In the tradition of moving more than once a year, I've moved:
My URL:
http://www.myspace.com/happy_lucky_suki
My Blog URL:
http://blog.myspace.com/happy_lucky_suki
HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!!
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Growing Up Crazy.
Remember when you were a child or teenager, and you thought that all adults were out of their minds? I mean, there's the smoochie aunt or the drunk uncle or the mallrat mom and the golf-mad dad. The science fiction fan cousin who walked around with a propellor beanie? How about that wacky vegan who has to bring her own food everywhere, and make everyone feel bad about eating turkey on Thanksgiving?
Did you think they were all nuts? They were.
I am pretty sure now, that when one grows up, part of it is becoming completely crazy. I have refused to do it so far--I'm 34 now--but I don't think I'll be able to hold off for much longer. For a little while I thought I was going to be able to choose what kind of crazy I was--shall I be a voracious and compulsive shopper like my mom or a workaholic like my dad? Shall I be one of those crazy creative types--who is completely unstable and disagreeable, except for the fact that they write or paint sometimes.
The other day I was reading a great book called The Midnight Disease, which is about hypergraphia, and what it means to writer's block. (I've had writer's block for quite some time. I was never very prolific in the first place--not with what I consider "real writing" anyway. Real writing is novels, screenplays, short stories, articles, etc., anything that one would show an editor, anything one could sell.) Hypergraphia is a "mental illness" where one compulsively writes. Dostoevsky had it, and so did a number of other famous and prolific writers from around the world. And poets. It can be caused by epilepsy in the temporal lobe, or by manic-depression. The book was written by a woman who was in a mental institution, and surrounded by writers. She decided that one needs to be a little crazy to write. Duh.
I really don't think I have any choice in the kind of crazy I shall be. I shall be one of those cranky artists, I believe. The stereotypes are true--oversexed and drunk and lazy and agitated. Yeah, it sounds interesting and all, but it's not that fun. I really don't want my nuttiness to hurt other people, like mom's and dad's hurt me. But I don't think I really have much choice in the matter.
What kind of crazy will you be when you grow up? Comments welcome.
Did you think they were all nuts? They were.
I am pretty sure now, that when one grows up, part of it is becoming completely crazy. I have refused to do it so far--I'm 34 now--but I don't think I'll be able to hold off for much longer. For a little while I thought I was going to be able to choose what kind of crazy I was--shall I be a voracious and compulsive shopper like my mom or a workaholic like my dad? Shall I be one of those crazy creative types--who is completely unstable and disagreeable, except for the fact that they write or paint sometimes.
The other day I was reading a great book called The Midnight Disease, which is about hypergraphia, and what it means to writer's block. (I've had writer's block for quite some time. I was never very prolific in the first place--not with what I consider "real writing" anyway. Real writing is novels, screenplays, short stories, articles, etc., anything that one would show an editor, anything one could sell.) Hypergraphia is a "mental illness" where one compulsively writes. Dostoevsky had it, and so did a number of other famous and prolific writers from around the world. And poets. It can be caused by epilepsy in the temporal lobe, or by manic-depression. The book was written by a woman who was in a mental institution, and surrounded by writers. She decided that one needs to be a little crazy to write. Duh.
I really don't think I have any choice in the kind of crazy I shall be. I shall be one of those cranky artists, I believe. The stereotypes are true--oversexed and drunk and lazy and agitated. Yeah, it sounds interesting and all, but it's not that fun. I really don't want my nuttiness to hurt other people, like mom's and dad's hurt me. But I don't think I really have much choice in the matter.
What kind of crazy will you be when you grow up? Comments welcome.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Reproducibility
My dad, an engineer, always got on my case about reproducibility and consistency in my art and writing when I was a kid. He would basically tell me that if I couldn't make work of the same quality and style over and over again that I was not a real artist and writer, my stuff would never be salable--I would never be paid for my work.
That is probably not a fair standard for a child or teen, who is exploring different media, learning how it all works, and making mistakes.
Having been in editorial, I have to say it is true in the adult world of writing and illustration. You basically have to be able to churn out the same good stuff in the same style over and over again--give them what they bought or thought they bought when they saw your samples.
I remember one day at Marvel we got in some pages from an artist, and the editor flipped out. He was pink with rage--which was very difficult as he was a dark Italian man--and on the phone immediately. "I paid you to draw like you!" he yelled, "and not practice being Steve Ditko ON MY TIME!" I looked at the art--it did look like Ditko had done it, and not like the rest of the book.
The same is true for editorial, of course. Readers come back to see the same thing all the time, and at the same intervals. I probably lost many readers when I was unable to write a daily blog anymore. And I probably lost even more when I switched from consistently writing about sex and love to other things. But what can I do? My work has always been a reflection of my feelings and my exploration of the world. I wonder how Charles Burns or Matt Groenig thinks about his work that makes him able to consistently churn out the same stuff?
That is probably not a fair standard for a child or teen, who is exploring different media, learning how it all works, and making mistakes.
Having been in editorial, I have to say it is true in the adult world of writing and illustration. You basically have to be able to churn out the same good stuff in the same style over and over again--give them what they bought or thought they bought when they saw your samples.
I remember one day at Marvel we got in some pages from an artist, and the editor flipped out. He was pink with rage--which was very difficult as he was a dark Italian man--and on the phone immediately. "I paid you to draw like you!" he yelled, "and not practice being Steve Ditko ON MY TIME!" I looked at the art--it did look like Ditko had done it, and not like the rest of the book.
The same is true for editorial, of course. Readers come back to see the same thing all the time, and at the same intervals. I probably lost many readers when I was unable to write a daily blog anymore. And I probably lost even more when I switched from consistently writing about sex and love to other things. But what can I do? My work has always been a reflection of my feelings and my exploration of the world. I wonder how Charles Burns or Matt Groenig thinks about his work that makes him able to consistently churn out the same stuff?
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Classmates.com is not for people hold grudges. I just look at those ads and think, well, if you didn't want to hang out with me then, why would you want to hang out with me now? Because you're a salesman?
I only dated one guy from my high school. Actually, "dated" is too strong a word. We had sex in a field a few times. That's it. All it gave me was a strong affinity for certain kinds of moss.
I was the weird girl at my school. I was unapologetic about having lots of partners from other schools and grown-up partners, when I turned sexy at 16 years old. It was an abrupt change. I went from being a frumpy, attempting-to-be-preppy girl as a sophomore, to a very sexy, if suicidal, girl as a junior. I was unapologetic about my suicidal tendencies too--but they didn't lock me in an institution. My parents had to send me to therapy though, or social services was going to take me away from them.
I should be a grown-up and forgive all the kids who shunned me. They were probably just terrified. Right.
I only dated one guy from my high school. Actually, "dated" is too strong a word. We had sex in a field a few times. That's it. All it gave me was a strong affinity for certain kinds of moss.
I was the weird girl at my school. I was unapologetic about having lots of partners from other schools and grown-up partners, when I turned sexy at 16 years old. It was an abrupt change. I went from being a frumpy, attempting-to-be-preppy girl as a sophomore, to a very sexy, if suicidal, girl as a junior. I was unapologetic about my suicidal tendencies too--but they didn't lock me in an institution. My parents had to send me to therapy though, or social services was going to take me away from them.
I should be a grown-up and forgive all the kids who shunned me. They were probably just terrified. Right.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Update.
I got back with my old boyfriend. My last one. The editor Drongo, who can look a little like a woodland fawn aspect of Satan. I did it because he promised me he would be a better man, a true partner to me. I also did it because I miserable without him. I was in no shape to be with everyone else. I cried daily, often on the ferry ride home from work.
I am sick and tired of "love" or the finding of it, anyway.
Onto the next adventure.
I am sick and tired of "love" or the finding of it, anyway.
Onto the next adventure.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
The apple doesn't fall far enough from the...
My mom came to visit me. Yes, I do have a mother. She was, in her day, far more sexy and adventurous than me: she looked like a combination of Kim Novak in "Bell, Book and Candle" and that chic from the Avengers (which one? the more sexy, powerful looking one of course) and took a tour of the iron curtain countries in the early 1960's. Well, anyways, everyone loves her, because she is so sweet and giving and eccentric, but of course, she is very hard to endure--I mean live with, for those of us close to her.
I won't go into the bamboo incident or the thistle crisis here, but I have often wished I was her neighbor, rather than her daughter, so I could appreciate her like everyone else does.
Anyway, she collects ugly things in her home: skulls of animals, cheap and ugly busts of witches, long-armed monkey tie racks. In fact, itwas the purchase of the long-armed brass monkey tie rack with plastic emerald eyes that I first questioned. My mom hung it up at eye level on a door molding about 22 years ago--and I asked her why she bought it--not why she hung it there, for every square inch of her home was covered with other ugly stuff-- and she turned to me and said in a drunken roar, "I bought it because it was ugly."
I never understood what she was going after until today, when I almost bought an ugly clock with a red rooster on the face. I almost bought it because it was ugly--and the most interesting thing in the store.
I won't go into the bamboo incident or the thistle crisis here, but I have often wished I was her neighbor, rather than her daughter, so I could appreciate her like everyone else does.
Anyway, she collects ugly things in her home: skulls of animals, cheap and ugly busts of witches, long-armed monkey tie racks. In fact, itwas the purchase of the long-armed brass monkey tie rack with plastic emerald eyes that I first questioned. My mom hung it up at eye level on a door molding about 22 years ago--and I asked her why she bought it--not why she hung it there, for every square inch of her home was covered with other ugly stuff-- and she turned to me and said in a drunken roar, "I bought it because it was ugly."
I never understood what she was going after until today, when I almost bought an ugly clock with a red rooster on the face. I almost bought it because it was ugly--and the most interesting thing in the store.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The New Misogyny
So, I'm reading the Caleb Carr book, Killing Time, and while it is interesting--about conspiracy theory from the conspirator's point-of-view--it has one of the worst-written women in history, outside of a comic book.
Literally, the woman acts like a guy with tits and ass. Now, she is supposed to be emotionally disturbed from being used as a sextoy as a prepubescent, but even those chics act in certain ways. They've been documented extensively.
This book is a little dry emotionally, anyway, but still...
The new misogyny shows women in all these action roles: hitting, shooting, and fucking like men. Gee, isn't this great? Women can do anything men can do!
It's not great. Women can do anything men can do, physically, but there is never a ponderance of the mystery that is woman--the moods, the tenderness, the tolerance, the fragility in the strength. It seems like the hip thing to do is forget about it or explain it all away psychologically, and that is a denial of woman most chilling.
Literally, the woman acts like a guy with tits and ass. Now, she is supposed to be emotionally disturbed from being used as a sextoy as a prepubescent, but even those chics act in certain ways. They've been documented extensively.
This book is a little dry emotionally, anyway, but still...
The new misogyny shows women in all these action roles: hitting, shooting, and fucking like men. Gee, isn't this great? Women can do anything men can do!
It's not great. Women can do anything men can do, physically, but there is never a ponderance of the mystery that is woman--the moods, the tenderness, the tolerance, the fragility in the strength. It seems like the hip thing to do is forget about it or explain it all away psychologically, and that is a denial of woman most chilling.
Why She Chose the Guy on the Bar Stool Next to You
"What men fail to understand is why one woman will
choose one man over another--emotionally--where for
them, one is basically as good as another. And the
pain of that rejection is what manifests as much of
the evil in this world."
My friend Cheri said that to me one day. It is really
simple, and I think I'm even paraphrasing something I
heard in a Woody Allen movie once:
"We're all neurotic. Love is when one person's
neurosis fits another's like puzzle pieces."
Or, to put it another way: all women are crazy; each
one needs to find a man who will not only interfere
with, but encourage her insanity.
(My god, I should be so lucky!)
And that's why she passed you up. pal.
choose one man over another--emotionally--where for
them, one is basically as good as another. And the
pain of that rejection is what manifests as much of
the evil in this world."
My friend Cheri said that to me one day. It is really
simple, and I think I'm even paraphrasing something I
heard in a Woody Allen movie once:
"We're all neurotic. Love is when one person's
neurosis fits another's like puzzle pieces."
Or, to put it another way: all women are crazy; each
one needs to find a man who will not only interfere
with, but encourage her insanity.
(My god, I should be so lucky!)
And that's why she passed you up. pal.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
W4M: What I learned about newyork.craigslist.org
I have been putting scads and scads of ads on cl, here in New York, all of them different. It's been a way to run away from a painful break up, I guess. My friend HellKitten accused me of trying to fuck the pain out of my system, but that's not true. I have rigid schedule and limited free time, due to my son's schedule. Out of all of this, I have gotten a lot of email chat, a two-date sex partner (with promise of a third), one new writing partner, a singles buddy, and couple of introductions that I should have just ended much more quickly. Isn't that enough, you say? Well, I still haven't met the love of my life yet, and I am shooting for the moon here.
Let me say that first of all, because of my limited schedule, and because telling the same intro stories over and over again bores the FUCK out of me (oh, yeah, and I am bored of me. I have been hanging out with me for 34 years now, and you know, that's one of the reasons I like company so much), I only meet one person per ad. I take down an ad after I get 20 or 30 responses, b/c cl is really time-sensitive. It's just a great long list, and people just don't go through the whole thing. Ever. And how many responses do I need? Only one good one.
What different ads got me.
ALL my ads got me a whole bunch of guys who sent pics with just a "hey how are you send me your pic" I think a lot of guys just blanket respond to cl ads. I immediately deleted all of those. No, I did not look at their pics. I look at it this way: if I took the time to write a real ad, why would I want to look at a respondent who didn't take the time to read it?
ALL my ads got me a whole lot of "almost" guys. As in, I wrote looking for a guy in is late 30's early 40's, and I got a lot of interesting guys in the wrong age bracket, or not so interesting queries like, "i'm in my 50's, is that ok?" No, it's not okay. OK, well, my sex partner is in his 50's, but he is probably one of the smartest people I'll meet in this lifetime, and hopefully a good friend I can keep later on. That guy really responded to my ad.
I wrote my first ad the day I broke up with my boyfriend. I had been crying for hours, and I was sick of hearing myself wail into my pillow! I needed to make myself laugh, to interact with other people. This is what it looked like:
Ad No. 1
4th Place in the InterGalactic Genitalia Manipulation Trials
Sorry, no pic. My phosphorescent skin is not radioactive, but does wreck camera equipment. Very popular on the rock I am from: both of my eyes have navy blue corneas with lavendar irises--6 breasts, with the smallest on top, and largest on bottom. I am short for my race at a mere six (of your feet) tall. Two arms, two legs, four dorsal tentacles.
Came in fourth place in the intergalactic genitalia manipulation trials--like your famous words "Cuddabinnacontendah"
Seeking a bright middle-aged male of the human species, possibly with a media or engineering background to help me understand how your sexual rituals and organs work in this heavy atmosphere, and Paris Hilton's rise to power. If it has anything to do with fellatio, I should do very well on this planet.
What I got: A lot of comic one-upmanship (I really didn't like that they couldn't play the straight man for one second, and let me be funny for one second. Deleted. A lot of Star Trek and Douglas Adams references, also deleted, because they never had a character like that in either series, which I also was not referencing. A lot of people who didn't realize that "A Streetcar Named Desire" was rerun almost every week in the '70s and it would've taken time to get that transmission out in space. (Are you thinking I'm a hard-ass? Intelligence is what I look for in a man. Instead of looking for the guy with the biggest muscles, or the biggest trailer in the trailer park, I look for smart guys. Which is why like personals. I can weed the average out so quickly this way.)
What I decided to meet: a kinky patent attorney, who is working on a screenplay, because he could play the straight man.
Result: No chemistry.
Ad No. 2
36DD Seeks Media-Savvy, Smart=Alecky Squeeze
A friend asked me the other day, "Are you looking for someone who you can have hot, kinky sex with, or someone who will be your partner and take care of you and your son?"
Why is one exclusive of the other? Why can't mom and dad lock the door and fek like porn stars?
I'd like to say at this point that I'm not so wackjob looking to get married right away, or one of those near-whores looking for some financial arrangement. But that dichotomy gets in the way of any possibility of a long-term relationship, and it doesn't come up in casual conversation.
I would also like to be with someone who has a personal code of ethics (no, you don't have to have written it out).
Are you still with me?
Ok, now only the cool people are left.
Me: I’m 35 y.o. divorced mom (gee, wonder what happened there?) w/ a 3 y.o., 5'4", 36DD, bleached blond/corporate bob hair, green eyes, pale. I’m a size 12, which means I am half way between real skinny and a big house. If you like roller blading, wind surfing, and sports, I’m not the gal for you. I’m pretty mellow about most things, but fairly serious about my feng shui. Sure, you can stay out all night with the guys, but don’t you dare move my candles!
You: Energetic, confident, intelligent, media-savvy,know what you want, with a nice sized media collection. Taller than 5’ 7”, and no bigger than Jack Black.
What we do together: See bands! I like seeing rockabilly and punk bands. I’m a big fan of Simon and the Bar Sinisters, Barbecue Bob and the Spare Ribs, and Ween. Watch movies! I love psychotronics, weird movies, B movies, and action flicks. Dissect media and news events on tv. Oh, yeah, after we get to know each other a bit, and fuck like porn stars.
What I got: Well, last year I got a really big love out of a very similar ad, so I decided to send it out again. I got a lot of people really hounding me over and over again for pics. (Big surprise. I wonder how many men go to personals looking for jerk off material.) But some interesting men in education and the music industry answered this ad. It attracts powerful men. One hate letter, only, blogged previously.
What I decided to meet: A musician, a special ed teacher, and an exec.
Result: The musician and I just couldn't get our scheds together, so I let it go.
The special ed guy was real cute, but lived too far away (an almost man), so I ended up cancelling our second date. I've been out twice with the exec--we have hot sex, and he's very smart, but I feel like he's patronizing me. I'll deal with that later.
Ad No. 3
February 1, 1962
Seek man. Write to me.
I know astrology. So sue me! Meeting someone who was born that day would have been a good match for me.
What I got: A whole lot of chat with a whole lot of almost men. And men who were just puzzled by the date.
Who I met: None. I almost met an almost man who works near me, but we had conflicting scheds.
Ad No. 4
I put an ad in looking for someone to write stories with me, under "strictly platonic". I got a couple of pleasant responses, and then forgot it was up. Several days later, a nice guy wrote to me. We're working on the stories now. He writes faster than I do. We'll see how this goes.
Ad No. 5
Are there any intelligent men on Staten Island?Where would I find one? I just moved here, so... someone fill me in.
I think a lot, and I like guys that think. A lot.
What I got: A whole lot of smart, otherwise almost men in Manh. telling me I had to commute to them, a lot of guys hoping they were smart, a journalist for the SI paper, and a cop.
Who I met: No one yet. I'm liking the cop and the journalist, though.
A continuing story...
Recommendations, I think are obvious:
If you just want to chat, just put an ad, saying, "hey, write to me!" anywhere on w4m on cl.
If you want to meet some people who will really turn you on, and have some good dates, spend some time writing a good, no-nonsense ad, be specific; and don't bother with any almost respondents--nip all the bs and nicey-nice in the bud. It will only slow you down.
Don't ask directly for any high quality you are looking for: like, definitely do not ask for smart (or muscular or moneyed or creative) because you'll get way, way too many almost men, or people who just think, or would like to think they have that quality you're looking for. You would be far better off just writing about your specific interests or issues that you know about: if you want someone who works out a lot, you'd catch much more attention from guys who actually do it if you say, "It kills me to see this girl doing curls with barbells she can barely hold." or if you want someone who thinks, say, "I think ethically, and I'm looking for someone who does the same." All the fake will be put off by this, and all the real deals will be more interested.
Let me say that first of all, because of my limited schedule, and because telling the same intro stories over and over again bores the FUCK out of me (oh, yeah, and I am bored of me. I have been hanging out with me for 34 years now, and you know, that's one of the reasons I like company so much), I only meet one person per ad. I take down an ad after I get 20 or 30 responses, b/c cl is really time-sensitive. It's just a great long list, and people just don't go through the whole thing. Ever. And how many responses do I need? Only one good one.
What different ads got me.
ALL my ads got me a whole bunch of guys who sent pics with just a "hey how are you send me your pic" I think a lot of guys just blanket respond to cl ads. I immediately deleted all of those. No, I did not look at their pics. I look at it this way: if I took the time to write a real ad, why would I want to look at a respondent who didn't take the time to read it?
ALL my ads got me a whole lot of "almost" guys. As in, I wrote looking for a guy in is late 30's early 40's, and I got a lot of interesting guys in the wrong age bracket, or not so interesting queries like, "i'm in my 50's, is that ok?" No, it's not okay. OK, well, my sex partner is in his 50's, but he is probably one of the smartest people I'll meet in this lifetime, and hopefully a good friend I can keep later on. That guy really responded to my ad.
I wrote my first ad the day I broke up with my boyfriend. I had been crying for hours, and I was sick of hearing myself wail into my pillow! I needed to make myself laugh, to interact with other people. This is what it looked like:
Ad No. 1
4th Place in the InterGalactic Genitalia Manipulation Trials
Sorry, no pic. My phosphorescent skin is not radioactive, but does wreck camera equipment. Very popular on the rock I am from: both of my eyes have navy blue corneas with lavendar irises--6 breasts, with the smallest on top, and largest on bottom. I am short for my race at a mere six (of your feet) tall. Two arms, two legs, four dorsal tentacles.
Came in fourth place in the intergalactic genitalia manipulation trials--like your famous words "Cuddabinnacontendah"
Seeking a bright middle-aged male of the human species, possibly with a media or engineering background to help me understand how your sexual rituals and organs work in this heavy atmosphere, and Paris Hilton's rise to power. If it has anything to do with fellatio, I should do very well on this planet.
What I got: A lot of comic one-upmanship (I really didn't like that they couldn't play the straight man for one second, and let me be funny for one second. Deleted. A lot of Star Trek and Douglas Adams references, also deleted, because they never had a character like that in either series, which I also was not referencing. A lot of people who didn't realize that "A Streetcar Named Desire" was rerun almost every week in the '70s and it would've taken time to get that transmission out in space. (Are you thinking I'm a hard-ass? Intelligence is what I look for in a man. Instead of looking for the guy with the biggest muscles, or the biggest trailer in the trailer park, I look for smart guys. Which is why like personals. I can weed the average out so quickly this way.)
What I decided to meet: a kinky patent attorney, who is working on a screenplay, because he could play the straight man.
Result: No chemistry.
Ad No. 2
36DD Seeks Media-Savvy, Smart=Alecky Squeeze
A friend asked me the other day, "Are you looking for someone who you can have hot, kinky sex with, or someone who will be your partner and take care of you and your son?"
Why is one exclusive of the other? Why can't mom and dad lock the door and fek like porn stars?
I'd like to say at this point that I'm not so wackjob looking to get married right away, or one of those near-whores looking for some financial arrangement. But that dichotomy gets in the way of any possibility of a long-term relationship, and it doesn't come up in casual conversation.
I would also like to be with someone who has a personal code of ethics (no, you don't have to have written it out).
Are you still with me?
Ok, now only the cool people are left.
Me: I’m 35 y.o. divorced mom (gee, wonder what happened there?) w/ a 3 y.o., 5'4", 36DD, bleached blond/corporate bob hair, green eyes, pale. I’m a size 12, which means I am half way between real skinny and a big house. If you like roller blading, wind surfing, and sports, I’m not the gal for you. I’m pretty mellow about most things, but fairly serious about my feng shui. Sure, you can stay out all night with the guys, but don’t you dare move my candles!
You: Energetic, confident, intelligent, media-savvy,know what you want, with a nice sized media collection. Taller than 5’ 7”, and no bigger than Jack Black.
What we do together: See bands! I like seeing rockabilly and punk bands. I’m a big fan of Simon and the Bar Sinisters, Barbecue Bob and the Spare Ribs, and Ween. Watch movies! I love psychotronics, weird movies, B movies, and action flicks. Dissect media and news events on tv. Oh, yeah, after we get to know each other a bit, and fuck like porn stars.
What I got: Well, last year I got a really big love out of a very similar ad, so I decided to send it out again. I got a lot of people really hounding me over and over again for pics. (Big surprise. I wonder how many men go to personals looking for jerk off material.) But some interesting men in education and the music industry answered this ad. It attracts powerful men. One hate letter, only, blogged previously.
What I decided to meet: A musician, a special ed teacher, and an exec.
Result: The musician and I just couldn't get our scheds together, so I let it go.
The special ed guy was real cute, but lived too far away (an almost man), so I ended up cancelling our second date. I've been out twice with the exec--we have hot sex, and he's very smart, but I feel like he's patronizing me. I'll deal with that later.
Ad No. 3
February 1, 1962
Seek man. Write to me.
I know astrology. So sue me! Meeting someone who was born that day would have been a good match for me.
What I got: A whole lot of chat with a whole lot of almost men. And men who were just puzzled by the date.
Who I met: None. I almost met an almost man who works near me, but we had conflicting scheds.
Ad No. 4
I put an ad in looking for someone to write stories with me, under "strictly platonic". I got a couple of pleasant responses, and then forgot it was up. Several days later, a nice guy wrote to me. We're working on the stories now. He writes faster than I do. We'll see how this goes.
Ad No. 5
Are there any intelligent men on Staten Island?Where would I find one? I just moved here, so... someone fill me in.
I think a lot, and I like guys that think. A lot.
What I got: A whole lot of smart, otherwise almost men in Manh. telling me I had to commute to them, a lot of guys hoping they were smart, a journalist for the SI paper, and a cop.
Who I met: No one yet. I'm liking the cop and the journalist, though.
A continuing story...
Recommendations, I think are obvious:
If you just want to chat, just put an ad, saying, "hey, write to me!" anywhere on w4m on cl.
If you want to meet some people who will really turn you on, and have some good dates, spend some time writing a good, no-nonsense ad, be specific; and don't bother with any almost respondents--nip all the bs and nicey-nice in the bud. It will only slow you down.
Don't ask directly for any high quality you are looking for: like, definitely do not ask for smart (or muscular or moneyed or creative) because you'll get way, way too many almost men, or people who just think, or would like to think they have that quality you're looking for. You would be far better off just writing about your specific interests or issues that you know about: if you want someone who works out a lot, you'd catch much more attention from guys who actually do it if you say, "It kills me to see this girl doing curls with barbells she can barely hold." or if you want someone who thinks, say, "I think ethically, and I'm looking for someone who does the same." All the fake will be put off by this, and all the real deals will be more interested.
Overheard: More Common Than You Think
Woman1: How did your date go?
Woman2: It was great! He's great in bed.
W1: You porked him already? On the first date?
W2: Yeah. So?
W1: So you shouldn't have!
W2: Why not? What would be different if I had waited?
W1: You don't know?
W2: No, I've never not done it on the first date.
W1: Me either. I just sometimes wish I hadn't done it later. That's all.
Woman2: It was great! He's great in bed.
W1: You porked him already? On the first date?
W2: Yeah. So?
W1: So you shouldn't have!
W2: Why not? What would be different if I had waited?
W1: You don't know?
W2: No, I've never not done it on the first date.
W1: Me either. I just sometimes wish I hadn't done it later. That's all.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
The Filth
So, I told my friend I was reading the Filth, and he said, "Oh, I was working on that book! I'm convinced that Grant Morrison was tripping the entire time he was writing it, and even the artist couldn't figure out what it was about!"
Me, with my wacky history of dream interpretation and oh, yeah, acid tripping, decided to take that as a challenge.
On the surface of this comic, if you can find one, is a plot line about Ned Slade, a retired member of "The Hand" --a supersecret paramilitary group that wanks the world off when it needs it, and wipes the world's ass when it needs that too--who must come back to work to deal with supreme "anti-persons" who call themselves Tex Porneau and Spartacus Hughes. But Ned seems confused about who he is--one subplot is that there is a second Ned--and almost completely ineffectual. His ass is constantly saved by a hot chic with a green afro, and an angry Soviet chimpanzee.
A lot of characters and details come and go, and do not seem important to the story as a whole, but the important fragments of this dream are:
The Ultra-Humanitarian sequence: one of the superhero characters flies off the 2 dimensional page, and finds his sexuality
The Dimension of Vile Shit and Porn that ages you to the point of death sequence.
LaPen that rules all
Slade's love of the cat
Slade's job to wipe the world's ass, and simply maintain a very low "Status Q" status quo for the world, and not make it a better place.
Okay, from this evidence--and my own experience in comics-- I maintain that "The Filth" is about the comic book business, and Morrison's urge to grow artistically out of it. The reason I believe this is that the comics biz has an enforced low status quo, writers are frequently forced to clean up story lines generated by editorial staff meetings, and that shooting this low and becoming a hack (at one point plots come automatically from both LaPen and a character that channels plots) puts our main character at risk of growing old before his time (in the vile shit dimension). The only things that make him feel human and above this shit are in the framework outside the Ned Slade/Hand reality: the love of the cat, and the capability to create something to improve mankind (which Slade never actually does).
I felt Filthy after reading it. And during reading it. Did its job. I need a shower.
Me, with my wacky history of dream interpretation and oh, yeah, acid tripping, decided to take that as a challenge.
On the surface of this comic, if you can find one, is a plot line about Ned Slade, a retired member of "The Hand" --a supersecret paramilitary group that wanks the world off when it needs it, and wipes the world's ass when it needs that too--who must come back to work to deal with supreme "anti-persons" who call themselves Tex Porneau and Spartacus Hughes. But Ned seems confused about who he is--one subplot is that there is a second Ned--and almost completely ineffectual. His ass is constantly saved by a hot chic with a green afro, and an angry Soviet chimpanzee.
A lot of characters and details come and go, and do not seem important to the story as a whole, but the important fragments of this dream are:
The Ultra-Humanitarian sequence: one of the superhero characters flies off the 2 dimensional page, and finds his sexuality
The Dimension of Vile Shit and Porn that ages you to the point of death sequence.
LaPen that rules all
Slade's love of the cat
Slade's job to wipe the world's ass, and simply maintain a very low "Status Q" status quo for the world, and not make it a better place.
Okay, from this evidence--and my own experience in comics-- I maintain that "The Filth" is about the comic book business, and Morrison's urge to grow artistically out of it. The reason I believe this is that the comics biz has an enforced low status quo, writers are frequently forced to clean up story lines generated by editorial staff meetings, and that shooting this low and becoming a hack (at one point plots come automatically from both LaPen and a character that channels plots) puts our main character at risk of growing old before his time (in the vile shit dimension). The only things that make him feel human and above this shit are in the framework outside the Ned Slade/Hand reality: the love of the cat, and the capability to create something to improve mankind (which Slade never actually does).
I felt Filthy after reading it. And during reading it. Did its job. I need a shower.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Harmless
When I was about 12 years old, after I had gotten over my crush on obviously gay, muscular calendar boys, and my painful puppy love of Alan Alda (I had written a heartfelt fan letter, and had gotten only his autograph STAMPED on postcard bearing his face in return), I had my first crush on a slim, fortyish man with small, gold-rimmed glasses, and a receding hair line. He was the financial analyst that the local news interviewed at about 6:40 am. My heart was throbbing.
My mom, seeing me trying to climb into the to the kitchen table’s tv screen says, “Him? He looks harmless.”
Not even knowing what a hard-on was at the time, I did not know what she was talking about.
Now, as experienced as I am, I still do not know what she was talking about. I mean, if harmless means that these people are not going to try to date rape you, you’d think they’d be snapped up in seconds, and never single. Ever. But we all know the truth.
There is a horrifying myth that nice guys whose foreheads are large, and not sloping, who did not have to go to college to evolve opposable thumbs, are “good” and don’t like sex. And if they do, they’re somehow pervier than the primitive screwheads who are out and about playing grab-ass. (Compare in your mind Paul Rubens aka Pee Wee Herman at a porn movie theater vs. that asshole who just spent 241G’s at Scores.)
I want to fill all the chics in the world out there on something: AAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL guys like sex. Every single one. Wants. To. Stick. His. Cock. Into. Something. Hot. And. Wet. I am serious. Young, old, fat, skinny, toned, geeky, narcissistic, rich, poor. The president? Yes. The homeless guy? Yes.
The really smart financial analyst in the suit and glasses? Yes. And I really have to take a moment to sing the praises of being in bed with a smart and nice guy. First of all, all guys think about sex much of the time. Smart guys have much more going on up there than dumb ones, and so I actually think that they are able to think about sex, and manage everything else they have to get by during the day at the same time, where as dumber ones can only think about one thing at a time. Got that? Okay. So smart guys think about sex more, really, can come up with more creative ideas of how they want to fuck, more fantasies, etc., etc. Which doesn’t have to be sick and fetishy. Just interesting.
The other thing about these guys being nice is that they think about pleasing you in bed. Fan…tas…tic… Smart guys can really eat pussy. And finger fuck you to high heaven. And pretty much do whatever you want in bed. They have, as I like to think, the engineering.
The only thing these guys slip-up on is a tendency to over-think the situation—that situation of actually getting a girl into bed for all the fun stuff. I think this is where the “harmless” myth comes from. They can feel the urge to drag a girl home by the hair as well as any man, but they worry about saying something that sounds sleazy or stupid or boorish. I say, just say it. Go for it. I mean, the poor girl is probably waiting for you. Or just start touching her and see what she does. Really. Just blow the harmless myth to smithereens.
My mom, seeing me trying to climb into the to the kitchen table’s tv screen says, “Him? He looks harmless.”
Not even knowing what a hard-on was at the time, I did not know what she was talking about.
Now, as experienced as I am, I still do not know what she was talking about. I mean, if harmless means that these people are not going to try to date rape you, you’d think they’d be snapped up in seconds, and never single. Ever. But we all know the truth.
There is a horrifying myth that nice guys whose foreheads are large, and not sloping, who did not have to go to college to evolve opposable thumbs, are “good” and don’t like sex. And if they do, they’re somehow pervier than the primitive screwheads who are out and about playing grab-ass. (Compare in your mind Paul Rubens aka Pee Wee Herman at a porn movie theater vs. that asshole who just spent 241G’s at Scores.)
I want to fill all the chics in the world out there on something: AAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL guys like sex. Every single one. Wants. To. Stick. His. Cock. Into. Something. Hot. And. Wet. I am serious. Young, old, fat, skinny, toned, geeky, narcissistic, rich, poor. The president? Yes. The homeless guy? Yes.
The really smart financial analyst in the suit and glasses? Yes. And I really have to take a moment to sing the praises of being in bed with a smart and nice guy. First of all, all guys think about sex much of the time. Smart guys have much more going on up there than dumb ones, and so I actually think that they are able to think about sex, and manage everything else they have to get by during the day at the same time, where as dumber ones can only think about one thing at a time. Got that? Okay. So smart guys think about sex more, really, can come up with more creative ideas of how they want to fuck, more fantasies, etc., etc. Which doesn’t have to be sick and fetishy. Just interesting.
The other thing about these guys being nice is that they think about pleasing you in bed. Fan…tas…tic… Smart guys can really eat pussy. And finger fuck you to high heaven. And pretty much do whatever you want in bed. They have, as I like to think, the engineering.
The only thing these guys slip-up on is a tendency to over-think the situation—that situation of actually getting a girl into bed for all the fun stuff. I think this is where the “harmless” myth comes from. They can feel the urge to drag a girl home by the hair as well as any man, but they worry about saying something that sounds sleazy or stupid or boorish. I say, just say it. Go for it. I mean, the poor girl is probably waiting for you. Or just start touching her and see what she does. Really. Just blow the harmless myth to smithereens.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
The Politics of Jerking Off
I am going to say right here and now that I have too much respect for my dates, and too much self-respect to make this journal a chronicle of my romantic adventures. But, when I learn something new about the human condition, I will share it in a general way, like I always do.
One thing I learned about, recently, is about men who bring up “jerking off” in polite conversation, i.e., “Today I was horny, so I jerked off; then I did the dishes and watched the World Series. What did you do today?”
It’s my opinion that I really didn’t need to hear about the first part. I really did not need to picture this guy masturbating. Not that he was a bad looking guy, but…I think that masturbation means different things to men and women. A guy likes to hear that women are touching themselves. It says to them, “these chics need me! They need my cock! I’ll be right there!”
But when a woman pictures a man masturbating, alone in his room, it’s a different story altogether. Even if she accepts that everyone masturbates, it still has some negative connotations:
First of all, she’s probably sure he was thinking of some model, bimbo, movie star, or high school sweetheart, so she may feel a little rejected. Even if she barely knows the guy, and that’s not the case, a veneer of dignity is removed: nothing spells unwanted like a guy jerking off in his room, surrounded by half-empty beer cans and cigarette ash. Remember, chics want guys that other chics want. That’s why there is such a thing as a wing-girl at a party.
There are good times to talk about masturbation, like while you are having mutual-masturbation fun with your gal; or she’s touching you, and you want to show her something different; you had a special fantasy about your girl you just had to; or an intense story from your youth. Otherwise, your fat wiener had better have something to do with your story, and it should be exciting, like, “So I was masturbating in the bedroom, and someone let the German Shepherd in, and he pushed the door open—I think it thought my dick was a hotdog…”
One thing I learned about, recently, is about men who bring up “jerking off” in polite conversation, i.e., “Today I was horny, so I jerked off; then I did the dishes and watched the World Series. What did you do today?”
It’s my opinion that I really didn’t need to hear about the first part. I really did not need to picture this guy masturbating. Not that he was a bad looking guy, but…I think that masturbation means different things to men and women. A guy likes to hear that women are touching themselves. It says to them, “these chics need me! They need my cock! I’ll be right there!”
But when a woman pictures a man masturbating, alone in his room, it’s a different story altogether. Even if she accepts that everyone masturbates, it still has some negative connotations:
First of all, she’s probably sure he was thinking of some model, bimbo, movie star, or high school sweetheart, so she may feel a little rejected. Even if she barely knows the guy, and that’s not the case, a veneer of dignity is removed: nothing spells unwanted like a guy jerking off in his room, surrounded by half-empty beer cans and cigarette ash. Remember, chics want guys that other chics want. That’s why there is such a thing as a wing-girl at a party.
There are good times to talk about masturbation, like while you are having mutual-masturbation fun with your gal; or she’s touching you, and you want to show her something different; you had a special fantasy about your girl you just had to; or an intense story from your youth. Otherwise, your fat wiener had better have something to do with your story, and it should be exciting, like, “So I was masturbating in the bedroom, and someone let the German Shepherd in, and he pushed the door open—I think it thought my dick was a hotdog…”
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
But what?
So, I broke up with the man a week ago, and I'm already starting to go out.
You might say, "If she loved that guy so much, how can she already be going out? Shouldn't there be a grieving period, or something? Shouldn't she be trying to heal, or learn who she is again, or whatever? Isn't this a little cold-blooded?"
I have been through this before. This breaking-up-with-the-one-I-love-because-we-are-on-different-paths thing, and I am going to tell you something: I don't believe in healing or closure, or any of that Oprah-esque bullshit. It took me ten years to "get over" M__, and really I'll never be over it. Nobody "gets over" anything or anyone. We just ingest it, and let the pain become part of us, we find ways not to feel it anymore.
I will never stop loving Drongo. The wound from this will never "go away." But I am not going to sit here and cry for the rest of my life. Just feel the pain, and keep going.Every damn day. One day, I'll be so used to it, I won't even notice...
You might say, "If she loved that guy so much, how can she already be going out? Shouldn't there be a grieving period, or something? Shouldn't she be trying to heal, or learn who she is again, or whatever? Isn't this a little cold-blooded?"
I have been through this before. This breaking-up-with-the-one-I-love-because-we-are-on-different-paths thing, and I am going to tell you something: I don't believe in healing or closure, or any of that Oprah-esque bullshit. It took me ten years to "get over" M__, and really I'll never be over it. Nobody "gets over" anything or anyone. We just ingest it, and let the pain become part of us, we find ways not to feel it anymore.
I will never stop loving Drongo. The wound from this will never "go away." But I am not going to sit here and cry for the rest of my life. Just feel the pain, and keep going.Every damn day. One day, I'll be so used to it, I won't even notice...
Sunday, October 9, 2005
Personals Adventure Pt. 1
God, are you a disgusting slut. No wonder you're a single mom!
_________________________________
The only "path" you follow is being a slut flaunting her big tits!
You got your choice of guys every fucking day, you walking blowjob.
How about a blog about you SHUTTING THE FUCK UP!
_________________________________
You deserve it, you little slut!
_________________________________
These comments are from a nasty respondent to my “36DD seeks media-savvy, smart-alecky squeeze” ad. I tried to explain to him that in real life, this is what men would notice about me, that actually they are larger, but I didn’t want to freak anyone out, and I’m actually a normal girl, just endowed. I sent him a link to my blog, and went home.
I don’t use my computer at home on the weekdays, because I have a kid who likes to play with—aka break—it. So I came back to work the next day, and found his pic, and these “anonymous” comments on my blog. I guess he thought I had rejected his photo/info or whatever, and wanted revenge.
Of course his fear of rejection brought on his rejection. I only go out with nice guys. That's one reason I like personals: you can learn a lot about the interior of the person first...
I feel very bad for this person. He’s painfully alone. He thinks he’s not good enough—and the reason I say this is his “choice of guys” comment. I hope that he learns to feel better about himself, and finds the right person. He is good for someone out there…
_________________________________
The only "path" you follow is being a slut flaunting her big tits!
You got your choice of guys every fucking day, you walking blowjob.
How about a blog about you SHUTTING THE FUCK UP!
_________________________________
You deserve it, you little slut!
_________________________________
These comments are from a nasty respondent to my “36DD seeks media-savvy, smart-alecky squeeze” ad. I tried to explain to him that in real life, this is what men would notice about me, that actually they are larger, but I didn’t want to freak anyone out, and I’m actually a normal girl, just endowed. I sent him a link to my blog, and went home.
I don’t use my computer at home on the weekdays, because I have a kid who likes to play with—aka break—it. So I came back to work the next day, and found his pic, and these “anonymous” comments on my blog. I guess he thought I had rejected his photo/info or whatever, and wanted revenge.
Of course his fear of rejection brought on his rejection. I only go out with nice guys. That's one reason I like personals: you can learn a lot about the interior of the person first...
I feel very bad for this person. He’s painfully alone. He thinks he’s not good enough—and the reason I say this is his “choice of guys” comment. I hope that he learns to feel better about himself, and finds the right person. He is good for someone out there…
Monday, October 3, 2005
Back on the Market
Split up with my guy on Saturday.
Basically, we were on the same or similar path for a while, and then we grew apart.
Ah, well. That is the way it goes.
On to the next adventure!
Basically, we were on the same or similar path for a while, and then we grew apart.
Ah, well. That is the way it goes.
On to the next adventure!
Saturday, October 1, 2005
Office Love Pt. 3
M_ was about 6' tall, but his curly, bleached corporate mohawk/mullet put him about 6'3. I recognized him from around the office. I said I had tried to say hi when I saw him pass, but he said he probably hadn't noticed because he was running to the library to do cocaine.
The big "test" the first day was a "Bates Motel" towel in the bathroom. Having dried my hands on it, I came out of the bathroom to say that I had just made a Bates Motel shower curtain for my mom over the summer. At that moment I was designated a "keeper." And I was at their place every weekend.
We watched video from their huge collection. They tried to convince me to love Star Trek. It was basically a tv party all weekend long, peppered with sex games between me and my boyfriend. But M__ and I started talking and laughing. Our eyes locked more and more often. And while we both liked his roomie, we both quietly agreed he was a bit of a fool. Then he got tickets to see Dennis Leary on the same night as Star Trek 6 would open. He asked me to go, he said, so that there was no way anyone could convince to go see that dumb movie on opening night. I said I'd go with him, as friends.
But the magnetic pull was too strong. One night, our eyes locked once again. M__ sent his roomie out for cat food. Once his roomie was out the door, I stood next to his chair, and put my hands on his shoulders. He reached up, and touched my face. I leaned down and we kissed.
Two minutes later we were making decisions. I would have to tell his roomie it was over. He would have to get his roomie drunk. I would have to end it with my other boyfriends at work too. (I didn't mention them? They were nice guys, but not important to this story).
When the roomie came back, I took him to his room, and we sat cross-legged on his bed, facing each other. I said something like, "It's hard for me to tell you this, but me and M_ decided we want to be together."
And he said, "Oh, that's okay. We can share you. I'm open to that."
I was so shocked, I think my mind shut down for a second. I said, "No, I mean, we really like each other, and we really want to be together--just us."
M_ walked me to the train. I called my friend, Charles, and told him I was upset. Charles came over, and I cried on his shoulder, and asked himif I did the right thing. Charles took me by the shoulders, and said, "I am Spock of this situation, and you did the right thing."
M_ turned out to be the love of my life, and we were together for 2.5 years. It took me ten years and two ex-husbands to get over the guy. How did I know I was over him? Just a gut feeling that my travels were over, and like Odysseus I had made it home.
The big "test" the first day was a "Bates Motel" towel in the bathroom. Having dried my hands on it, I came out of the bathroom to say that I had just made a Bates Motel shower curtain for my mom over the summer. At that moment I was designated a "keeper." And I was at their place every weekend.
We watched video from their huge collection. They tried to convince me to love Star Trek. It was basically a tv party all weekend long, peppered with sex games between me and my boyfriend. But M__ and I started talking and laughing. Our eyes locked more and more often. And while we both liked his roomie, we both quietly agreed he was a bit of a fool. Then he got tickets to see Dennis Leary on the same night as Star Trek 6 would open. He asked me to go, he said, so that there was no way anyone could convince to go see that dumb movie on opening night. I said I'd go with him, as friends.
But the magnetic pull was too strong. One night, our eyes locked once again. M__ sent his roomie out for cat food. Once his roomie was out the door, I stood next to his chair, and put my hands on his shoulders. He reached up, and touched my face. I leaned down and we kissed.
Two minutes later we were making decisions. I would have to tell his roomie it was over. He would have to get his roomie drunk. I would have to end it with my other boyfriends at work too. (I didn't mention them? They were nice guys, but not important to this story).
When the roomie came back, I took him to his room, and we sat cross-legged on his bed, facing each other. I said something like, "It's hard for me to tell you this, but me and M_ decided we want to be together."
And he said, "Oh, that's okay. We can share you. I'm open to that."
I was so shocked, I think my mind shut down for a second. I said, "No, I mean, we really like each other, and we really want to be together--just us."
M_ walked me to the train. I called my friend, Charles, and told him I was upset. Charles came over, and I cried on his shoulder, and asked himif I did the right thing. Charles took me by the shoulders, and said, "I am Spock of this situation, and you did the right thing."
M_ turned out to be the love of my life, and we were together for 2.5 years. It took me ten years and two ex-husbands to get over the guy. How did I know I was over him? Just a gut feeling that my travels were over, and like Odysseus I had made it home.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Office Love Pt. 2
Charles did not get an internship at that company, and we thought the best way to get revenge would be for me to sleep my way to the top, and take control of the company, and hire him as a writer. Right. But we did go shopping, and buy a pair of ankle high stiletto boots for me, and I did wear a miniskirt to the office every day.
It did not take long before some assistant editors and paste up guys started asking me to go to lunch with them. Sometimes they simply stood in the doorway and stare at me—to which my boss said, “What? What? Why are you standing there?”
And they said, “Is she busy for lunch?” thus sealing my fate at that office forever.
“How do I know? I don’t keep her social calendar!” He later told me that moment kept him from hiring me as his new assistant editor—I was too much trouble.
The next thing I knew, I was on an outing with them to see Robot Monster in 3-D. Still horny and feeling “friendly”, I asked if anyone wanted to go out for coffee with me afterward, and only one guy said yes. He kind of looked like Howard Stern; very long curly hair, little round glasses, naïve blue eyes, thirties. It turned out he worked for the same company, on a different floor. I took him home with me that night, but it was so unmemorable I did not recognize his voice when he called the next day.
He courted me anyway. And having nothing better to do, I went over his house. As we walked over there from the train station, he pointed out the three-story place with dirty pink siding against a gray sky. When I saw that one window had a zebra print sheet for a shade, I thought, maybe this guy is cooler than he seems. But no, that was not his window, but his roommate’s.
Believe me, I was anxious to meet his roommate.
And I was not disappointed…
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Office Love Pt. 1
Seeing as my last post was about sexual harassment, I thought I'd balance out with a good office love story.
It was September, 1991. I don’t know what the big news story was back then, because I was in college, and even though I was in the middle of New York City, in a seriously politically active school, I was busy wrapped up in my own little world of classes, avoiding my stalker ex-boyfriend, and trying to get laid. I didn’t have a tv, either. My main source of entertainment was my tape player, and a mix tape of punk bands that was growing more corrupted by the day.
Now, the main thing about me getting laid, being all cute and hot and 20 years old with long red hair and stuff, is that I am kind of reserved. I never did walk up to a guy and say, “Wanna get laid?” like some kind of hooker, or dance like I was fucking the air, or do anything more flirtatious than flip my hair. The second thing about me, which I learned through painful experiences in high school, is that only a certain kind of guy really digs me. For me, the big telltale signs if a guy is my type, outside of an intelligent looking face, have always been casual clothing with black boots and a four-month-old haircut.
I was a junior, and I had the feeling it was internship time. At the end of my sophomore year, I had planned to start a radio show on WBAI, and some people were interested in working on the thing. But before I could get started on that, my friend Charles called me, and said, “Hey, I was thinking of doing an internship at this comic book company. D’ya want to come?” I guess he was feeling a little daunted. So I said sure. I dressed up in a little business bitch uniform—red long sleeve shirt and a houndstooth miniskirt with black heels—and went to support my friend.
The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of a desk waiting for someone to find me a boss to interview with. I was looking at the “bullpen” a wide-open space full of drawing tables, and tall, good looking men with intelligent faces and four-month-old haircuts and rock’n’roll t-shirts.
This job got me right by the panties. I don’t even remember the interview, just that they asked me some questions, and asked me what days I could work. At that moment, the radio show was forgotten.
More later.
It was September, 1991. I don’t know what the big news story was back then, because I was in college, and even though I was in the middle of New York City, in a seriously politically active school, I was busy wrapped up in my own little world of classes, avoiding my stalker ex-boyfriend, and trying to get laid. I didn’t have a tv, either. My main source of entertainment was my tape player, and a mix tape of punk bands that was growing more corrupted by the day.
Now, the main thing about me getting laid, being all cute and hot and 20 years old with long red hair and stuff, is that I am kind of reserved. I never did walk up to a guy and say, “Wanna get laid?” like some kind of hooker, or dance like I was fucking the air, or do anything more flirtatious than flip my hair. The second thing about me, which I learned through painful experiences in high school, is that only a certain kind of guy really digs me. For me, the big telltale signs if a guy is my type, outside of an intelligent looking face, have always been casual clothing with black boots and a four-month-old haircut.
I was a junior, and I had the feeling it was internship time. At the end of my sophomore year, I had planned to start a radio show on WBAI, and some people were interested in working on the thing. But before I could get started on that, my friend Charles called me, and said, “Hey, I was thinking of doing an internship at this comic book company. D’ya want to come?” I guess he was feeling a little daunted. So I said sure. I dressed up in a little business bitch uniform—red long sleeve shirt and a houndstooth miniskirt with black heels—and went to support my friend.
The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of a desk waiting for someone to find me a boss to interview with. I was looking at the “bullpen” a wide-open space full of drawing tables, and tall, good looking men with intelligent faces and four-month-old haircuts and rock’n’roll t-shirts.
This job got me right by the panties. I don’t even remember the interview, just that they asked me some questions, and asked me what days I could work. At that moment, the radio show was forgotten.
More later.
Friday, September 16, 2005
And so, I’ve been looking for work. My boyfriend, hearing that I would be applying at some certain corporation, worries that I would be sexually harassed. “I’m used to it,” I replied, “I’m a pretty girl.”
Here are the “best” occasions of sexual harassment that I have personally experienced.
1. During the interview, the interviewer openly stared at my chest and licked his lips. Repeatedly.
2. When I asked my boss why he hired me, he said, “Are you kidding? I couldn’t let a piece of ass like you walk out my door.”
3. On my first day of an internship at another certain corporation, a short, mustachioed admin assistant invited me into one of the offices, and asked me, “What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done?” I said, “What do you mean, like skydiving?” He said, “The wildest thing I’ve ever done is have sex with a beautiful blond intern on a desk.”
4. At my first job when I was seventeen, a twenty-five year old co-worker gave me a hug in the basement (which I welcomed), but then he rubbed his hips on me (just half a second), and came. How embarrassing.
5. While I was standing next to a co-worker I thought was my friend, in front of the entire accounting department, he said, “You know what she does all weekend? Have sex! For hours!”
6. One of my bosses at some certain company made me listen to Howard Stern every day, and when it was over, he would tell me that I should break up with my boyfriend and be with him instead. Daily. And when I would say no, daily, he would give me a hard time about something—until I was in tears. This stopped after a few months.
Okay, so there are only six here, but you know, I didn’t want to repeat any work locations or any repeat people. That would be cheating. Ha.
Here are the “best” occasions of sexual harassment that I have personally experienced.
1. During the interview, the interviewer openly stared at my chest and licked his lips. Repeatedly.
2. When I asked my boss why he hired me, he said, “Are you kidding? I couldn’t let a piece of ass like you walk out my door.”
3. On my first day of an internship at another certain corporation, a short, mustachioed admin assistant invited me into one of the offices, and asked me, “What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done?” I said, “What do you mean, like skydiving?” He said, “The wildest thing I’ve ever done is have sex with a beautiful blond intern on a desk.”
4. At my first job when I was seventeen, a twenty-five year old co-worker gave me a hug in the basement (which I welcomed), but then he rubbed his hips on me (just half a second), and came. How embarrassing.
5. While I was standing next to a co-worker I thought was my friend, in front of the entire accounting department, he said, “You know what she does all weekend? Have sex! For hours!”
6. One of my bosses at some certain company made me listen to Howard Stern every day, and when it was over, he would tell me that I should break up with my boyfriend and be with him instead. Daily. And when I would say no, daily, he would give me a hard time about something—until I was in tears. This stopped after a few months.
Okay, so there are only six here, but you know, I didn’t want to repeat any work locations or any repeat people. That would be cheating. Ha.
Thursday, September 1, 2005
I LOST MY JOB.
And I am a very cool, laid-back, but hard-working admin assistant. I can do just about anything in MS Office Suite, answer the phone, and make travel plans.
Send me a comment, and I'll send you a resume.
Send me a comment, and I'll send you a resume.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Love's Big Bait n' Switch
I have to say I have a pretty good game of seduction going. I enjoy it. I know the rules enough to play by them or ignore them. And it’s one of those things I don’t lose even after “I got him” or whatever, because it’s just plain fun. Like a hobby.
Okay, enough on that. What I want to say, is even though I am great with romance and seduction, I am really stupid about people. Here is something that everyone seems to know and be okay with except for me:
After they think they have you, the energy is gone; the romance is gone; and the weirdness begins. Men complain that the blow jobs are over. Women complain that the guys don’t take them out anymore. People start acting like their parents, or like the other person in the relationship should be their parent—way too Oedipal for me, thanks.
I don’t understand why this bait n’ switch is considered okay by anyone. I mean, what happens? We just get in so deep that we decide that we’re stuck with this person? Do both people switch to “got you, can forget you” mode simultaneously? Is it part of the hard-wiring that has something to do with propagating our species? Or are people just lazy?
Okay, enough on that. What I want to say, is even though I am great with romance and seduction, I am really stupid about people. Here is something that everyone seems to know and be okay with except for me:
After they think they have you, the energy is gone; the romance is gone; and the weirdness begins. Men complain that the blow jobs are over. Women complain that the guys don’t take them out anymore. People start acting like their parents, or like the other person in the relationship should be their parent—way too Oedipal for me, thanks.
I don’t understand why this bait n’ switch is considered okay by anyone. I mean, what happens? We just get in so deep that we decide that we’re stuck with this person? Do both people switch to “got you, can forget you” mode simultaneously? Is it part of the hard-wiring that has something to do with propagating our species? Or are people just lazy?
Friday, August 26, 2005
I Can't Believe No One Responded To This
Desperately seeking Weird Friends on Staten Island - w4mw - 34
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: anon-93082147@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-24, 11:18AM EDT
How do you know you are weird enough to hang out with the likes of me and my few weird friends?
*You feel like you are normal, but everyone else calls you weird. You may find "norms" fascinating or scary.
*You like music that no one you know seems to like.
*You can't talk a lot about your past to the norms around the office.
*You have done things most people read about in books.
*You don't like that weirdness, tattoos, irony, and everything you thought cool is now "trendy".
I'm 34 with a 3 y.o. son, 6 months in S.I. I like Ween, and their song "mutilated lips" gives me ecstacy flashbacks. I am very rock n' roll, but softspoken about it. I like rockabilly, punk, and weird stuff. When I had cable, I watched Industrial TV--and I like psychotronics, Roger Corman, anime, etc. I paint portraits. I worship ancient greek gods, and I am serious considering a career change to priestess of same.
I just made some file folder labels at work that said "Disappointed in Life" (for the hanging file) with more files that said, "Long Commute" "Little Free Time" "Not Near My Friends". For more about me you can visit my blog http://love-suki.blogspot.com.
Watch out guys! I already have a weird boyfriend. He reads books about headhunters around the world.
this is in or around North Shore
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
93082147
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: anon-93082147@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-24, 11:18AM EDT
How do you know you are weird enough to hang out with the likes of me and my few weird friends?
*You feel like you are normal, but everyone else calls you weird. You may find "norms" fascinating or scary.
*You like music that no one you know seems to like.
*You can't talk a lot about your past to the norms around the office.
*You have done things most people read about in books.
*You don't like that weirdness, tattoos, irony, and everything you thought cool is now "trendy".
I'm 34 with a 3 y.o. son, 6 months in S.I. I like Ween, and their song "mutilated lips" gives me ecstacy flashbacks. I am very rock n' roll, but softspoken about it. I like rockabilly, punk, and weird stuff. When I had cable, I watched Industrial TV--and I like psychotronics, Roger Corman, anime, etc. I paint portraits. I worship ancient greek gods, and I am serious considering a career change to priestess of same.
I just made some file folder labels at work that said "Disappointed in Life" (for the hanging file) with more files that said, "Long Commute" "Little Free Time" "Not Near My Friends". For more about me you can visit my blog http://love-suki.blogspot.com.
Watch out guys! I already have a weird boyfriend. He reads books about headhunters around the world.
this is in or around North Shore
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
93082147
Weekend of Fun
Tonight at Liedy's Shore Inn, I will be performing the kareoke, probably sometime around one ayem. I like to sing Stones, Beatles (esp. Come Together) and Boom Boom Boom.
Location of Liedy's
Kareoke at Liedy's starts at 10pee-em. Hope to see you there!
Sunday
Drongo will be host and DeeJay at his Scratchy Rekkid Party at 3pm at The Sidestreet Saloon
It will be Rock n' Roll, Rockabilly, and Punk favorites--plus guess the mystery rekkid. All while we get boozled! C'mon on down!!! Come early and often!!! (How many girls say that to you?) I will be there, early, kickin' it. See ya there!
Location of Liedy's
Kareoke at Liedy's starts at 10pee-em. Hope to see you there!
Sunday
Drongo will be host and DeeJay at his Scratchy Rekkid Party at 3pm at The Sidestreet Saloon
It will be Rock n' Roll, Rockabilly, and Punk favorites--plus guess the mystery rekkid. All while we get boozled! C'mon on down!!! Come early and often!!! (How many girls say that to you?) I will be there, early, kickin' it. See ya there!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
A How-We-Met Story
>>>This is how Drongo and I met, about one year ago this week. I was scanning cl personals, and they all said the same thing, "Great body, work out 3 days a week. Professional. Read, movies, watch TV," blahblah blah. I remember when personals were interesting, you couldn't attach a photo, and fun to read. Angry about the lost art, I wrote the following, not thinking I'd ever actually meet anyone:
38DD seeks Smart-Alecky Media-Savvy Squeeze (33)
The first thing I want to know is, if all of you are so good looking, why aren’t you out at a bar getting laid?
Also, I have a two year old boy, and he is my first priority. If you can’t handle that, don’t bother reading on.
Me: I’m 33, 5'4", 38DD, bleached blond/rock n’ roll hair, green eyes, pale. I’m a size 12, which means I am half way between real skinny and a big house. If you like roller blading, wind surfing, and sports, I’m not the gal for you. I’m pretty mellow about most things, but fairly serious about my feng shui. Sure, you can stay out all night with the guys, but don’t you dare move my candles! I like sex a lot and often, and enjoy some fantasy, after we get to know eachother a bit.
You: Energetic, Taller than 5’ 7”, and no bigger than Jack Black. If you are balding, I only like buzzed heads (and if you don’t know why this is, write to me, and I will tell you).
What we do together: See bands! I like seeing rockabilly and punk bands. I’m a big fan of Simon and the Bar Sinisters, Barbecue Bob and the Spare Ribs, and Ween. Watch movies! I love psychotronics, weird movies, B movies, and action flicks.
This is very different ad from the others I have seen on this site. Am I asking for too much?
Drongo's response:
Drongo Zone wrote:
Hi
I think you are a realist. I think most women on CL split hairs and are too specific in their unrealistic "wants." I understand the kid thing (I've got 2), but I hate when they say "You MUST love dogs. You MUST love MY dog." For chrissakes, I'm taking YOU out, not some dang critter.
Anyway, I do like your ad. Here, glom this about me: This native new yorker complete with an accent deals in words--I write, but bring home the bacon by being a big-shot editorial manager at a big-time Wall St financial info firm. I'm the "energy" guy, so if you ever need to know about "POWER" or "MEGAWATTAGE," then, I am your man. I love movies but don't go much. And not your usual Hollywood crap either. The other night I watched this weird Chinese one about Mongols returning from defeat at the hands of the Russians. It involved a gypsy woman and her perfoming monkey/confidant, and this Mongol on a horse who slew dozens of pursuers by throwing these sharp things that cut off their heads or took a leg off a horse. Right up your alley, no?
Sex early and often is a good thing. The fantasy thing is something I have enjoyed in the past. Not only do you explode into outer space via the sexual energy, you can get out of yourself for a bit too. I dig ethnic dining, nature, my blogs. I get on a bike and ride it sometimes. I sing the rock & roll music.
I sometimes host a Scratchy Record Party at my local where i play 45s from the 50s through the 80s. Real rock & roll--not "oldies". I listen to tribal sounds from around the world. I am an amateur anthropologist and amateur criminologist. I collect books on strange and unusual subjects and can spend half a day poking around a used book store. I'm smart and I know a lot of things, as well. I read all the effin' time, from The New Yorker and the Wall Street Journal to hard-boiled crime fiction. I write about weird people getting into weird situations and have even tackled the eeeeeeerotic-a. Lemmee know if you want to read a short short story I wrote about tattoos and feng shui gone all awry--take you 5 minutes to read. I'm a "young" 45, long-haired at the moment, slim, green eyed 5'10" 160, bespectacled. Oh yeah--they say say I have a nice bum. haha. I have some old pics--lemmme know if you want to see the "biker" pic or the "tourist on a Greek island" pic.
Later you
John
>>>I read his response outloud to my roomie, where I translated "scratchy record party" into "I am a Bob Seger fan" and thought that he was actually a janitor in one of the big buildings downtown with a column in the monthly co. newsletter. When actually, he's a serious rockabilly/punk guy, rock n' roll historian, and really is an editor somewhere downtown. haha me.
My response:
Drongo--
You have such great energy.
I want to see that Chinese movie so badly now. The last silly thing I saw was "The Conqueror" with the "Duke" playing Genghis Khan, with that same ol' John Wayne intonation. In an interview, Wayne said he saw Khan as a cowboy. . . Oh, lord.
I don't get the dog thing, either. It used to be everyone had to tolerate my straight transvestite friend/roomie Charles, but Kodiak trumps Charles by a longshot now.
Out of 30 emails, I got 3 angry responses to my ad, one upset I mentioned my cup size, one thot I asked for too much, and one angry because I'm "aggressive"
I think they must be repressed.
--Suki
>>>Anyways, I didn't really expect to be into this dude too much, and as part of his coolness test, I asked him to meet me on the L.E.S. at 12:30 am (when I got off work). He did! I was completely swept off my feet after we walked around for a while and we were talking about Steve Ditko he said (backlit, head tilted slightly up, smoking a cigarette) "Marvel stock is shit." When we were making out in front of my door at 4am, I started talking dirty to him in his ear. He put his mouth against my ear and said, "I want you to cunt me."
I went upstairs, and said to my roomie, "I just went out with straight Alan Ginsburg."
grrrr...to this day.
38DD seeks Smart-Alecky Media-Savvy Squeeze (33)
The first thing I want to know is, if all of you are so good looking, why aren’t you out at a bar getting laid?
Also, I have a two year old boy, and he is my first priority. If you can’t handle that, don’t bother reading on.
Me: I’m 33, 5'4", 38DD, bleached blond/rock n’ roll hair, green eyes, pale. I’m a size 12, which means I am half way between real skinny and a big house. If you like roller blading, wind surfing, and sports, I’m not the gal for you. I’m pretty mellow about most things, but fairly serious about my feng shui. Sure, you can stay out all night with the guys, but don’t you dare move my candles! I like sex a lot and often, and enjoy some fantasy, after we get to know eachother a bit.
You: Energetic, Taller than 5’ 7”, and no bigger than Jack Black. If you are balding, I only like buzzed heads (and if you don’t know why this is, write to me, and I will tell you).
What we do together: See bands! I like seeing rockabilly and punk bands. I’m a big fan of Simon and the Bar Sinisters, Barbecue Bob and the Spare Ribs, and Ween. Watch movies! I love psychotronics, weird movies, B movies, and action flicks.
This is very different ad from the others I have seen on this site. Am I asking for too much?
Drongo's response:
Drongo Zone
Hi
I think you are a realist. I think most women on CL split hairs and are too specific in their unrealistic "wants." I understand the kid thing (I've got 2), but I hate when they say "You MUST love dogs. You MUST love MY dog." For chrissakes, I'm taking YOU out, not some dang critter.
Anyway, I do like your ad. Here, glom this about me: This native new yorker complete with an accent deals in words--I write, but bring home the bacon by being a big-shot editorial manager at a big-time Wall St financial info firm. I'm the "energy" guy, so if you ever need to know about "POWER" or "MEGAWATTAGE," then, I am your man. I love movies but don't go much. And not your usual Hollywood crap either. The other night I watched this weird Chinese one about Mongols returning from defeat at the hands of the Russians. It involved a gypsy woman and her perfoming monkey/confidant, and this Mongol on a horse who slew dozens of pursuers by throwing these sharp things that cut off their heads or took a leg off a horse. Right up your alley, no?
Sex early and often is a good thing. The fantasy thing is something I have enjoyed in the past. Not only do you explode into outer space via the sexual energy, you can get out of yourself for a bit too. I dig ethnic dining, nature, my blogs. I get on a bike and ride it sometimes. I sing the rock & roll music.
I sometimes host a Scratchy Record Party at my local where i play 45s from the 50s through the 80s. Real rock & roll--not "oldies". I listen to tribal sounds from around the world. I am an amateur anthropologist and amateur criminologist. I collect books on strange and unusual subjects and can spend half a day poking around a used book store. I'm smart and I know a lot of things, as well. I read all the effin' time, from The New Yorker and the Wall Street Journal to hard-boiled crime fiction. I write about weird people getting into weird situations and have even tackled the eeeeeeerotic-a. Lemmee know if you want to read a short short story I wrote about tattoos and feng shui gone all awry--take you 5 minutes to read. I'm a "young" 45, long-haired at the moment, slim, green eyed 5'10" 160, bespectacled. Oh yeah--they say say I have a nice bum. haha. I have some old pics--lemmme know if you want to see the "biker" pic or the "tourist on a Greek island" pic.
Later you
John
>>>I read his response outloud to my roomie, where I translated "scratchy record party" into "I am a Bob Seger fan" and thought that he was actually a janitor in one of the big buildings downtown with a column in the monthly co. newsletter. When actually, he's a serious rockabilly/punk guy, rock n' roll historian, and really is an editor somewhere downtown. haha me.
My response:
Drongo--
You have such great energy.
I want to see that Chinese movie so badly now. The last silly thing I saw was "The Conqueror" with the "Duke" playing Genghis Khan, with that same ol' John Wayne intonation. In an interview, Wayne said he saw Khan as a cowboy. . . Oh, lord.
I don't get the dog thing, either. It used to be everyone had to tolerate my straight transvestite friend/roomie Charles, but Kodiak trumps Charles by a longshot now.
Out of 30 emails, I got 3 angry responses to my ad, one upset I mentioned my cup size, one thot I asked for too much, and one angry because I'm "aggressive"
I think they must be repressed.
--Suki
>>>Anyways, I didn't really expect to be into this dude too much, and as part of his coolness test, I asked him to meet me on the L.E.S. at 12:30 am (when I got off work). He did! I was completely swept off my feet after we walked around for a while and we were talking about Steve Ditko he said (backlit, head tilted slightly up, smoking a cigarette) "Marvel stock is shit." When we were making out in front of my door at 4am, I started talking dirty to him in his ear. He put his mouth against my ear and said, "I want you to cunt me."
I went upstairs, and said to my roomie, "I just went out with straight Alan Ginsburg."
grrrr...to this day.
Monday, August 22, 2005
But Seriously Now: Emotional Abuse
emotional abuse: infliction of mental anguish in order to dominate
Anyone can be the victim of emotional abuse. It is probably the most common form of abuse used between married couples (especially from women to men). It is the most painful part of alcoholic marriages. It can cause invisible but lifelong scars in children. With the aging population, it can be all or part of elder abuse, but the care giver can also be the victim. (Think of Lili Taylor, at the beginning of “The Haunting”).
I think everyone has been both a victim and a perpetrator of emotional abuse occasionally: the boss who likes to see his employee cower once in a while; the girlfriend who tortures her boyfriend with threats of leaving; the wife who sometimes feels her husband can’t do anything right; the parent who guilts his kid into doing chores. It’s too common and too easy to do. But I am not talking about occasional manipulative behavior. I am talking about long-term, day-to-day cruelty, that raises stress levels, causes the use and abuse of drugs, depression, and “acting out” in more nasty ways than I can type right here.
How Do You Know If You Are a Victim of Emotional Abuse?
Do you feel like you are walking on eggshells around this person?
Do you feel like you can’t do anything right for him/her?
Are you under constant threat (that you will lose your home/love/freedom)?
Are there certain signals that make you cringe before you even talk to that person?
Frequent guilt trips?
Do they try to shame you?
In a confrontation, do they keep switching sides, just trying to win the argument at any cost?
Do you feel inferior to this person? Do they try to make you feel inferior?
Are your feelings looked down upon? Outright sneered at?
What to Do If You Feel You Are the Victim of Emotional Abuse at Present
The first thing that you should know is that you have no power in this situation. This person is going to try to hurt you no matter what you do. You will never be able to please this person BECAUSE THIS ABUSE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU, AND HOW GOOD/BAD/UGLY YOU ARE. It is all about the other person’s problems, which you cannot fix—and probably a world of psychotherapists couldn’t fix them either. So give yourself a break.
Read that paragraph over and over until you believe it, because it’s true.
Try to remove yourself physically from the situation, if that is all possible. Often, with emotional abuse, that is not possible, and is one of the reasons the abuse is so effective.
If you can’t get away, try to find a therapist or support group. Tell them that you want to deal with this subject. I have to say, I don’t believe that long-term talk therapy works. I think that pointed, 6 week discussions work.
Read up on stress management. There are so many books out there. Stress causes both physical and mental disease, and you are going to have to stay strong in the face of this person’s madness.
Remember that your best defense is to know that this person is trying to hurt you. Your pain is making him or her feel better—more powerful, right, better about himself. Why should you listen or pay attention or allow yourself to be hurt by someone as low as this? These words have nothing to do with you. Just ignore them.
Anyone can be the victim of emotional abuse. It is probably the most common form of abuse used between married couples (especially from women to men). It is the most painful part of alcoholic marriages. It can cause invisible but lifelong scars in children. With the aging population, it can be all or part of elder abuse, but the care giver can also be the victim. (Think of Lili Taylor, at the beginning of “The Haunting”).
I think everyone has been both a victim and a perpetrator of emotional abuse occasionally: the boss who likes to see his employee cower once in a while; the girlfriend who tortures her boyfriend with threats of leaving; the wife who sometimes feels her husband can’t do anything right; the parent who guilts his kid into doing chores. It’s too common and too easy to do. But I am not talking about occasional manipulative behavior. I am talking about long-term, day-to-day cruelty, that raises stress levels, causes the use and abuse of drugs, depression, and “acting out” in more nasty ways than I can type right here.
How Do You Know If You Are a Victim of Emotional Abuse?
Do you feel like you are walking on eggshells around this person?
Do you feel like you can’t do anything right for him/her?
Are you under constant threat (that you will lose your home/love/freedom)?
Are there certain signals that make you cringe before you even talk to that person?
Frequent guilt trips?
Do they try to shame you?
In a confrontation, do they keep switching sides, just trying to win the argument at any cost?
Do you feel inferior to this person? Do they try to make you feel inferior?
Are your feelings looked down upon? Outright sneered at?
What to Do If You Feel You Are the Victim of Emotional Abuse at Present
The first thing that you should know is that you have no power in this situation. This person is going to try to hurt you no matter what you do. You will never be able to please this person BECAUSE THIS ABUSE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU, AND HOW GOOD/BAD/UGLY YOU ARE. It is all about the other person’s problems, which you cannot fix—and probably a world of psychotherapists couldn’t fix them either. So give yourself a break.
Read that paragraph over and over until you believe it, because it’s true.
Try to remove yourself physically from the situation, if that is all possible. Often, with emotional abuse, that is not possible, and is one of the reasons the abuse is so effective.
If you can’t get away, try to find a therapist or support group. Tell them that you want to deal with this subject. I have to say, I don’t believe that long-term talk therapy works. I think that pointed, 6 week discussions work.
Read up on stress management. There are so many books out there. Stress causes both physical and mental disease, and you are going to have to stay strong in the face of this person’s madness.
Remember that your best defense is to know that this person is trying to hurt you. Your pain is making him or her feel better—more powerful, right, better about himself. Why should you listen or pay attention or allow yourself to be hurt by someone as low as this? These words have nothing to do with you. Just ignore them.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Good Time Girls
So, not too long ago, I was in a bar (again) and the gentleman next to me said to the bar maid, “You’re just a good time girl, right, Jeanie?”
First, I was horrified that this guy basically called this girl a slut right to her face (that’s what that means to us, in woman language, you know). She ignored him. So he says, “You just like to go out and have a good time.” I think she ignored him again, or mumbled something dismissive.
I looked at this normally very nice gentleman, and all I could think was, “There is no such thing as a good time girl.” That is, a girl that just wants to go out and have sex, after the age of 25. And the ones under 25 are out looking…for a partner, but they’re not sure what they want yet, so they are just kind of going out and experimenting. They seem like good time girls, but they are really just fishing.
Myself, I often seem like a good time girl. I like to go out and party, but that’s just a preference over staying in and watching tv—the way I like to enjoy myself.
So, how do I know there aren’t good time girls out there? There are all those strippers, and “Girls Gone Wild” videos and chics in porn flix, right?
All women, saddled with the possibility of a child or a disease from having sex or a “good time” want or need something so badly they will put up with those possibilities. Strippers and porn chics want money. Girls Gone Wild—or any chic willing to do body shots, etc., are not lucid anyway, but they want attention. Women with kids need general help, and of course, your avuncular attitude toward their kids. A lot of women are looking for marriage, because in our society, still, you are not a success without a man in your life. Some women want you to take care of them financially. Myself, I like companionship, someone to keep the jerks away when I go out to see bands, and a regular sex partner (cause I hate condoms).
Sidebar:
Love? Of course we love. I am talking about the beginning of things, because it takes a while for love to develop. But even after we love, isn’t it nice to be needed?
Back to the main show:
Sorry to debunk the “Good Time Girl” myth. All girls--even sexy girls--have lives, hard ones too, with consequences. And we all exist when you are not here.
First, I was horrified that this guy basically called this girl a slut right to her face (that’s what that means to us, in woman language, you know). She ignored him. So he says, “You just like to go out and have a good time.” I think she ignored him again, or mumbled something dismissive.
I looked at this normally very nice gentleman, and all I could think was, “There is no such thing as a good time girl.” That is, a girl that just wants to go out and have sex, after the age of 25. And the ones under 25 are out looking…for a partner, but they’re not sure what they want yet, so they are just kind of going out and experimenting. They seem like good time girls, but they are really just fishing.
Myself, I often seem like a good time girl. I like to go out and party, but that’s just a preference over staying in and watching tv—the way I like to enjoy myself.
So, how do I know there aren’t good time girls out there? There are all those strippers, and “Girls Gone Wild” videos and chics in porn flix, right?
All women, saddled with the possibility of a child or a disease from having sex or a “good time” want or need something so badly they will put up with those possibilities. Strippers and porn chics want money. Girls Gone Wild—or any chic willing to do body shots, etc., are not lucid anyway, but they want attention. Women with kids need general help, and of course, your avuncular attitude toward their kids. A lot of women are looking for marriage, because in our society, still, you are not a success without a man in your life. Some women want you to take care of them financially. Myself, I like companionship, someone to keep the jerks away when I go out to see bands, and a regular sex partner (cause I hate condoms).
Sidebar:
Love? Of course we love. I am talking about the beginning of things, because it takes a while for love to develop. But even after we love, isn’t it nice to be needed?
Back to the main show:
Sorry to debunk the “Good Time Girl” myth. All girls--even sexy girls--have lives, hard ones too, with consequences. And we all exist when you are not here.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Response to NYTimes Essay: Fic vs. Non-fic in a 9/11 World
On the last page of the New York Times Book Review section (8/7) this week there is an essay stating that fiction is being cut back from magazines, as if it were a recent phenom, but actually, as a short story writer since the early '90's (ok, so I haven't been that prolific, but I have tried to send my stuff out) I can say that the editors of general interest mags have been cutting back on their fic since then.
But...one of the issues brought up by the essayist was that since 9/11, there hasn't been much fic in response to that tragedy. Or set in the post 9/11 world in a meaningful way. And that now we're a news centered culture.
This person is thinking of 9/11 like it's an event that's over, like it's a calendar day gone by. And now we're in a new world, a new day. It's not true. Here is the truth: There has been no new day since 9/11. After the planes hit the World Trade Center, we waited for more planes to hit, more buildings to explode. We waited, in front of TV's, hungrily eyeing our sets, to decide if we should flee, to look for some key to our own safety, to controlling our own destinies.
The calendar days rolled by, but the next explosions never came. And while we go through the pretense of our daily lives of working, raising our kids, getting married, partying on, we are still waiting, looking at our TVs, newspapers, magazines, websites for a new explosion, a message, a clue, a key to our survival.
But...one of the issues brought up by the essayist was that since 9/11, there hasn't been much fic in response to that tragedy. Or set in the post 9/11 world in a meaningful way. And that now we're a news centered culture.
This person is thinking of 9/11 like it's an event that's over, like it's a calendar day gone by. And now we're in a new world, a new day. It's not true. Here is the truth: There has been no new day since 9/11. After the planes hit the World Trade Center, we waited for more planes to hit, more buildings to explode. We waited, in front of TV's, hungrily eyeing our sets, to decide if we should flee, to look for some key to our own safety, to controlling our own destinies.
The calendar days rolled by, but the next explosions never came. And while we go through the pretense of our daily lives of working, raising our kids, getting married, partying on, we are still waiting, looking at our TVs, newspapers, magazines, websites for a new explosion, a message, a clue, a key to our survival.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Butt Crack Raaaawk!
Butt Crack Rawk USA! More workin'! Less thinkin'! YEAAH!
Hey, Workin' Stiffs! This album is dedicated to you!
1. Gimme Three Steps (Lynyrd!)
2. Ol' Time Rockin' Roll (Bob!)
3. Big Ol' Jet Airliner (Steve!)
4. Smoke on the Water (Deep!)
5. She's Got Legs! (ZZ!)
6. All We Are is Dust In the Wind (Kan!)
7. We're an American Band (Grand!)
8. Dead or Alive (Bon!)
9. More Than a Feeling (Bos!)
10. Centerfield (John!)
11. Pianoman (Billy!)
12. Margaritaville (Jimmy!)
13. Born in the USA (Bruce!)
Butt-Crack Raaaawk--Rockin' Round the Woooooooorld
1. Takin' Care Of Business (BTO, Canada)
2. Highway to Hell (AC/DC Australia)
3. Won't Get Fooled Again (The Who, UK, England)
4. Boys Are Back in Town (Thin Lizzy, UK, Ireland)
5. Maggie May (Rod, UK, England)
6. Start Me Up (Rolling Stones, UK, England)
7. We Will Rock You (Queen)
8. Radar Love (Golden Earring)
9. Whole Lotta Love (Led, UK, England)
10. Little Help from my Friends (Beatles, UK, England)
11. Cocaine (Eric, UK, England)
Hey, Workin' Stiffs! This album is dedicated to you!
1. Gimme Three Steps (Lynyrd!)
2. Ol' Time Rockin' Roll (Bob!)
3. Big Ol' Jet Airliner (Steve!)
4. Smoke on the Water (Deep!)
5. She's Got Legs! (ZZ!)
6. All We Are is Dust In the Wind (Kan!)
7. We're an American Band (Grand!)
8. Dead or Alive (Bon!)
9. More Than a Feeling (Bos!)
10. Centerfield (John!)
11. Pianoman (Billy!)
12. Margaritaville (Jimmy!)
13. Born in the USA (Bruce!)
Butt-Crack Raaaawk--Rockin' Round the Woooooooorld
1. Takin' Care Of Business (BTO, Canada)
2. Highway to Hell (AC/DC Australia)
3. Won't Get Fooled Again (The Who, UK, England)
4. Boys Are Back in Town (Thin Lizzy, UK, Ireland)
5. Maggie May (Rod, UK, England)
6. Start Me Up (Rolling Stones, UK, England)
7. We Will Rock You (Queen)
8. Radar Love (Golden Earring)
9. Whole Lotta Love (Led, UK, England)
10. Little Help from my Friends (Beatles, UK, England)
11. Cocaine (Eric, UK, England)
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Giving Great Head in a Tired World.
I would really, really like to write a post about love today. But I am exhausted.
My boyfriend met the wacky parents this weekend.
My dad's your basic mad scientist, retired. I can't really describe my mom. She's a mad spiritualist/interior decorator/hippie cook. What can I say? She collects everything in the world, including animal skulls. Oh, except for hummels or anything "cute" If it's cute, you can count on it not being in her house.
In my tired world, I think I will talk briefly about something exhausting, if you do it the wrong way: giving head. To a guy, I mean. There are lots of books and mag articles that talk about the different ways you can do it: humming, licking, etc. That information you can find anywhere.
All I want to say is this: Giving very good head, and remaining comfy while doing it are the same thing. Every time you get tired, or bored or uncomfortable, just change what you are doing. That's it. It will give you incredible endurance, and the more important thing: it drives the guy absolutely crazy. Especially if he tells you not to stop.
Let the excruciating pleasure begin.
My boyfriend met the wacky parents this weekend.
My dad's your basic mad scientist, retired. I can't really describe my mom. She's a mad spiritualist/interior decorator/hippie cook. What can I say? She collects everything in the world, including animal skulls. Oh, except for hummels or anything "cute" If it's cute, you can count on it not being in her house.
In my tired world, I think I will talk briefly about something exhausting, if you do it the wrong way: giving head. To a guy, I mean. There are lots of books and mag articles that talk about the different ways you can do it: humming, licking, etc. That information you can find anywhere.
All I want to say is this: Giving very good head, and remaining comfy while doing it are the same thing. Every time you get tired, or bored or uncomfortable, just change what you are doing. That's it. It will give you incredible endurance, and the more important thing: it drives the guy absolutely crazy. Especially if he tells you not to stop.
Let the excruciating pleasure begin.
Tuesday, August 9, 2005
Monday, August 1, 2005
6 Second Reviews
The Long Emergency, by James Howard Kunstler
The earth has a finite amount of oil on it, responsible for most of our electricity, population explosion, and suburbs. The earth is already running out of oil. When it finally runs out, in the next ten-fifty years, most of our electricity/transportation aka our way of life will end (including hospitals, air conditioning, automobiles, and supermarkets. A lot of people will die. Sure signs this will happen is skyrocketing then wildly fluctuating gas and oil prices, skyrocketing supermarket prices. Oil is already $60/barrel now.
My recommendation: Go out and buy two books. This one, and an organic farming book. Reconnect with a relative in a small town, so you have a place to escape to (cities will have sanitation problems). That way, if the engineers don't come up with an alternative energy source in time, you'll have a plan.
Wah uv Da Woilds
Starring: Dreamworks Special Effects Team and Tom Cruise
Good, despite Tom Cruise is in it. Some nice scary/creepy parts--and some intense images of people turning into dust.
The earth has a finite amount of oil on it, responsible for most of our electricity, population explosion, and suburbs. The earth is already running out of oil. When it finally runs out, in the next ten-fifty years, most of our electricity/transportation aka our way of life will end (including hospitals, air conditioning, automobiles, and supermarkets. A lot of people will die. Sure signs this will happen is skyrocketing then wildly fluctuating gas and oil prices, skyrocketing supermarket prices. Oil is already $60/barrel now.
My recommendation: Go out and buy two books. This one, and an organic farming book. Reconnect with a relative in a small town, so you have a place to escape to (cities will have sanitation problems). That way, if the engineers don't come up with an alternative energy source in time, you'll have a plan.
Wah uv Da Woilds
Starring: Dreamworks Special Effects Team and Tom Cruise
Good, despite Tom Cruise is in it. Some nice scary/creepy parts--and some intense images of people turning into dust.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Why Go After the Right Person?
When there are so many ways you can f@$k yourself? And so many of the wrong people are out there? They are so easy to find--turn around! There's one right behind you!
There are two great ways to f&*k yourself I can think of, right off the bat:
Half Ass
These people give you a half-assed time of just about everything: they can only see you half the time; they call sometimes, and it's just dry blah-blah, nothing meaningful; they give you just enough attention to string you along, but when it comes down to the nitty-gritty (whatever that means to you) they are just not around. And you wonder: will this get better? Will this person change? Will I ever get what I want (attention/time/sex/marriage) out of them?
The answer to those questions is 99% no, so shed your tear, and just tell'em you gotta go. And if you don't have the strength to forget about them, imagine this scenario: What if someone magically gave you the attention/time/sex/marriage you were looking for? How do you feel? Is it comfortable for you? No? That's why you're at where you're at, baby.
Another Great Way to F&^k yourself is to go out with the
Full-On Ass
These people are "there for you" all the time. There for pissing on you, that is. No matter what you do, something is not right. There's no end to complaining,finding a way to look down on you, making you feel bad. After a while, you may find yourself lying to them, keeping things from them, not talking to them quite so much, or in the same way. You may feel resentful. Sometimes, the issue that you keep from them may seem small, like your religion, if you go once a year. But the issue will come up and keep growing, until you find you are lying or sneaking or feeling resentment toward your partner, who is there for you, pissing on you because they think your religion is stupid.
You really do not need this person either, no matter how secure you feel with them, or how much they say they need you. They just need you to make them feel better about themselves. No matter how much they say they need you, dump them. You will find out how replaceable you really are, because these people just need someone--anyone--around to make themselves feel better. And losers abound. Didn't you trip on one on the way to work this morning? I bet you did!
If you do not have the strength to dump this person, I must ask you: why do you want to feel like crap? Is this the way your parents treated you? Has everyone treated you this way? Do you think there is no one out there who will treat you better?
How about this: Can you treat yourself any better? Do me a favor and try, because I can't stand to see anyone piss on you that way.
There are two great ways to f&*k yourself I can think of, right off the bat:
Half Ass
These people give you a half-assed time of just about everything: they can only see you half the time; they call sometimes, and it's just dry blah-blah, nothing meaningful; they give you just enough attention to string you along, but when it comes down to the nitty-gritty (whatever that means to you) they are just not around. And you wonder: will this get better? Will this person change? Will I ever get what I want (attention/time/sex/marriage) out of them?
The answer to those questions is 99% no, so shed your tear, and just tell'em you gotta go. And if you don't have the strength to forget about them, imagine this scenario: What if someone magically gave you the attention/time/sex/marriage you were looking for? How do you feel? Is it comfortable for you? No? That's why you're at where you're at, baby.
Another Great Way to F&^k yourself is to go out with the
Full-On Ass
These people are "there for you" all the time. There for pissing on you, that is. No matter what you do, something is not right. There's no end to complaining,finding a way to look down on you, making you feel bad. After a while, you may find yourself lying to them, keeping things from them, not talking to them quite so much, or in the same way. You may feel resentful. Sometimes, the issue that you keep from them may seem small, like your religion, if you go once a year. But the issue will come up and keep growing, until you find you are lying or sneaking or feeling resentment toward your partner, who is there for you, pissing on you because they think your religion is stupid.
You really do not need this person either, no matter how secure you feel with them, or how much they say they need you. They just need you to make them feel better about themselves. No matter how much they say they need you, dump them. You will find out how replaceable you really are, because these people just need someone--anyone--around to make themselves feel better. And losers abound. Didn't you trip on one on the way to work this morning? I bet you did!
If you do not have the strength to dump this person, I must ask you: why do you want to feel like crap? Is this the way your parents treated you? Has everyone treated you this way? Do you think there is no one out there who will treat you better?
How about this: Can you treat yourself any better? Do me a favor and try, because I can't stand to see anyone piss on you that way.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
In high school, I used to paint portraits and the human figure 16 hours a day. I used to skip class to go to the art room and paint. No one gave a shit, because I got all A's.
I'd come home and paint more. Painting basically stopped when I came to NY fifteen years ago. No space in my tiny apartments.
This weekend, I painted portraits about 8 hours each day. Everything was fine, and then on one deep breath, I felt like I inhaled something more than air--it felt like my soul.
"Where have YOU been?" I asked it, a tear in my eye.
"Asleep, I think."
"Fifteen years? Screw you!" I thought at it.
It settled in to my body complacently.
And people wonder why I have problems with depression.
I'd come home and paint more. Painting basically stopped when I came to NY fifteen years ago. No space in my tiny apartments.
This weekend, I painted portraits about 8 hours each day. Everything was fine, and then on one deep breath, I felt like I inhaled something more than air--it felt like my soul.
"Where have YOU been?" I asked it, a tear in my eye.
"Asleep, I think."
"Fifteen years? Screw you!" I thought at it.
It settled in to my body complacently.
And people wonder why I have problems with depression.
Monday, July 25, 2005
I spent the weekend painting a portrait of my boyfriend and his dad--was supposed to be done for Father's Day (ha). But on Saturday night, Nike and I went out on the town. Love and Victory-- out for play on Staten Island. Smells like trouble, doesn't it, Sparky?
As much as I am outraged at shmuckish come-ons at myself, I am more so when I go out with a friend. I mean, don't these guys watch old movies? Why can't a Jimmy Stewart or Humphrey Bogart type come over and ask her if she wants a cigarette or something? There we were at the Sri Chinmoy show talking about the 20 instruments sitting on the stage, when a man in front of us starts staring at us. Staring hard. Not looking away. I see him, because he's in Nike's general direction. I thought he was going to get a crik in his neck. "Hey, Nike, that man is staring at us." She glanced up. The second she did, he said, "It says nature on your shirt. I like nature."
Have you slapped your forehead yet?
If not, try this: He hears her accent and says, "So, are you from Russia?"
Nike: No.
Schmuck: Poland?
Nike: No.
Schmuck:Ukrainia
Nike: No
Me: How many countries are there in the world? Two hundred?
Nike: I'll give you a hint. Mediterranean.
Schmuck: Greece!
Nike: Uh-huh.
Soon after they announced Sri would be 1/2 hour late. We left. Wonder why.
OK, this guy did not follow ANYTHING in my ToGL formula. Nothing. He stared for too long. (Creepy) He talked about her instead of our surroundings (which were interesting) so it sounded like a boring line. Then he didn't pick up on any visual cues (Nike was being nice in trying to respond to him, but not looking him in the eye). And he beat a dead horse.
This is why I emailed the Staten Island Advance today, and asked for their submission guidelines for their love & dating section.
As much as I am outraged at shmuckish come-ons at myself, I am more so when I go out with a friend. I mean, don't these guys watch old movies? Why can't a Jimmy Stewart or Humphrey Bogart type come over and ask her if she wants a cigarette or something? There we were at the Sri Chinmoy show talking about the 20 instruments sitting on the stage, when a man in front of us starts staring at us. Staring hard. Not looking away. I see him, because he's in Nike's general direction. I thought he was going to get a crik in his neck. "Hey, Nike, that man is staring at us." She glanced up. The second she did, he said, "It says nature on your shirt. I like nature."
Have you slapped your forehead yet?
If not, try this: He hears her accent and says, "So, are you from Russia?"
Nike: No.
Schmuck: Poland?
Nike: No.
Schmuck:Ukrainia
Nike: No
Me: How many countries are there in the world? Two hundred?
Nike: I'll give you a hint. Mediterranean.
Schmuck: Greece!
Nike: Uh-huh.
Soon after they announced Sri would be 1/2 hour late. We left. Wonder why.
OK, this guy did not follow ANYTHING in my ToGL formula. Nothing. He stared for too long. (Creepy) He talked about her instead of our surroundings (which were interesting) so it sounded like a boring line. Then he didn't pick up on any visual cues (Nike was being nice in trying to respond to him, but not looking him in the eye). And he beat a dead horse.
This is why I emailed the Staten Island Advance today, and asked for their submission guidelines for their love & dating section.
Friday, July 22, 2005
P.A. Meeting
Hey everyone.
So, um…this is my first time here, I guess. Oh, right. My name. Hi, my name is Suki, and I am a phalloholic. Hah. Right. Did I say that right? Ok, good.
I guess my addiction to cock started when I was fourteen or fifteen or so. How could I help it really? I had a major depression problem, and getting laid made me feel so…good. And once I started, I had to have more. I mean, it was really all I could think about. I used to draw anatomically correct pictures of cock in the margins of my notebook. Realistic detail.
But I didn’t think of it as a prrrraawblemm, if you know what I mean. And then I wanted it in every orifice. So far, I only found three that work good. But you know, a guy doesn’t need a big dick to fuck you in the head, if you know what I mean.
Ha.
So, I don’t know when I realized it was a problem. I never cheated on anyone. Ok, not never, but only once and it involved an iron maiden full of eraser sized vibrators and you know I’m not ever going to do that again--when could that happen again? But anyways, I said I almost never cheated, but I do run through guys like crazy. You know? I mean, I’m worried I’ll run out of them. Locally. I mean cause what happens is I need it a lot. I mean ah laawt. And guys think that’s all I want them for or that they have to constantly perform all the time. And that’s not true. OK, well it’s true sometimes, but I only hear complaining after five in the morning. And I won’t be treated like crap, either.
Ok, okay, here it is…this is when I knew it was a prrrraaawblem. When my guy went on vacation for three days, and my pussy ached so bad, I cried. The whole, entire time. I was almost hospitalized for dehydration.
Ok, is that enough? Alright. Thanks for listening.
So, um…this is my first time here, I guess. Oh, right. My name. Hi, my name is Suki, and I am a phalloholic. Hah. Right. Did I say that right? Ok, good.
I guess my addiction to cock started when I was fourteen or fifteen or so. How could I help it really? I had a major depression problem, and getting laid made me feel so…good. And once I started, I had to have more. I mean, it was really all I could think about. I used to draw anatomically correct pictures of cock in the margins of my notebook. Realistic detail.
But I didn’t think of it as a prrrraawblemm, if you know what I mean. And then I wanted it in every orifice. So far, I only found three that work good. But you know, a guy doesn’t need a big dick to fuck you in the head, if you know what I mean.
Ha.
So, I don’t know when I realized it was a problem. I never cheated on anyone. Ok, not never, but only once and it involved an iron maiden full of eraser sized vibrators and you know I’m not ever going to do that again--when could that happen again? But anyways, I said I almost never cheated, but I do run through guys like crazy. You know? I mean, I’m worried I’ll run out of them. Locally. I mean cause what happens is I need it a lot. I mean ah laawt. And guys think that’s all I want them for or that they have to constantly perform all the time. And that’s not true. OK, well it’s true sometimes, but I only hear complaining after five in the morning. And I won’t be treated like crap, either.
Ok, okay, here it is…this is when I knew it was a prrrraaawblem. When my guy went on vacation for three days, and my pussy ached so bad, I cried. The whole, entire time. I was almost hospitalized for dehydration.
Ok, is that enough? Alright. Thanks for listening.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Terminal Hurl, by Drongo
Last night I worked late and got down to South Ferry about ten to seven. The 7 p.m. boat from Manhattan canbe pretty crowded and there were hordes of sweatingcommuters and tourists waiting around. All the seatswere taken--except for three near where I was standing. People kept going up to the empty seats toclaim them for their sweltering buns, but nobody tookthem.
As soon as they arrived at the seats they couldsee why they were empty--what looked like a completejumbo bagful of chewed-up, liquefied Cheez Doodles*oozed there on the floor in front of the middle seat.Two tourist chicks came up, and when they saw thepreternaturally bright orange pile of vomit,simultaneously said, "Ewwwwwwww!"
One young hipsterlet out a "Whoa!" as he almost stepped in the stuff. Areally square middle-aged commuter guy simply shruggedwhen he realized he wasn't gonna get his hoped-forseat. After a few minutes of this, a Hispanic man, a civilian, got up from his seat and went and fetchedtwo stacked-up orange traffic cones that were sitting by a nearby pillar for some reason. The guy put thecones around the puke. Then the doors opened and I joined the shuffling mass of humanity to get on the boat.
*"Gotta have cheese? Need that cheddar cheese flavorin a crunchy snack? See the world in an orange haze?Feed your need with Wise Cheez Doodles®, the crunchysnack with cheese to the max! Wise Cheez Doodles® willsatisfy your craving for cheese with big awesomecrunch and extreme cheese flavor. And be sure to eatall you want — it's not like there's a cheese shortageor anything!"
As soon as they arrived at the seats they couldsee why they were empty--what looked like a completejumbo bagful of chewed-up, liquefied Cheez Doodles*oozed there on the floor in front of the middle seat.Two tourist chicks came up, and when they saw thepreternaturally bright orange pile of vomit,simultaneously said, "Ewwwwwwww!"
One young hipsterlet out a "Whoa!" as he almost stepped in the stuff. Areally square middle-aged commuter guy simply shruggedwhen he realized he wasn't gonna get his hoped-forseat. After a few minutes of this, a Hispanic man, a civilian, got up from his seat and went and fetchedtwo stacked-up orange traffic cones that were sitting by a nearby pillar for some reason. The guy put thecones around the puke. Then the doors opened and I joined the shuffling mass of humanity to get on the boat.
*"Gotta have cheese? Need that cheddar cheese flavorin a crunchy snack? See the world in an orange haze?Feed your need with Wise Cheez Doodles®, the crunchysnack with cheese to the max! Wise Cheez Doodles® willsatisfy your craving for cheese with big awesomecrunch and extreme cheese flavor. And be sure to eatall you want — it's not like there's a cheese shortageor anything!"
What Men Are Like or the Downfall of Mankind
So, every once in a while, I talk about love. I ask people for love advice, and see what they say. I’ll say, “My boyfriend said did this or that, and I don’t think it was right.” And they will say, “Well, that’s what men are like.”
Ladies magazines say the same thing: men cheat, men trade-up, men are lazy, men are not “emotionally available.” (that’s in quotes, because I don’t know what it means.) My mom would say stuff like, “men are babies.” My grandmother would say, “Never put out. Men will talk about you, and you will lose your good reputation.” My friends actually believe that if you have sex too early with a man, that he will dump you because you put out too soon. (I almost always have sex on the first real date--I have never had this problem.)
Well, let me tell you what women are like: women cheat. Women trade-up. Women are lazy (that’s why they clean the house so angrily). Women are emotionally unavailable—they just hide it better. Women are babies. Women try to ruin a man’s rep by talking about him behind his back. If you have sex too early with a woman, she may think you “owe” her something.
Men suck. Women suck. People suck. That is the real truth. We look for excuses for shitty behavior in people we love. We use sexuality and gender as excuses for shitty behavior. Because being sexual is automatically “bad” right? And the other sex is the other, and so we automatically don’t understand the other, right? I find this completely crazy. I do my best to treat the men in my life (past and present) very well, and I expect (and have gotten) great spans of time when I was treated very well by my significant others.
There are a lot of shitty people (and you have probably dated some of them) out there, who have no values or morals. These words have gained a real negative/conservative/judgmental flavor, but they are about following one’s inner beliefs of what’s right and wrong, and sticking to those beliefs. They are about how we treat other people, and how we want to be treated. Sex and/or gender should really have nothing to do with this at all.
Ladies magazines say the same thing: men cheat, men trade-up, men are lazy, men are not “emotionally available.” (that’s in quotes, because I don’t know what it means.) My mom would say stuff like, “men are babies.” My grandmother would say, “Never put out. Men will talk about you, and you will lose your good reputation.” My friends actually believe that if you have sex too early with a man, that he will dump you because you put out too soon. (I almost always have sex on the first real date--I have never had this problem.)
Well, let me tell you what women are like: women cheat. Women trade-up. Women are lazy (that’s why they clean the house so angrily). Women are emotionally unavailable—they just hide it better. Women are babies. Women try to ruin a man’s rep by talking about him behind his back. If you have sex too early with a woman, she may think you “owe” her something.
Men suck. Women suck. People suck. That is the real truth. We look for excuses for shitty behavior in people we love. We use sexuality and gender as excuses for shitty behavior. Because being sexual is automatically “bad” right? And the other sex is the other, and so we automatically don’t understand the other, right? I find this completely crazy. I do my best to treat the men in my life (past and present) very well, and I expect (and have gotten) great spans of time when I was treated very well by my significant others.
There are a lot of shitty people (and you have probably dated some of them) out there, who have no values or morals. These words have gained a real negative/conservative/judgmental flavor, but they are about following one’s inner beliefs of what’s right and wrong, and sticking to those beliefs. They are about how we treat other people, and how we want to be treated. Sex and/or gender should really have nothing to do with this at all.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Hot for Satan--Just Another Reason I Love My Guy
A while ago, I wrote an entry called, “Criteria: Or Why I Love My Man” or some such thing. I remember he read it, and felt so flattered. But the thing is this: criteria is about interchangeability: the shape of my favorite cookie cutter, more or less.
Love is about irreplaceability. It’s about me being a unique individual, wanting and needing and appreciating certain other things in someone else, or our own unique interaction.
I love Drongo because:
1. His voice is so deep, he sounds like he’s 6’8, instead of 5’9.
2. He has a tough guy, fresh-outta juvie hall Noo Yahk accent, but…
3. …he is so smart, he does the Saturday Times Crossword in pen.
4. He likes to change positions a lot in bed, you know, when we…
5. He looks like Satan, especially, when I’m right up close, eye-level with his nose. I guess a lot of people would say this is a left-handed compliment, but I am seriously hot for Satan!!!(Say, Paris Hilton does it for him, and Satan does it for me! What does that tell you? Made for each other, that’s what!)
6. The first night we met, he used dirty words in ways I had never heard them before.
7. Conversations go from cunninlingus to Sasquatch in two sentences—I can’t do that with just anyone!
8. He knows his Marvel Comics (Golden and Silver Age), and he knows about the business end too, which is a lot like telling what time it is by looking at the works of a watch.
9. He honestly enjoys playing with my son. ‘Nuff said.
10. I love the way he drives a car, all relaxed and casual, with his elbow out the window, leaning back in his seat.
11. He takes me out dancing at 1 am—even if he doesn’t really feel like it.
There’s a bunch of other stuff too, about the kinds of books he reads, love of hiking, hanging out, old movies…If you ever feel down, like maybe there is no one for you in this world, you now know that there is someone for everyone--even a comics-lovin', dancin' fool, hot for satan--and even you.
Love is about irreplaceability. It’s about me being a unique individual, wanting and needing and appreciating certain other things in someone else, or our own unique interaction.
I love Drongo because:
1. His voice is so deep, he sounds like he’s 6’8, instead of 5’9.
2. He has a tough guy, fresh-outta juvie hall Noo Yahk accent, but…
3. …he is so smart, he does the Saturday Times Crossword in pen.
4. He likes to change positions a lot in bed, you know, when we…
5. He looks like Satan, especially, when I’m right up close, eye-level with his nose. I guess a lot of people would say this is a left-handed compliment, but I am seriously hot for Satan!!!(Say, Paris Hilton does it for him, and Satan does it for me! What does that tell you? Made for each other, that’s what!)
6. The first night we met, he used dirty words in ways I had never heard them before.
7. Conversations go from cunninlingus to Sasquatch in two sentences—I can’t do that with just anyone!
8. He knows his Marvel Comics (Golden and Silver Age), and he knows about the business end too, which is a lot like telling what time it is by looking at the works of a watch.
9. He honestly enjoys playing with my son. ‘Nuff said.
10. I love the way he drives a car, all relaxed and casual, with his elbow out the window, leaning back in his seat.
11. He takes me out dancing at 1 am—even if he doesn’t really feel like it.
There’s a bunch of other stuff too, about the kinds of books he reads, love of hiking, hanging out, old movies…If you ever feel down, like maybe there is no one for you in this world, you now know that there is someone for everyone--even a comics-lovin', dancin' fool, hot for satan--and even you.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Remember high school? Remember how most everyone seemed kind of normal? There was the one guy or girl who was especially quiet, maybe one weirdo, and 2 or 3 beautiful/athletic overachievers, and the rest of us who felt like losers, but were really average joes?
What happens to people?
How do they change from being average kids in class with fair to bad haircuts to ...I guess the nice word would be...characters in badly fitting polo shirts with the bottom of their guts' showing (men and women)? Where do the nervous ticks of compulsive winking, ear-tugging, head shaking (side to side) come from? When do people start to think that going up to strangers and asking them to feel their feet is a good idea?
What happens to people? What are they thinking? Lives can be real train-wrecks, sure. But these people aren't in the hospital--I see them commuting to work.
This may sound like outrage. Or rhetorical. Or funny. But this is a real existential question for me: What insanity lies within these people to make them so disturbing on the outside?
What happens to people?
How do they change from being average kids in class with fair to bad haircuts to ...I guess the nice word would be...characters in badly fitting polo shirts with the bottom of their guts' showing (men and women)? Where do the nervous ticks of compulsive winking, ear-tugging, head shaking (side to side) come from? When do people start to think that going up to strangers and asking them to feel their feet is a good idea?
What happens to people? What are they thinking? Lives can be real train-wrecks, sure. But these people aren't in the hospital--I see them commuting to work.
This may sound like outrage. Or rhetorical. Or funny. But this is a real existential question for me: What insanity lies within these people to make them so disturbing on the outside?
Thursday, July 14, 2005
ToGL for Women: Approachability or The Deer that Wanted to Be Hunted
Men think women have it easy--all these guys approaching them all the time with er--"love" and "best intentions" and the best lines they can come up with. Okay, some guys do come over with good intentions. They really do. Honest!
Meanwhile, for women, the big complaint is this: the guy I like doesn't like me. Or he does but he's not available (married, girlfriend, six jobs, alcoholic, whatever). Sometimes the guy just isn't into but he's too much of a coward (no, not a nice guy) to say something effectively off-putting.
Now, I do think women should approach men. Why the hell not?
But when an old boyfriend asked me how many I'd had, I tried to remember them all. And I noticed something: my success rate was much lower and took much longer when I was pursuing someone in particular, rather than just going out to where there were a very high percentage of men (I like punk clubs) and letting them come up to me. Pursuing men (crushes) are a real waste of time.
How to Be Approachable.
Men think it is really easy. All you do is just look nice and stand there, right? Have a drink and run your fingers through your hair.
Um, no. I feel a lot like a deer in an enclosed hunting range. Yes, but don't I want to get hit? Um, maybe? Will the hunter be smart and nice? I don't like feeling all those eyes on me, or people thinking "ohhhh, she's looking to get laid." The whole thing is extremely nasty. And then of course, there are all those nights of getting all dressed up, etc., and coming home empty-handed.
I asked a guy friend about the whole dress up routine, and he said men see a woman all dressed up and think, "a creature like that will have nothing to do with me."
To be approachable you have to throw yourself in a room full of men (think hard rock shows, hockey arena, martial arts exhibition fights, monster truck rallies, whatever you find most likeable/least offensive), and you have to look pretty, but not too pretty. So, whatever you are thinking of wearing, tone it down: jeans instead of a skirt, maybe; a more natural look with the make-up; only one piece of jewelry.
You should also be alone. By yourself. Don't bring a friend, because that will distract you from the people trying to have conversation. If you feel shy, bring a book, a drawing pad, crossword puzzle, if it could be appropriate (like a bar) or just get yourself a drink and start looking at the art in the room (at a party).
Try to forget you are being watched/judged and have fun, no matter where you are. The best way to do that is to just focus on having fun--whatever that might be for you at that moment. Hopefully you'll get so caught up in enjoying yourself, you'll attract the attention of many men in the room.
And don't forget to run those fingers through your hair.
Meanwhile, for women, the big complaint is this: the guy I like doesn't like me. Or he does but he's not available (married, girlfriend, six jobs, alcoholic, whatever). Sometimes the guy just isn't into but he's too much of a coward (no, not a nice guy) to say something effectively off-putting.
Now, I do think women should approach men. Why the hell not?
But when an old boyfriend asked me how many I'd had, I tried to remember them all. And I noticed something: my success rate was much lower and took much longer when I was pursuing someone in particular, rather than just going out to where there were a very high percentage of men (I like punk clubs) and letting them come up to me. Pursuing men (crushes) are a real waste of time.
How to Be Approachable.
Men think it is really easy. All you do is just look nice and stand there, right? Have a drink and run your fingers through your hair.
Um, no. I feel a lot like a deer in an enclosed hunting range. Yes, but don't I want to get hit? Um, maybe? Will the hunter be smart and nice? I don't like feeling all those eyes on me, or people thinking "ohhhh, she's looking to get laid." The whole thing is extremely nasty. And then of course, there are all those nights of getting all dressed up, etc., and coming home empty-handed.
I asked a guy friend about the whole dress up routine, and he said men see a woman all dressed up and think, "a creature like that will have nothing to do with me."
To be approachable you have to throw yourself in a room full of men (think hard rock shows, hockey arena, martial arts exhibition fights, monster truck rallies, whatever you find most likeable/least offensive), and you have to look pretty, but not too pretty. So, whatever you are thinking of wearing, tone it down: jeans instead of a skirt, maybe; a more natural look with the make-up; only one piece of jewelry.
You should also be alone. By yourself. Don't bring a friend, because that will distract you from the people trying to have conversation. If you feel shy, bring a book, a drawing pad, crossword puzzle, if it could be appropriate (like a bar) or just get yourself a drink and start looking at the art in the room (at a party).
Try to forget you are being watched/judged and have fun, no matter where you are. The best way to do that is to just focus on having fun--whatever that might be for you at that moment. Hopefully you'll get so caught up in enjoying yourself, you'll attract the attention of many men in the room.
And don't forget to run those fingers through your hair.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Odd Individual by Drongo
This past Tuesday I was on the Staten Island Ferry, heading home after work, when I witnessed something so bizarre I questioned whether or not it was actuallyhappening.
It’s my custom to hang back a bit when the boat docksand let the mob of commuting Islanders and touristscram the gangways. No use being in the midst of sweaty and smelly humanity. I was in my usual spot at the snack bar (actually, that's a misnomer as I never eatthe “snacks” offered and only swill the tall-boyBuds—let’s call it simply “The Bar.”), watching the human pageantry go by. As the crowd thinned out, I spied this guy passing by. He appeared to be no olderthan 30. He was tall and stocky, with short brown hairand a kind of pock-marked face. Not ugly, just ordinary. He was garbed in a sharp charcoal grey business suit, white shirt (no tie), and luster fully shined black dress shoes. That’s not the extent of hiswardrobe, though. He wore over his suit a short-sleeved denim jacket. Not cut-off sleeves, mind you, but with regular hemshalfway down the upper arms. He had only a couple ofbuttons done up. The front of the jacket had all thesecolorful patches sewn on, like a Vietnam vet wouldhave on his denim vest.
I couldn’t scope out what thepatches said, but I followed him, hoping to find out this info. There were two patches on his back, each about four or five inches square, one up by each shoulder. They were representations of album covers.One was by Saxon, the other had the cover artwork forMetallica’s “Master of Puppets.”
As we neared the front of the boat, he veered off and inspected the contents of a garbage can. He withdrew from the receptacle a soda cup with lid and strawstill attached, a “large” one from the The Bar withthe Pepsi logo. This guy, whose nice suit was besmirched by denim, began sipping from the cup. I followed him out to the bus ramps (which I cutthrough to get to the SideStreet Saloon), hoping toget a gander at the front patches. He sipped from thesecond-hand, certified pre-owned soda cup the entireway. I lost him.
Weirdo or wack-job? You decide.(And I’m asking about HIM, not ME, all you weisenhemers!)
It’s my custom to hang back a bit when the boat docksand let the mob of commuting Islanders and touristscram the gangways. No use being in the midst of sweaty and smelly humanity. I was in my usual spot at the snack bar (actually, that's a misnomer as I never eatthe “snacks” offered and only swill the tall-boyBuds—let’s call it simply “The Bar.”), watching the human pageantry go by. As the crowd thinned out, I spied this guy passing by. He appeared to be no olderthan 30. He was tall and stocky, with short brown hairand a kind of pock-marked face. Not ugly, just ordinary. He was garbed in a sharp charcoal grey business suit, white shirt (no tie), and luster fully shined black dress shoes. That’s not the extent of hiswardrobe, though. He wore over his suit a short-sleeved denim jacket. Not cut-off sleeves, mind you, but with regular hemshalfway down the upper arms. He had only a couple ofbuttons done up. The front of the jacket had all thesecolorful patches sewn on, like a Vietnam vet wouldhave on his denim vest.
I couldn’t scope out what thepatches said, but I followed him, hoping to find out this info. There were two patches on his back, each about four or five inches square, one up by each shoulder. They were representations of album covers.One was by Saxon, the other had the cover artwork forMetallica’s “Master of Puppets.”
As we neared the front of the boat, he veered off and inspected the contents of a garbage can. He withdrew from the receptacle a soda cup with lid and strawstill attached, a “large” one from the The Bar withthe Pepsi logo. This guy, whose nice suit was besmirched by denim, began sipping from the cup. I followed him out to the bus ramps (which I cutthrough to get to the SideStreet Saloon), hoping toget a gander at the front patches. He sipped from thesecond-hand, certified pre-owned soda cup the entireway. I lost him.
Weirdo or wack-job? You decide.(And I’m asking about HIM, not ME, all you weisenhemers!)
Monday, July 11, 2005
Make a Woman Disinterested in Ten Seconds Flat!
Scaring away sexy women is easier than you think! If you run into an attractive woman, and you want to make her disappear, you can try some of these:
1. Say "I like your tattoo. What is it? Why would you do that to yourself?"
2. Wait until another man is offering her a drink, and then offer her a drink at the exact same moment.
3. Tell a woman she has pretty feet, and then tell her you don’t like her toe nail polish. (Not only will she think you have a foot fetish, but that you’re a picky, insulting foot fetishist).
4. If you have a nervous tick, make it winking. Constantly wink at her, and then wink at other gals, too.
5. Keep talking to her, even though she is making no eye contact with you whatsoever. Keep talking to her, while she looks at the walls, the floor, cleans out her purse.
6. The first thing you should tell her is that you have a problem with (choose one, two, three or more!) drinking/depression/mania/genital herpes/parties.
7. If she does start talking to you, pull out a notebook (a clipboard is better, but a notebook will do) and start taking notes on your conversation.
8. If there is music playing, slap you thigh to the beat as mechanically as possible.
9. Tell her that your wife/girlfriend/significant other doesn’t understand you, so you “slapped her silly.”
10. Start self-grooming—not just digging the dirt out of your fingernails, either—pick at your skin, ask her about black heads on your face or back.
1. Say "I like your tattoo. What is it? Why would you do that to yourself?"
2. Wait until another man is offering her a drink, and then offer her a drink at the exact same moment.
3. Tell a woman she has pretty feet, and then tell her you don’t like her toe nail polish. (Not only will she think you have a foot fetish, but that you’re a picky, insulting foot fetishist).
4. If you have a nervous tick, make it winking. Constantly wink at her, and then wink at other gals, too.
5. Keep talking to her, even though she is making no eye contact with you whatsoever. Keep talking to her, while she looks at the walls, the floor, cleans out her purse.
6. The first thing you should tell her is that you have a problem with (choose one, two, three or more!) drinking/depression/mania/genital herpes/parties.
7. If she does start talking to you, pull out a notebook (a clipboard is better, but a notebook will do) and start taking notes on your conversation.
8. If there is music playing, slap you thigh to the beat as mechanically as possible.
9. Tell her that your wife/girlfriend/significant other doesn’t understand you, so you “slapped her silly.”
10. Start self-grooming—not just digging the dirt out of your fingernails, either—pick at your skin, ask her about black heads on your face or back.
Thursday, July 7, 2005
Today's Mischief--What I Posted on Craigslist
Sidekick seeks Superhero! (Wall St. (Manh.) and St. George (SI))
Reply to: anon-82949068@craigslist.orgDate: 2005-07-07, 11:30AM EDT
While you are roaming the streets of New York "fighting crime", you need someone to type your letters, make xl budgets, answer your phones, make your phone calls, keep your calendar, handle computer technical issues, go to the bank, proofread your legal documents, program your cell phone, read your handwriting, cheer you up, come get you when the villain has broken your back (again), plan your business travel, and keep your true identity a secret. I have experience with all the above. Seeking a mere 40K, if you're a real dynamo on the side of good. Resume available, but only if you show me yours.
this is in or around Wall St. (Manh.) and St. George (SI)
yes -- it's ok to contact this poster if you are a potential employer or other principal
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
yes -- ok to transmit this posting into outer space82949068
Reply to: anon-82949068@craigslist.orgDate: 2005-07-07, 11:30AM EDT
While you are roaming the streets of New York "fighting crime", you need someone to type your letters, make xl budgets, answer your phones, make your phone calls, keep your calendar, handle computer technical issues, go to the bank, proofread your legal documents, program your cell phone, read your handwriting, cheer you up, come get you when the villain has broken your back (again), plan your business travel, and keep your true identity a secret. I have experience with all the above. Seeking a mere 40K, if you're a real dynamo on the side of good. Resume available, but only if you show me yours.
this is in or around Wall St. (Manh.) and St. George (SI)
yes -- it's ok to contact this poster if you are a potential employer or other principal
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
yes -- ok to transmit this posting into outer space82949068
Wednesday, July 6, 2005
ToGL Help!!! People Are Answering My Personal Ad!!!
I also spent time causing mischief last week, instead of writing in my blog. My friend Niki, who I know from my daily ferry ride, posted what she would write for a personal ad as a comment (see how to write a personal ad below). Of course, I added a short physical description, and a title “Looking for a few nice dates before I return to Greece,” set up a yahoo account, and put it on craigslist, all within a few minutes. I felt tense, because I thought maybe she would be a little mad at me.
She wasn’t, and now she has a date for coffee with someone after work today. She is nervous, of course.
Which brings us to:
Help!!! I posted a personal ad, and people are writing to me!!!
1. All kinds of people will answer your ad. Some people will answer you, because they just answer every single ad with the right sex/age demo, appropriate or not. Some people will reply with lewd comments, emotional outbursts, conversationally short emails as in “hey, wanna chat?” photos with no words, and form letters. Just ignore them. Or be like me: be horrified and fascinated by the human condition, and then hit the delete button.
2. Find between three and five people who really did read your ad, who “fit the description,” and who give you an overall good feeling. Don’t take anything they say at face value—people tend to talk themselves up, down, and sideways. What you want to pay more attention to is the tone of the email. Is it positive? Friendly? Not too pushy? Smart enough for you? Answer those. Hopefully, after a few emails, you can narrow it down to between two and three people you can go out and meet. Laying your hopes on one person can spell ruin. So reply to a couple of nice people, even if they are not your "favorite."
3. Go out and meet them! Don’t let this first meeting be a date, though. A little coffee/beer/soda to start out with, and have a conversation. MEET THEM IN A CROWDED PLACE, WITH PEOPLE AROUND- say yes to the diner, the mall, the coffeeshop, and say no to his/her place, midnight in the woods, the "romantic cliff with the view," and the ditch by the highway. Try to wear something so that they will recognize you. I used to always wear a green t-shirt with a giant foot on the front. For me, meeting people physically after meeting them online always feels unnatural. It takes a few moments to get used to the person's looks (whether they are hot or not).
4. If you don't meet anyone on this volley, don't be discouraged. Maybe you picked the wrong paper/website for you. Try a few others. Try describing yourself a few other ways. Enjoy meeting people--even if they're not quite right. I have gotten quite a few memorable dates from personals. (I'll write of those adventures another time).
She wasn’t, and now she has a date for coffee with someone after work today. She is nervous, of course.
Which brings us to:
Help!!! I posted a personal ad, and people are writing to me!!!
1. All kinds of people will answer your ad. Some people will answer you, because they just answer every single ad with the right sex/age demo, appropriate or not. Some people will reply with lewd comments, emotional outbursts, conversationally short emails as in “hey, wanna chat?” photos with no words, and form letters. Just ignore them. Or be like me: be horrified and fascinated by the human condition, and then hit the delete button.
2. Find between three and five people who really did read your ad, who “fit the description,” and who give you an overall good feeling. Don’t take anything they say at face value—people tend to talk themselves up, down, and sideways. What you want to pay more attention to is the tone of the email. Is it positive? Friendly? Not too pushy? Smart enough for you? Answer those. Hopefully, after a few emails, you can narrow it down to between two and three people you can go out and meet. Laying your hopes on one person can spell ruin. So reply to a couple of nice people, even if they are not your "favorite."
3. Go out and meet them! Don’t let this first meeting be a date, though. A little coffee/beer/soda to start out with, and have a conversation. MEET THEM IN A CROWDED PLACE, WITH PEOPLE AROUND- say yes to the diner, the mall, the coffeeshop, and say no to his/her place, midnight in the woods, the "romantic cliff with the view," and the ditch by the highway. Try to wear something so that they will recognize you. I used to always wear a green t-shirt with a giant foot on the front. For me, meeting people physically after meeting them online always feels unnatural. It takes a few moments to get used to the person's looks (whether they are hot or not).
4. If you don't meet anyone on this volley, don't be discouraged. Maybe you picked the wrong paper/website for you. Try a few others. Try describing yourself a few other ways. Enjoy meeting people--even if they're not quite right. I have gotten quite a few memorable dates from personals. (I'll write of those adventures another time).
Eulogy for Scott "Instant Death" Byrne
My ex-husband died from heart failure at the age of 44. He was extremely bright and charming, with a sense of wit and irony that shone through his music, even his electronic music. I got my musical sense of humor from him. He had the most maniacal laugh--it was like something out of an evil cartoon character.
We would drink and do acid and extasy and coke together... marathon sex and drug sessions... talk about synchronicity and Star Trek and music. I used to see him play drums several times a week--and even if I didn't know where he was playing, I could tell walk down the street and tell which bar he was playing at by the way he used his cymbals.
I liked that he played with several different bands: Instant Death, Barbecue Bob & the Spare Ribs, Simon & the Bar Sinisters, Fisherman's Stew, George Jr, and more I can't remember.
He was a great cook, and would make us rice and beans with fancy wine sauces.
Things went bad, of course, or else he wouldn't have become an "ex" husband. But I think we sometimes forget, in this New Age, "healthy" culture, that the point of people is not how nicey-nice they are, but how intense they are and how much they give to everyone around them. Scott always gave everyone a laugh, a smile, a drink, a song, a beat. He gave a lot. Thank you, Scott.
We would drink and do acid and extasy and coke together... marathon sex and drug sessions... talk about synchronicity and Star Trek and music. I used to see him play drums several times a week--and even if I didn't know where he was playing, I could tell walk down the street and tell which bar he was playing at by the way he used his cymbals.
I liked that he played with several different bands: Instant Death, Barbecue Bob & the Spare Ribs, Simon & the Bar Sinisters, Fisherman's Stew, George Jr, and more I can't remember.
He was a great cook, and would make us rice and beans with fancy wine sauces.
Things went bad, of course, or else he wouldn't have become an "ex" husband. But I think we sometimes forget, in this New Age, "healthy" culture, that the point of people is not how nicey-nice they are, but how intense they are and how much they give to everyone around them. Scott always gave everyone a laugh, a smile, a drink, a song, a beat. He gave a lot. Thank you, Scott.
Tuesday, July 5, 2005
What Is Wrong with Toughness Contests?
A toughness contest is just what it sounds like. It starts out with someone saying, "If you were tough, you'd understand..." or "But have you ever had a dead rat left on your doorstep?"
And then someone else says, "I so too have been oppressed..." or "I do so understand..." "You don't know what I've been through..." etc., etc., etc...
I have news for you. Actual really tough people, who have been through the shit, who have been in war, or concentration camps, or almost killed, etc. don't bring this up with strangers on the internet. They don't want to talk about it, to explain it, to relive it, to think about it, especially not with people they don't know.
Not that these people are completely pent up. They will share experiences with people who share similar ones. They can talk in their own slang, and talk about details surrounding the experience. My dad, for example, is a tough guy, (WWII) and would talk to me about waking up on the beach in Okinawa with a large rat looking at him, inches from his face, as the body parts washing up on shore.
Toughness contests are just whiney, man. When they come up, I just find a nice way to walk away.
And then someone else says, "I so too have been oppressed..." or "I do so understand..." "You don't know what I've been through..." etc., etc., etc...
I have news for you. Actual really tough people, who have been through the shit, who have been in war, or concentration camps, or almost killed, etc. don't bring this up with strangers on the internet. They don't want to talk about it, to explain it, to relive it, to think about it, especially not with people they don't know.
Not that these people are completely pent up. They will share experiences with people who share similar ones. They can talk in their own slang, and talk about details surrounding the experience. My dad, for example, is a tough guy, (WWII) and would talk to me about waking up on the beach in Okinawa with a large rat looking at him, inches from his face, as the body parts washing up on shore.
Toughness contests are just whiney, man. When they come up, I just find a nice way to walk away.
What I Did On My Vacation
1. Rode for eight hours each way on boat, train, bus, cab, and car to see my folks, with a sunny/stormy/sleepy two-year old in tow.
2. Stood ankle deep in the ocean, and called, “Hail Poseidon” at 8 am.
3. Taught my two-year old to yell “Hail Poseidon” at the top of his lungs while standing knee deep in the ocean.
4. Had a few Buds with five Jamaican dames in big flower-covered hats in a garden “tea house”.
5. Moved my mom’s crystal balls into the “jungle room” so my son wouldn’t try to bowl with them.
6. Missed my boyfriend, painfully. I thought I was going to rip my own heart out with my bare hands.
7. But when he finally did call, I said, “Oh, you don’t want to see me? I don’t want to see you either.” (He did want to see me.)
8. Stared pensively at one of my mom’s cow skulls (she has a collection of 15) while using the throne.
9. Napped.
10. Shuffled hand-in-hand with boyfriend and toddler through a cavalcade of tattooed, Converse-shod, music-lovers in Battery Park, and smiled.
2. Stood ankle deep in the ocean, and called, “Hail Poseidon” at 8 am.
3. Taught my two-year old to yell “Hail Poseidon” at the top of his lungs while standing knee deep in the ocean.
4. Had a few Buds with five Jamaican dames in big flower-covered hats in a garden “tea house”.
5. Moved my mom’s crystal balls into the “jungle room” so my son wouldn’t try to bowl with them.
6. Missed my boyfriend, painfully. I thought I was going to rip my own heart out with my bare hands.
7. But when he finally did call, I said, “Oh, you don’t want to see me? I don’t want to see you either.” (He did want to see me.)
8. Stared pensively at one of my mom’s cow skulls (she has a collection of 15) while using the throne.
9. Napped.
10. Shuffled hand-in-hand with boyfriend and toddler through a cavalcade of tattooed, Converse-shod, music-lovers in Battery Park, and smiled.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
ToGL: How to Write a Personal Ad
Nothing turns me foaming mouth rabid like a personal ad that looks like this:
“Good looking girl seeks good looking guy. Works out 3 days a week. Witty.”
They may have some line about fine dining, cuddling by a fire, or sunset-lit walks by some scummy puddle. Or head games. And that’s it. There’s probably some badly-lit, nose-enhancing photo that was taken of the writer by his own hand.
I have a history with personals that spans 16 years, and I wrote them for a lot of different reasons: social experiments (write about myself different ways, see what I get); dinner (when I was starving in college); anger (because writing personals used to be an art, dammit!)
The last personal ad I wrote was about 10 months ago. I was angry, like I am now. What happened was I went to craig’s list to scan personals for fun, found the bs like above, and wrote my own ad (no photo, because I’m old school) to show them how it should be done. I wrote that I had a kid and he comes first, that if everyone on this site is so great, why aren’t they out getting laid, and described myself completely, from clothing sizes to hair style to what I like doing by myself to what I like doing with my guy, (yes, sexually), and also what I like to do, my interests, etc. And I met the best guy. We're still together. The interesting thing to me was that I took a tough tone in my ad, and I met powerful people: pro-wrestlers, fashion designers, editors. No joke.
How to Write A Personal Ad
Everyone:
1. You are not looking for the largest number of responses. While flattering to the ego, a large number of responses wastes a lot of time and money. All you need is one response: the right one.
2. Be truthful. Tell them how you look. Not what you weigh, because that can be deceiving. And not some broad adjectives, like skinny or fat or bodacious. If people compliment you on anything, say so. How tall you are, your clothing sizes, hair color, eye color. If you want a photo to cover this, make sure that someone else takes it, that you are not at a wedding, and that you are outside, and look a little nicer than usual.
3. If you have anyone special already in your life, be it a child, or wife, or a cat, say so. A lot of people are allergic to children, spouses and/or pets. Bring it up in your ad, and save everyone (including yourself) some time.
4. Write down what you like to do, whether it is watching "Friends" or illegally training a pet dolphin in your pool. Write down ideally how much and what kind of sex you like or not like. You don't have to get too deep into the description, or too graphic or visual. You can say something like, "I like giving and getting oral, but I don't let anyone play with my feet." That's it. Keep those foot fetishists at bay.
5. Describing the other person.
Think back to any qualities that all your boyfriends/girlfriends shared in all of your successful relationships. Like, I realized that all my favorite boyfriends had very large media collections: records, tapes, cds, dvds, videos, books--basically massive libraries in their homes. I made sure to put that in my ad. This may take some time and some lists, but maybe all of your favorites liked "Friends" or something.
An ad written by a straight woman should list her minimum physical requirements for a guy. Not the maximum. You may think that will get you less than what you ask for, but actually, you will get honest guys that are more than what you ask for. I asked for someone taller than me (5'5 or taller) and no fatter than Jack Black in my last ad. My guy is 5'9, and 160lbs. Perfect.
An ad written by a man, ideally, should not list any physical requirements that have to do with a woman's body, other than maybe her height. Women are in a difficult position: society tells them they all have to look like Paris Hilton, but that'll never be so, and you will probably miss out on women without huge egos if you talk about how beautiful they have to be. I think the best way to hedge this whole issue is to be very vague:" slim pref.", or "endowed pref.", "only responses with pix will be answered" (but you better have your own pic up for that one). And if you want someone very athletic, you should probably cover that in your interests section, as in, "After a long day studying frog genitalia in the lab, I want someone to bike ride ten miles with me and recount to me what happened on "Survivor." Something like that will probably get all of the dumb, fat chics who need you home at 6:30 at bay.
6. Write your "headline" last. Write everything else. Don't worry about being too witty. In my experience, the wittier the ad, the dumber the respondents. Just try to be clear. At the end, of all your lists, see if there is any kind of common thread, witty head line you can come up with. If not, just look at the list of activities you like to do, pick out your favorite one, and just say "Seeking someone to ______ with me."
“Good looking girl seeks good looking guy. Works out 3 days a week. Witty.”
They may have some line about fine dining, cuddling by a fire, or sunset-lit walks by some scummy puddle. Or head games. And that’s it. There’s probably some badly-lit, nose-enhancing photo that was taken of the writer by his own hand.
I have a history with personals that spans 16 years, and I wrote them for a lot of different reasons: social experiments (write about myself different ways, see what I get); dinner (when I was starving in college); anger (because writing personals used to be an art, dammit!)
The last personal ad I wrote was about 10 months ago. I was angry, like I am now. What happened was I went to craig’s list to scan personals for fun, found the bs like above, and wrote my own ad (no photo, because I’m old school) to show them how it should be done. I wrote that I had a kid and he comes first, that if everyone on this site is so great, why aren’t they out getting laid, and described myself completely, from clothing sizes to hair style to what I like doing by myself to what I like doing with my guy, (yes, sexually), and also what I like to do, my interests, etc. And I met the best guy. We're still together. The interesting thing to me was that I took a tough tone in my ad, and I met powerful people: pro-wrestlers, fashion designers, editors. No joke.
How to Write A Personal Ad
Everyone:
1. You are not looking for the largest number of responses. While flattering to the ego, a large number of responses wastes a lot of time and money. All you need is one response: the right one.
2. Be truthful. Tell them how you look. Not what you weigh, because that can be deceiving. And not some broad adjectives, like skinny or fat or bodacious. If people compliment you on anything, say so. How tall you are, your clothing sizes, hair color, eye color. If you want a photo to cover this, make sure that someone else takes it, that you are not at a wedding, and that you are outside, and look a little nicer than usual.
3. If you have anyone special already in your life, be it a child, or wife, or a cat, say so. A lot of people are allergic to children, spouses and/or pets. Bring it up in your ad, and save everyone (including yourself) some time.
4. Write down what you like to do, whether it is watching "Friends" or illegally training a pet dolphin in your pool. Write down ideally how much and what kind of sex you like or not like. You don't have to get too deep into the description, or too graphic or visual. You can say something like, "I like giving and getting oral, but I don't let anyone play with my feet." That's it. Keep those foot fetishists at bay.
5. Describing the other person.
Think back to any qualities that all your boyfriends/girlfriends shared in all of your successful relationships. Like, I realized that all my favorite boyfriends had very large media collections: records, tapes, cds, dvds, videos, books--basically massive libraries in their homes. I made sure to put that in my ad. This may take some time and some lists, but maybe all of your favorites liked "Friends" or something.
An ad written by a straight woman should list her minimum physical requirements for a guy. Not the maximum. You may think that will get you less than what you ask for, but actually, you will get honest guys that are more than what you ask for. I asked for someone taller than me (5'5 or taller) and no fatter than Jack Black in my last ad. My guy is 5'9, and 160lbs. Perfect.
An ad written by a man, ideally, should not list any physical requirements that have to do with a woman's body, other than maybe her height. Women are in a difficult position: society tells them they all have to look like Paris Hilton, but that'll never be so, and you will probably miss out on women without huge egos if you talk about how beautiful they have to be. I think the best way to hedge this whole issue is to be very vague:" slim pref.", or "endowed pref.", "only responses with pix will be answered" (but you better have your own pic up for that one). And if you want someone very athletic, you should probably cover that in your interests section, as in, "After a long day studying frog genitalia in the lab, I want someone to bike ride ten miles with me and recount to me what happened on "Survivor." Something like that will probably get all of the dumb, fat chics who need you home at 6:30 at bay.
6. Write your "headline" last. Write everything else. Don't worry about being too witty. In my experience, the wittier the ad, the dumber the respondents. Just try to be clear. At the end, of all your lists, see if there is any kind of common thread, witty head line you can come up with. If not, just look at the list of activities you like to do, pick out your favorite one, and just say "Seeking someone to ______ with me."
If I were Dear Abby (2)
As I mentioned in ShockMania Comics(shockmania.blogspot.com), I am an advice column addict. It's almost the only reason I get the Staten Island Ad-vance (that and wacky Islanders' building code shenanigans/rat-outs). I like to take on repeat Dear Abby letters.
Dear Abby,
I have been with this guy for a while, but he won't commit. Maybe he's afraid of commitment? What should I do?
Demanding
Dear Demanding,
It depends on what you mean by not committing.
Is he running around with a bunch of chics? Then you should probably dump him for someone who is committed to safe-condom-free sex, at the very least.
Is he basically your boyfriend but your life goal is to get married and have 2.2 kids? Then you'll have to have the "talk," and tell him that if he's not on board with this goal of yours, you'll have to make him walk the plank before you waste any more of eachother's time. And then follow through. Not that you can't be friends, but no one wants to hear that stupid line from the deep blue briny.
Is he a nice boyfriend? Are you having a good time? Are you on the fence about the whole kid thing? Maybe you're the one who is scared. Scared of losing him, of the future, whatever. Remember that getting married offers no guarantees, just a lot of legal complications, and enjoy your boyfriend as long as you have him.
Dear Abby,
I have been with this guy for a while, but he won't commit. Maybe he's afraid of commitment? What should I do?
Demanding
Dear Demanding,
It depends on what you mean by not committing.
Is he running around with a bunch of chics? Then you should probably dump him for someone who is committed to safe-condom-free sex, at the very least.
Is he basically your boyfriend but your life goal is to get married and have 2.2 kids? Then you'll have to have the "talk," and tell him that if he's not on board with this goal of yours, you'll have to make him walk the plank before you waste any more of eachother's time. And then follow through. Not that you can't be friends, but no one wants to hear that stupid line from the deep blue briny.
Is he a nice boyfriend? Are you having a good time? Are you on the fence about the whole kid thing? Maybe you're the one who is scared. Scared of losing him, of the future, whatever. Remember that getting married offers no guarantees, just a lot of legal complications, and enjoy your boyfriend as long as you have him.
Monday, June 27, 2005
How To Keep Attention Focused on You While Online
There are so many people in chat rooms and online groups these days! They are so smart and interesting, how in the world will you be able to keep attention focussed on yourself?
One great way to keep attention focussed on yourself is to have an aggressively sexy nick (like h*t p*ssy) and then say that you will not do any personal messaging. (Thanks for bringing this up, Sugs!) This nick will drag the attention of many poor horny bastards to you, start flirty little fights, and keep as much attention on you as possible. Plus, you keep your good girl image by rejecting pm's. Unfortunately, smart ones will know that talkers aren't f*ckers, and may avoid you.
Another good way to keep the attention on yourself is to say something contrary in the group. Be sure to be huffy and self-righteous, and never admit you are wrong. This will flare anger in the group, and maybe some divisiveness too. Unlike the first one, this may get the attention of some smart people in the group/room, and they might type to you like mad. After everyone is tired of typing about this, go around saying you are sorry, but still not admitting you are wrong, and start "explaining".
Get very, very emotional about an offhand comment. Make sure no one could possibly understand how you feel. Make sure everyone feels bad, and says that they're sorry. And don't let that be good enough for you, until everyone is sick of talking about it. Then tell everyone that it's okay, and send out another round of posts telling them it's ok, to get everyone to pay attention to you once more.
I am sure there are many other ways to keep everyone's attention on you in your chatroom/online group. If you have any other favorites (or classics), send them as comments or if they are too long, by email, (sukihoshi24@yahoo.com). I will post them and give you credit.
One great way to keep attention focussed on yourself is to have an aggressively sexy nick (like h*t p*ssy) and then say that you will not do any personal messaging. (Thanks for bringing this up, Sugs!) This nick will drag the attention of many poor horny bastards to you, start flirty little fights, and keep as much attention on you as possible. Plus, you keep your good girl image by rejecting pm's. Unfortunately, smart ones will know that talkers aren't f*ckers, and may avoid you.
Another good way to keep the attention on yourself is to say something contrary in the group. Be sure to be huffy and self-righteous, and never admit you are wrong. This will flare anger in the group, and maybe some divisiveness too. Unlike the first one, this may get the attention of some smart people in the group/room, and they might type to you like mad. After everyone is tired of typing about this, go around saying you are sorry, but still not admitting you are wrong, and start "explaining".
Get very, very emotional about an offhand comment. Make sure no one could possibly understand how you feel. Make sure everyone feels bad, and says that they're sorry. And don't let that be good enough for you, until everyone is sick of talking about it. Then tell everyone that it's okay, and send out another round of posts telling them it's ok, to get everyone to pay attention to you once more.
I am sure there are many other ways to keep everyone's attention on you in your chatroom/online group. If you have any other favorites (or classics), send them as comments or if they are too long, by email, (sukihoshi24@yahoo.com). I will post them and give you credit.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Ekas Annoying Christianoi (Nice Christianoi can hang out)
For the past few days there has been quite a hubbub at my Neo-Hellenic online group, because a worship group in Greece uses the words "Ekas Christianoi" (Depart Christians!) at the beginning of its ceremonies. Now, Greece may be a democracy, but it is also a theocracy: if you don't show up at the Greek Orthodox Church, a priest may come to your house and try to exorcise the devil. Well, anyways, some of the non-Hellenic members got freaked out about this negative energy, ma-an, and the whole thing descended into bickering, excruciatingly long posts, people responding to posts they didn't fully read (guilty as charged), and a round of whiney toughness talk ("I have TOO faced oppression, dammit!") which I will discuss in another post.
None of this solved the original problem: How do we make Annoying Christians go away? Now, I'm not talking about nice Christians, who keep to themselves, and just happily worship their god. One of my best friends is very active in her church, and I deeply respect her because she really knows her Bible, and is thoughtful about it. I am talking about ANNOYING, OPPRESSIVE PROSELYTIZERS, TELLING ME WHO, HOW AND WHERE TO WORSHIP, AND WHAT SHOULD BE DONE TO MY SOUL.
Three Ways to Make Annoying Christians Go Away
1. The next time someone starts talking to you (especially in a big crowd) about Jesus, do what my friend Hell Kitten does: Interrupt, and as if you never spoke the word "Jesus" before you your life, say, "Sooo, what can you tell me about this...jeeeeezzzz-us?" The person will start talking directly to you, as if you were a live one, and you say, "Wow that is so much to learn about jeeeeeeeeezzzzz-us. Is there any way I can read about him?" When he hands you a pamphlet, look at it carefully, turn it in your hands and say, "This is so small. Is there any other way I can learn more?" Then he will start talking to you more, but by now you won't be able to hear him over the roar of the laughter of the crowd around you, and you can just leave.
2. Hierophant's Proselytizer's Questionnaire. It's about 20 pages long, and designed to waste this proselytizer's time in an attempt to convert you. Make a lot of copies. Keep one with you at all times. It's more from the atheist camp, but still useful. Here's the link:
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Olympus/5599/hpq/hpq-print.html
3. Hit them in the pocket book. Find a way to sue! Do a slip and fall in front of a church. Those poor victims of pedophilic priests are really taking the Catholic Church apart stone by stone with this maneuver. Think of a reason to sue, and follow through.
None of this solved the original problem: How do we make Annoying Christians go away? Now, I'm not talking about nice Christians, who keep to themselves, and just happily worship their god. One of my best friends is very active in her church, and I deeply respect her because she really knows her Bible, and is thoughtful about it. I am talking about ANNOYING, OPPRESSIVE PROSELYTIZERS, TELLING ME WHO, HOW AND WHERE TO WORSHIP, AND WHAT SHOULD BE DONE TO MY SOUL.
Three Ways to Make Annoying Christians Go Away
1. The next time someone starts talking to you (especially in a big crowd) about Jesus, do what my friend Hell Kitten does: Interrupt, and as if you never spoke the word "Jesus" before you your life, say, "Sooo, what can you tell me about this...jeeeeezzzz-us?" The person will start talking directly to you, as if you were a live one, and you say, "Wow that is so much to learn about jeeeeeeeeezzzzz-us. Is there any way I can read about him?" When he hands you a pamphlet, look at it carefully, turn it in your hands and say, "This is so small. Is there any other way I can learn more?" Then he will start talking to you more, but by now you won't be able to hear him over the roar of the laughter of the crowd around you, and you can just leave.
2. Hierophant's Proselytizer's Questionnaire. It's about 20 pages long, and designed to waste this proselytizer's time in an attempt to convert you. Make a lot of copies. Keep one with you at all times. It's more from the atheist camp, but still useful. Here's the link:
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Olympus/5599/hpq/hpq-print.html
3. Hit them in the pocket book. Find a way to sue! Do a slip and fall in front of a church. Those poor victims of pedophilic priests are really taking the Catholic Church apart stone by stone with this maneuver. Think of a reason to sue, and follow through.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
This story brought to you by Glaucos, who I met through a neo-hellenic group.
Well, where can i start to explain. Many years ago, when i was about 17 or 18, I converted to Islam and underwent what I now call a "muslim re-education". After some months of learning the traditions and ways of the Islamic community, I was refered during the Bosnia crisis to an aid organisation running aid to the poor bosnian muslims, where I discovered a whole new perspective on life. I didn't get to Bosnia because a few things happened to me that made me reconsider a few things about humanity, christianity and islam. (And the poor ordinary folk caught up as passive members of their captive audience who were slowly dragged in exodus from slaughter zone to slaughter zone....) So what do you think made me come away from it all? Because I saw through some boxes and learnt what "friends" wanted to do with the "aid"? As we are online, there's no way I can post about what I found, and what plans were being made for "Jihad" and why they were making them. The core of their reason was "They kill us whenever they find us. We should not send food and clothes, we should send ammo. We want our women to shoot the enemy when they are resisting rape and murder, not be well fed and wearing nice clothes waiting for them!" And on the other foot, a boot equally as hard and steely. There is no mercy and no hesitation in the slaughter. I'm not condoning anything. I will exhort all fellows at all times to be ready for these people. The muslims got their asses kicked in Bosnia because they trusted their chrisitian neighbours.
So in view of what I experienced, coming into contact with a terrorist cell and listening to their reasoning, their scope and planning for future destructions within the UK, I left these people to their own nutty designs. On the one hand there were christians commiting mass slaughter (again) for whatever reason and muslims trying to slaughter as recompense for the pleasure of Allah. Both were as bad as the other, as willy nilly machine gun fire at random targets was not what I'd enlisted to do, it was to defend a pacifist driver from assault on a misson to take clothes and food aid. What this taught me, especially as I was (it was told me) going to be used to undermine and cause havoc amongst my own people in my own nation, is that there was no actual cause, it was professional terror and the guys were just troublemakers who'd found a temporary cause to get some glory and some young gullible members.
And there are so many of these lunatics!
So please don't call me the darkest and most hateful, or crazy. I just want you to realise that in your own city, even your own district, there are fundamentalists who want to nail you up and burn you alive, that is, after torturing you and screwing you to unconsciousness. Sorry if I've offended anyone with some dark truths. Though I'm sure that its more than just excrement. And I got to say it after what I view another "internet assualt" by someone who writes faster that they think, whenever I hear what others call a "fluffy bunny" warbling about peace and forgiveness, I kind of hear it differently ever since I read Tolkeins LOTR and examined Grimer Wormtounges assistance to the King. Essentially, Grimer would have had the king "on all fours like a beast", and that "the king is tired by the constant talk of warmongering". Could we just compare it with the words by Aragon, "War is upon you, wether you like it or not". That really does "take the worm".
"Fluffy Bunnisms" is a misnomer. Really. Its Grimerism in its most deceitful, reality suspending form. I'd appreciate it if you'd blog this message so that your readers can understand fully my sentiment.
So in view of what I experienced, coming into contact with a terrorist cell and listening to their reasoning, their scope and planning for future destructions within the UK, I left these people to their own nutty designs. On the one hand there were christians commiting mass slaughter (again) for whatever reason and muslims trying to slaughter as recompense for the pleasure of Allah. Both were as bad as the other, as willy nilly machine gun fire at random targets was not what I'd enlisted to do, it was to defend a pacifist driver from assault on a misson to take clothes and food aid. What this taught me, especially as I was (it was told me) going to be used to undermine and cause havoc amongst my own people in my own nation, is that there was no actual cause, it was professional terror and the guys were just troublemakers who'd found a temporary cause to get some glory and some young gullible members.
And there are so many of these lunatics!
So please don't call me the darkest and most hateful, or crazy. I just want you to realise that in your own city, even your own district, there are fundamentalists who want to nail you up and burn you alive, that is, after torturing you and screwing you to unconsciousness. Sorry if I've offended anyone with some dark truths. Though I'm sure that its more than just excrement. And I got to say it after what I view another "internet assualt" by someone who writes faster that they think, whenever I hear what others call a "fluffy bunny" warbling about peace and forgiveness, I kind of hear it differently ever since I read Tolkeins LOTR and examined Grimer Wormtounges assistance to the King. Essentially, Grimer would have had the king "on all fours like a beast", and that "the king is tired by the constant talk of warmongering". Could we just compare it with the words by Aragon, "War is upon you, wether you like it or not". That really does "take the worm".
"Fluffy Bunnisms" is a misnomer. Really. Its Grimerism in its most deceitful, reality suspending form. I'd appreciate it if you'd blog this message so that your readers can understand fully my sentiment.
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