his arms…snuggled up against him, wrapped my arms around him, then abruptly woke up a little surprised to find him there.

Have you ever remembered a dream – a day or so later – that you really couldn’t put your finger on, at the time, but it made complete sense, once someone brought it to your attention?  That’s what happened to me.

Last night, I had a dream that I was in bed and Stephen got in with me and I was rubbing on his head and his body.  I remembered how wonderful I felt having him next to me and how excited I was to have him in my bed.  I remembered wrapping my arm around his belly and loving on him – feeling so warm and wonderful…pulling myself closer to him, melting into his body and how I wanted this to be the way it felt every night.

Then I woke up.

Damn. It was just a dream.

He’s not that open with exactly how he feels about me (what man is, right?) but it’s the subtle little things that he says that reassures me that he cares.

“We have a good thing here and I don’t want to screw it up.” – said at dinner after shopping for camping stuff.

“Don’t worry baby.  We’re going to have fun for a loooong time.” – said on the phone when I had expressed my concern about him taking off on me, now that I really had started to enjoy his company.

“You know what I like about you?  You get me.” – said many times.

“I don’t want you to go away.” – said when I suggested that I step out of the way so he could focus on work and family.

“We are still going to Miami in February, right?” – said after I mentioned that I needed to trim down before I go down to see my cousin and put on a bikini, this Spring.  I didn’t want to assume that I was still invited – looking 3 1/2 months out.  But I am!

“If you don’t fuck me today, I will never speak to you again, ” I said with only a SMALL ring of truth.

“Meet me at my office.”

After quick bite of food, I cuddled up on the bean bag.  He climbed in with me and wrapped himself around me keeping me warm.  I turned my head to face him and he kissed me with the softest, sexiest kiss we had shared in a long time.  I kissed his face – his neck – his ears – listening to his breath in my ear.  His hands slip down between my legs, “you are so warm down here.”  See what he does to me?

He unzips my pants and slides his hand down inside my panties, reaching my warm, wet pussy.  He is staring me down while he plays with my pussy lips – gently flicking them between his fingers.  This shit is goooood.  He takes my pants off and immediately buries his gorgeous face in my crotch, kissing my thighs, licking my belly…working his way to my already soaked pussy.  His mouth envelops my entire snatch.  The moistness of his mouth on the moistness of my pussy makes my head roll back and my hips to rise to meet his mouth.  “That’s my girl….”  I want his body on mine, NOW!

I unzip his pants and snap them down, underbritches and all…allowing his cock to spring free and greet me.  I open my mouth and take him in.  He holds my face, under my chin, while I look up at him. “I want to cum in your mouth, while you look up at me.”  I say nothing.  I continue to lick him while we stare at each other.  He prefers if I suck him slowly and deliberately instead of fast and furious, so I gulp down his beautiful cock and slide it back out slowly.  I look up at him and he has this look of delight on his face.  Damn this man turns me on.

The rest of our clothes, magically, fly off and he is kneeling down in front of me ready for his cock to inspect the inside of my body.  He slides his beautiful cock into me, slowly at first, then firmly, causing me to let out a light yelp.  Damn, this feels good.  We both have a perfect view of how his cock is swallowed by my large pussy lips – in and out.  Yum. 

“I want to fuck your ass.”  (Some of you know that I’m not all that big on anal sex…it hasn’t been that pleasurable for me.  But he promised to be patient with me and not rush me along.) He had a cigar tube in his bag.  We decided to start with that while I got comfortable with the feeling.  I sit on the office chair with  my feet on his shoulders.  He licks my pussy with wild abandon, getting me relaxed and moist.  He slipped the tip of the cigar tube in my ass, very gently while he had two fingers in my cunt.  So far so good.  I was completely relaxed.  He gently slid the tube in and out while he licked my pussy.  I was very turned on, but I didn’t want to cum as so not to tense up my anal muscles.  “Baby, I don’t want to cum…”  “Too bad,” he said as he is slurping away at my snatch.  “I’m taking it!”  Wave after wave of orgasm rolled over my body, my feet digging into his shoulders as I lurched up.  Fuck.  I didn’t want to cum.  But I did and did and did.

What an amazing sensation!  Here’s to more investigation “back there”!

A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness. An intense emotional attachment.

Kids apparently love touch [even bad touch, re: a few posts ago].  They want to high five me, seemingly always after I have seen them with their fingers in their nose. They want to climb on me, poke me, rub their hands across my blond arm hair.  Those little snot factories just want to share their nose gold with me, via a system of trickle down snotonomics.  However, influenza has been making the rounds at schools, so my desire to be groped by children is at an all time low.

I taught kindergarten last week.  I made it through the entire lesson not being touched.  I kept fun times going while not so much as a graze of human contact.  Then, at the end, the teacher asked ‘touch?’  I can’t begin to explain the fear that went through me.  What did she want them to do?  All she said was ‘touch’?  What exactly does she mean by that?   A horror of being mobbed by tiny fingers and rubs must have made me shudder, wide eyed as a deer. They lined up and I stood awkwardly waiting.  Then, I realized, they would each get to high five me on the way back to their class.  Cool, I’m used to this routine.  Some of them lightly pat; some of them give the five all their tiny muscles can muster.  Granted, I’ve seen them picking their noses, hands in their mouths, scratching themselves, but I can sacrifice one hand to the god of child happiness, right?

This is completely normal: Kids like to high five.  I’ll just wash it off later.  I’m scot free on this class!  No weird touch! Then, the second from the last, stopped at my hand.  Slowly, she lifted her face up to my hand and lightly kissed it, lingering longer than ever necessary.  While I was taken aback by the mildly violative kiss, I was more horrified that she just kissed a hand that now housed all the germs of the class.  Right on my sweaty palm.  Poor child.  She bounded off with glee, pleased as her teachers smiled.

Regret

As I reflect on paths not taken -
I stand remiss of the words I have left unspoken.
It is not that my heart ached more, or that my heart ached less
but that my heart aches now as I never imagined
how much my heart truly ached
- For you.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009