Month: April 2012

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She’d been horrible. Incorrigible, careless, bratty.

The easy thing to do would just be to punish her, to smack that stockinged ass until she wailed and apologized. But the effects of that sort of correction were fast becoming short-lived. ‘Sorry’ didn’t seem to extend beyond the moment of forgiveness. She made the same comments, the same coy quips, the same little acts of insubordination intentionally designed to provoke.

And so the best thing to do is to leave her that way. To make her wait, to forbid her from easing the angles of her back and knees, to let her cry and learn to become patient when suddenly things are no longer about her. A surefire way to reform a brat is to deny her attention to the point that contact becomes so rare and cherished that she will not do anything to provoke further action. Waiting has a profound and sobering effect on perspective.

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And some of us like to keep multiple cereals in the weekly breakfast rotation. 

Juss sayin’.

So, I met a guy the other night.

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Like a real guy. A grown-up guy with a grown-up job. 

This sounds really, really silly. But, honestly, after all the random college stuff, I found myself feeling incredibly immature around him. And he’s only about four years older but, for all the times guys my age tell me I’m precocious and intimidating, I actually felt like a kid.

Because he was all “oh, I like to cook for women” and “I’m really into listening to jazz music”. I’m totally into both. But he wants to settle down like yesterday.

And, while he totally made fun of me for getting a little tipsy and stepping right out of one of my shoes (in my defense, they’re a little on the big side), he was actually able to keep up with my sense of humor and made college guys seem like a bunch of toddlers. Which, no offense to any of my followers, they are.

I’m really not down for the settling down thing or the getting into a serious relationship with someone who is done with grad school and has a career thing, but I see no harm in exploring this. Even SG was like, “please go for it”.

And I will. I’m just being a little coy before responding to his call. 

Here’s to acting like a grown-up.

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Although I don’t watch Archer, this reminds me of my friend sansshame, who tirelessly tries to convince me to.

How do you feel about turtlenecks? Because you know how I feel about knives.

indisdesk:

“Daddy, there’s Russian acid burning through my suit, I have to cut it off!”

Ever since I let Brunette Little start watching Archer, everything we do has to be a “spy mission” that turns pervy. And I hate turtlenecks.

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“My girlfriend and I are Roger and Jane,” the Southern Gentleman commented as we watched Mad Men. 

I blinked. “Please don’t tell me that. She’s a nice girl.”

Last week, he’d complained about her talking dirty not because she actually genuinely wanted to but to make him happy. It was unenthusiastic and a little sad. He’s always conflicted about her and he always comes to me about it.

“She’s so fun and beautiful and happy,” he continued, “but so…just…she doesn’t look beyond herself. She can’t look beyond herself.”

I sighed, “this is me saying this to you as a friend. But please promise me you won’t shack up with just another version of her. Because I know that’s going to be the easy and safe and fun option for you and it’s what a lot of the people around you are going to like. Please pick someone I can bear sitting around on a porch and smoking a joint with.” I realized how deep I’d just gotten and tacked on, “end of preaching, I promise.”

Somehow, he seemed all right with what I said and replied, “can we talk about this some more later?”

“Yeah, man,” I returned my attention to the tv, “woah. This is a really hip Viagra commercial.”

When we have these conversations, it’s when I realize I value him more as a close friend than as someone I mess around with. It’s strange to care so much about someone you’re physically involved with but to want to imagine being friends with them 20 years down the line than being with them. I know we’re not meant for each other and I don’t want to force it. But there’s a sensitivity there between the two of us. We really, honestly care about each other. We genuinely understand each other. And while we have really awesome sex, there’s something a lot deeper there that isn’t romantic so much as a really deep compassion between two very similar people. This blog tends to really capture only the silliness and sexuality which, while key to our relationship, is not its entirety at all.

Yikes, this was deeply personal post. Can we please end on a moment of silent appreciation for the pink towel on Roger’s head?

sexmahoney:

Great Moments in Freeze Frame #1696 – Mad Men

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There’s something impossibly romantic about this.

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Me: I think I am just about done with that guy from my frat. He just took a random girl home, he’s been sending way too many mixed signals, he’s also getting more and more ambiguous about his girlfriend…
My friend: No. NO. You can’t do that.
Me: Why not?
My friend: Because if this were a fanfic, I’d ship you guys. I’d ship you all day.
Me: Oh my God, stop it.
My friend: Listen, I was a dorky guy when I was a kid. But [a Brangelina-type mix of my and his name] is just too good.
Me: You definitely came up with that way too fast.
My friend: It’s a really good ship and you can’t mess with it.
Me: I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now.

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There’s a tenuous line between pain and pleasure. Upon examination, it’s really more of a no man’s land. It’s disputed territory we play in. It’s something that I fight against time and time again: I enjoy this. No matter how close to just plain awful it seems to get, I enjoy this.

So, it’s no coincidence that the novel about Michelangelo’s life was called The Agony and the Ecstasy. The two are not mutually exclusive. It boils down to the nature of suffering. And you know how I feel about suffering.

Facts stand that suffering can be beautiful. And you must be aware by now that not everything beautiful is necessarily good. Though, I suppose it depends on how you approach that word as well.

Nonetheless, I’m sure we can take an example from Michelangelo and find art in this suffering.