Friday, January 14, 2005
DEPRAVED
I have a very dirty secret to confess.
I have some very dirty magazines at my house filled with fictional stories and pictures. I purchased them from an old boyfriend who thought a gift certificate to "Castle Boutique" would be the quintessential birthday gift. At the time, I thought it was a funny gift, if odd. I remember giving him a birthday hug and making one of those fake faces we all give when we over exaggerate our "thanks" for a gift we loathe. I wish now that I hadn't been so convincing.
Shortly after my birthday dinner, he drove us to the sex toy store to spend the certificate. Did I mention he gave me $50 worth? We looked around the store and all I could think to myself was how this gift was so terrible, and that we were spending my birthday in a goofy store. Any other day, fine- but my birthday? I couldn't see anything I NEEDED, so I purchased something I thought would be, at the very least, interesting.
Steamy Erotica.
Later, at home, I ripped away the cellophane wrapper and discovered pages of awkward looking black-and- white photos of men and women from the 70s in various poses and mullets. Fat women, skinny women, punk men, bearded men, hairy-chested men....all naked. I laughed my ass off.
The stories were inanely entertaining. Girl is the tour guide for a vacation tour bus, three guys are checking her out, they start touching her, she invites them for a lunch break snack on the bus while the others are out, she likes one of them in particular, and he does her in the back of the bus.
Highly unrealistic. What woman in her right mind would want to do it on a bus? Have you seen a tour bus? The seats usually fit only two people, and there would have to be all kinds of awkwardness involved.
The thing that bothers me the most, however, is that many of these sexually starved, nymphomaniac characters seem to be having sex all over the place (elevators, the back of a van, "downstairs with the taxi driver, while my husband is upstairs taking a shower," etc, and none of the authors seem it prudent to add a word or two about the characters using condoms. (Never mind that they cheat on each other, swap husbands, go through several men a night, and do it with strangers. That is another issue for another day). If one is going to be a sexual addict, shouldn't one at least do it safely?
After reading every last filthy story (WHAT?!! I WAS CURIOUS....LEAVE ME ALONE) I didn't know what to think. Shortly afterwards, I broke up with that stupid loser, and since I hadn't spent the entire gift certificate, I thrust it in an envelope with a letter outlining all the reasons I wanted to end it and put the entire thing in his mailbox.
Now I have these 3 magazines (they came in a set....WHAT?!) and I haven't thrown them out because... well, they are funny to look at and entertaining to read. But what if I drive home tonight and get in an accident? And friends come to clean out my possessions to send home to my parents. My good-girl image would be tarnished, and they would think I was a sex-fiend that liked to read and stare at porn. This can't be my family's last memories of me!
I should throw them out tonight.
I have some very dirty magazines at my house filled with fictional stories and pictures. I purchased them from an old boyfriend who thought a gift certificate to "Castle Boutique" would be the quintessential birthday gift. At the time, I thought it was a funny gift, if odd. I remember giving him a birthday hug and making one of those fake faces we all give when we over exaggerate our "thanks" for a gift we loathe. I wish now that I hadn't been so convincing.
Shortly after my birthday dinner, he drove us to the sex toy store to spend the certificate. Did I mention he gave me $50 worth? We looked around the store and all I could think to myself was how this gift was so terrible, and that we were spending my birthday in a goofy store. Any other day, fine- but my birthday? I couldn't see anything I NEEDED, so I purchased something I thought would be, at the very least, interesting.
Steamy Erotica.
Later, at home, I ripped away the cellophane wrapper and discovered pages of awkward looking black-and- white photos of men and women from the 70s in various poses and mullets. Fat women, skinny women, punk men, bearded men, hairy-chested men....all naked. I laughed my ass off.
The stories were inanely entertaining. Girl is the tour guide for a vacation tour bus, three guys are checking her out, they start touching her, she invites them for a lunch break snack on the bus while the others are out, she likes one of them in particular, and he does her in the back of the bus.
Highly unrealistic. What woman in her right mind would want to do it on a bus? Have you seen a tour bus? The seats usually fit only two people, and there would have to be all kinds of awkwardness involved.
The thing that bothers me the most, however, is that many of these sexually starved, nymphomaniac characters seem to be having sex all over the place (elevators, the back of a van, "downstairs with the taxi driver, while my husband is upstairs taking a shower," etc, and none of the authors seem it prudent to add a word or two about the characters using condoms. (Never mind that they cheat on each other, swap husbands, go through several men a night, and do it with strangers. That is another issue for another day). If one is going to be a sexual addict, shouldn't one at least do it safely?
After reading every last filthy story (WHAT?!! I WAS CURIOUS....LEAVE ME ALONE) I didn't know what to think. Shortly afterwards, I broke up with that stupid loser, and since I hadn't spent the entire gift certificate, I thrust it in an envelope with a letter outlining all the reasons I wanted to end it and put the entire thing in his mailbox.
Now I have these 3 magazines (they came in a set....WHAT?!) and I haven't thrown them out because... well, they are funny to look at and entertaining to read. But what if I drive home tonight and get in an accident? And friends come to clean out my possessions to send home to my parents. My good-girl image would be tarnished, and they would think I was a sex-fiend that liked to read and stare at porn. This can't be my family's last memories of me!
I should throw them out tonight.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
MISSING IN ACTION
So my blogs have been.... scarce, to say the least.
What can I say?
I so often think of penning my thoughts here, but feel tired and drained before I get to it. It's just one more thing to do.
I used to write so often before Mr. S came into my life. That was because I was melancholy and sometimes lonely. Now that he is in my life, there is no need or time to complain or examine the difficulties and challenges of my life via a journal.
Perhaps the greatest reason for this is that we talk often, Mr. S. and I. He listens to many of my woes (and can respond, unlike a journal). We understand each other on many levels and ours is a spiritual connection as much as it is a romantic or affectionate one. Never before has someone understood the complex layers of my personality. Never before have I wanted to please and serve and adore someone so much. Some might say that last statement sounds subservient. It isn't. You can't understand if you don't know him. Or how I feel when I am with him. How many times have I thought to myself that I would gladly devote the rest of my days to working hard to make his life easy and comfortable?
1 year and two months. And it still feels new.
This week we had our first altercation. It was awkward, and I felt so vulnerable. Like a small child in trouble with his or her parents. I couldn't yell at him. I couldn't raise my voice to match his. I didn't want to be angry. I only wanted to love him, and assure him that whatever stressful situation we were in, there was a solution. I wanted to slow the conversation down and ask him to remember that at the center of my heart is the principal desire to love him and connect.
The altercation occurred on the phone, and I was caught off guard. His complaints were so unusual, so uncharacteristic! I cried, in spite of myself. Even though I tried so hard not to- I was so shocked... after all, what differences of opinions have we ever had that we haven't been able to discuss in calm and easy going tones? I felt so unprepared and felt so foolish. He asked me not to cry, and the altercation subsided.
I saw him an hour later at a restaurant where we were to meet with some friends. Upon meeting us, he embraced me with a warm smile, and a tender kiss. He put his arm around me as we pondered the menu and appetizers. He smiled often, and it was a "I-know-you-think-I'm-mad-but-I'm-not" smile; I knew then that it would be okay. And it was.
I know some would say that a lack of altercations in a relationship spells disaster. I have to argue that point. Mr. S and I are intrinsically determined to work things out with conversation and understanding- to raise our arguments and not our voices- to communicate with patience. I know it won't always be this way, but we can try.
And should the day arrive that we cannot come to a compromise or solution, we have promised to remember that although we may not understand the actions of the other person, we will try to fall back on what we know of his/her character and go from there.
Mr. S- Je t'aime beaucoup!
What can I say?
I so often think of penning my thoughts here, but feel tired and drained before I get to it. It's just one more thing to do.
I used to write so often before Mr. S came into my life. That was because I was melancholy and sometimes lonely. Now that he is in my life, there is no need or time to complain or examine the difficulties and challenges of my life via a journal.
Perhaps the greatest reason for this is that we talk often, Mr. S. and I. He listens to many of my woes (and can respond, unlike a journal). We understand each other on many levels and ours is a spiritual connection as much as it is a romantic or affectionate one. Never before has someone understood the complex layers of my personality. Never before have I wanted to please and serve and adore someone so much. Some might say that last statement sounds subservient. It isn't. You can't understand if you don't know him. Or how I feel when I am with him. How many times have I thought to myself that I would gladly devote the rest of my days to working hard to make his life easy and comfortable?
1 year and two months. And it still feels new.
This week we had our first altercation. It was awkward, and I felt so vulnerable. Like a small child in trouble with his or her parents. I couldn't yell at him. I couldn't raise my voice to match his. I didn't want to be angry. I only wanted to love him, and assure him that whatever stressful situation we were in, there was a solution. I wanted to slow the conversation down and ask him to remember that at the center of my heart is the principal desire to love him and connect.
The altercation occurred on the phone, and I was caught off guard. His complaints were so unusual, so uncharacteristic! I cried, in spite of myself. Even though I tried so hard not to- I was so shocked... after all, what differences of opinions have we ever had that we haven't been able to discuss in calm and easy going tones? I felt so unprepared and felt so foolish. He asked me not to cry, and the altercation subsided.
I saw him an hour later at a restaurant where we were to meet with some friends. Upon meeting us, he embraced me with a warm smile, and a tender kiss. He put his arm around me as we pondered the menu and appetizers. He smiled often, and it was a "I-know-you-think-I'm-mad-but-I'm-not" smile; I knew then that it would be okay. And it was.
I know some would say that a lack of altercations in a relationship spells disaster. I have to argue that point. Mr. S and I are intrinsically determined to work things out with conversation and understanding- to raise our arguments and not our voices- to communicate with patience. I know it won't always be this way, but we can try.
And should the day arrive that we cannot come to a compromise or solution, we have promised to remember that although we may not understand the actions of the other person, we will try to fall back on what we know of his/her character and go from there.
Mr. S- Je t'aime beaucoup!
