Relationship Cop Out?

Is there a defining moment when you think your friend could be more than just a friend? Or does it really just boil down to a spontaneous hormonal moment that takes over? Two members of the opposite sex that spend a lot of time together are bound to, overtime get a jolt or two…right?

Recently, while on holiday, I spent some time with a friend, who I up until that moment viewed solely as a brother. I don’t know what happened – different time zone, jet lag, and lack of sleep…all these things could have contributed to my single episode of wanting - a brief and ill advised moment where I crossed the line, so to speak.

I’d like to think I just tip toed over it; only thing I’m not tip toeing over is this newfound habitual tendency of undressing my guy pal in my dreams. Honestly, I don’t know how it came to this. I’d prefer to lavish this post with a more Freudian explanation than that, but I don’t have enough blood flowing to my brain to even justify my inappropriate horniness under the guise of that psychosomatic mumble jumble.

I’m having all these, lusty lunges – yup, I made that up. I’m defining it as ‘embarrassing double entendres you throw out when you start losing all sense of friendship propriety’. The moment when your eyes glaze over and wipe out all proper buddy behavior and replace it with “I wonder what you look like naked?”

I know it’s wrong – wrong of me to suddenly flip the switch on our friendship with overly aggressive flirty behavior – which mind you, I was keeping under control until his mutual attention started pumping me and my game up. Oh lord, I just claimed to have game.

I find myself doing what I call sleazy activities…listening to inappropriate amounts of R&B, basically whoever sings about sexing you up and slathering you down - and purposely letting my mind wander. I’ve started placing orders to Agent Provocateur and Victoria Secret for future lingerie emergencies. I totally feel like a pervert.

My urges are one thing, but my hesitancy to take this any further boil down to my fear of outing myself more than I already have – I haven’t actually uttered any damning words, so I figure I’m still in the safe place. Right now, I’m enjoying indulging my mind in the ‘what if’s’. I don't want to spoil the mood with having to deal with sudden definites. Frankly speaking, if there’s not mutual want to take things to another level, I stand to lose. So I’m choosing to stay friends and let things evolve naturally – no pressure.

Or is that a cop out? Click Here to Read More..

I Want You For Your Mind, and Other Things That Are Hard To Believe

I am stimulated by engaging conversation and my desperate want of it often leads me into this trouble area with men. Men that I enjoy being mentally stimulated by but don’t have romantic notions of. And so I go out on dates that I don’t perceive as dates. I am naïve on that front, because I believe that they are seeking the same from me – mental stimulation and not a physical manifestation of the bonding that just occurred between us.

After a few meet ups, I hear the clumsily hidden expectation of ‘more’ in their conversation. My chest heaves in a sigh and I realize that we will not be able to have this, this perfect thing much longer. And I am reminded of what most of my guy friends tell me “it’s impossible for a man and a woman to have a platonic relationship”. And I suppose I can understand that, just as much as I understand that in those moments I am playing with fire -

But I have no hidden agenda here; this is not some ploy to seduce him with my intelligence – which even sounds preposterous in this age of the male obsession with stacked chicks and low IQ’s. My choices are not made within age limits, height requirements or body types. I carry no preconceived notions as to what constitutes a good conversationalist.

Now, by no means am I saying that good conversation is something women are in possession of and not men. I’m just categorically saying that I don’t want to get stuck in another restaurant sitting across from a guy that quotes sport stats all night, my mind secretly clicking into survival mode and translating everything he says in the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher.

Engaging conversation is rare commodity…tell me, how can I have it with you without you having me? Click Here to Read More..

It's The Return Of The SEXY SATURDAY VIDEO

HMMM...LYKKE LI touching herself as she deadpans her face toward the camera, caresses her crotch and with a disarming flatness in her voice, Li sings, "I'm your prostitute, you're gonna get some". MY, oh MY.

Click Here to Read More..

I'M OK, YOU'RE OK

I haven’t had time to do one bad thing since I’ve been away these many months. Not unless you count climbing into bed with a friend and not giving it up a sin. OK, so it’s a cock tease but I don’t think I’m going to hell for it. Or is there a special place reserved for girls who think they want to give it up and then change their minds?

God, it feels good to be back. I mean, I think I’m back, as long as you want to keep hearing my insane thoughts.

So here’s the deal…I’ve been editing an online magazine and it keeps me pretty busy. Things are finally starting to level out to a non-crazed pace. My calendar has stopped smoking, my eyes are starting to roam, my hands are idle and I need to do something or someone. Hitting these keys and crafting these thoughts are a start but momma might just need something stronger. Like a life. But right now I’m OK settling for sex. Actually, I’ll take baby steps trying to get back into the game and wish for an earth shattering kiss – that leads to touching.

Problem is, in the mist of the all the recent hubbub I’ve only been hanging with people in the same industry, which is to say the pool is shallow. What passes for dates these days, are really just meetings held in restaurants, this way I can work and eat at the same time. Flirting is carried on with the same people and is generally understood to be the glazed gleam and wink of a second glass of champagne. I did get propositioned by a pretty decent looking gal sometime ago, but by the time I realized I was being hit on she’d already left the room with the guy sitting beside me. I don’t even have a time of reference for the “sometime ago”. So you see, I’ve been a social retard for the better part of a year. And as it winds down I find myself in that awful dilemma of wanting to screw one of my ‘see you all the time’ friends. Oh, that sounds awful…how about, “wanting to make love” –nope; too serious. “Wanting to sleep with” – too gentle. I’m aiming for primal.

I have been having twisty pretzel dreams about him. Knock all the stuff off the kitchen table dreams about him. What I’m trying to do is put the hormones aside for a sec to see if there’s any depth in this situation. I’m not capable of using a good friend for a one nighter. And I’m pretty sure a Walk of Shame will have a negative effect on our friendship. So, is it just lust or have I been in a unique position of gaining something positive from all this one-on-one time and its him per say, and not his hot bod that’s got me all worked up?

As I ponder this with my third jumbo cup of coffee for the day – I wanna say hey, hello, how you been? Did you miss me? I missed you. See you soon. Click Here to Read More..

The Willing of Stuff

I have long since willed many things to come, the first of which being the publishing of the novel that I have worked on for over five years. The second, a man – a creative, sensitive without being wussy, lanky without being underfed, geeky but with the ability to whip off the glasses and expose his inner Clark Kent, lustful without needing to exhaust himself outside of our shared bed. Lastly; world peace. Well I had to say that didn’t I or else the other two would just sound superficial and self serving. And yet none of those things have come to fruition, to which I draw a long sigh and hit the period on the keyboard as if it cements its finality in ever coming true. And then I’m here after so long a period of not writing, I’m here and missing my readers and the comments and the moments I set aside to read your blogs and wishes and dastardly deeds. Somehow it becomes new air and all consuming, and I feel right and fulfilled. I find the patience to wait for all these things to come.

It feels good to be back – how are you? Click Here to Read More..

Sexy Saturday Video

I found myself at the 'Panda Bar' in Philly a few weeks ago and there were these flyers for another gig being passed out that had Grace Jones on the front with Keith Haring. She was semi naked, the rest of her haven been painted by Keith in huge white geometric shapes. No one of the kiddies at my table knew who the hell they were except for me. Was I the only one who remembered the power and lust of Grace Jones?!

Seems its time to whip out the old time machine and unveil the woman who made men cum when she looked at them and said "Pull up to my bumper baby."

Click Here to Read More..

Sexy Saturday Video

We'll be at the years end soon so I thought I'd wrap up the last SSV of '09 with a song that resonated with me throughout the year.

Caleb Followhill's voice is killer on this - the guitar riffs and the chorus is pure lusty glee.

Enjoy

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The Sexy Saturday Video is BACK!!!!

That's right...it's on ...again!

I figured a comeback should be big - GAGA BIG.

It's got Lingerie, Nudity, Vodka, and Murder - what more could you ask for?


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THE POLITICS 100TH POST - HOW IT ALL BEGAN

Before I came to Blogger the Politics and I used to be in New York. I introduced The Politics of Love at a little paper distributed in the Village. This was my very first column, seemed fitting for the
100th post to take it back to the beginning.

To say thank you for all the love you've give me over the past year, I'm giving away 7 (I like odd numbers) Politics Of Love Soundtrack cds.

If you've stuck around long enough you know that I've dedicated several blogs to TPOL's favorite songs

http://politicsoflove.blogspot.com/2009/07/boy-you-looked-so-good-i-could-have.html

http://politicsoflove.blogspot.com/2009/05/hit-it-to-my-hot-spot.html

So if you want one make sure to mention it in the comment section, first seven to say "Hit It To My Hot Spot" ...well that's what I'm gonna do. :) (2 responses already so they're only 5 left!)


It all started when my uncle made me miss that eight o’clock train into Manhattan. There are only six blocks between our apartment and the train station and he drove every one of those six at a NASCAR speed of ten miles an hour. Frustrated, I got out, slammed the car door and ran up the steps of the station to the platform in the hopes that the train would arrive late. I made it to the top step just in time to see the train rush by with my friend sitting in the last car, waiting for me as she does everyday on the eight o’clock train. Now, not only did I have no one to talk to, gone was the chance of catching the connecting train at Thirty-Fourth Street, eliminating any chance of getting to work on time.

Dropping my duffel to the ground in exhaustion, I sat on it, conjuring up horrible tortures for my uncle in my head, impatiently awaiting the next train. At seven past eight, the A train to Manhattan pulled in, the doors open and I stepped in. Crowded as usual I stood by the doors. Three stops in, I looked around and spied an acquaintance of mine. With an hour ride ahead of me I decide to fight the sway of the train, go over and talk to him.

“Hi! Long time no see,” I said. In the back of my mind I’m thinking “fate” made me miss that eight o’clock train. Previously grinding my teeth into sand over my uncle’s habitual lateness, now sainthood came to mind, this being the guy I’ve liked for years.

“Hey,” he responded and looked away.

Nervously, I tried again. “So, how have things been?”

Well, I guess those were the magic words because one thing led to another and we’re talking the politics; how he was on this campaign to get his old love back. He was completely gone over this girl. Previously, on several occasions I’d planned to ask for his number, so of course at that moment I’m thinking, “this is the JACKPOT.” But once he started talking about this reconciliation he had in mind, I was slowly brainwashed into becoming a goner for the cause. He started speaking about his pain, the kind that gnaws at your stomach and makes like hunger. Then he started preaching about a remedy. He kept saying to me:

“If I want to make the pain go away, make the hunger shut its screaming mouth. What do I do? Who can bring about a release for the pain? I have to get her back and this time things will be different.”

He kept asking me what I thought about his campaign promises (let me interject an -ism here). He and I have never been what you’d call tight - mostly “Hi” and “Good-bye”, a few group dinners, maybe a wedding or two. Now he’s got me all wrapped up in his notes; all the high and low’s he’s pitching me. By this time I’d forgotten how adorable he was because I’m all siked up to hear more about the cause.

‘How do you plan to get her back? What can I do? Where do I sign up? Will there be buttons’? I asked.

I’m caught up in the politics of love.

In my head I hear, “Oh, you’re fighting the good fight now!” Reality is, I came here for MY cause and now I’m on the verge of campaigning for HIS. Just moments ago I was ready to get up on my own platform, ready to pull him into my debate. I was ready to speak. Can’t you hear it now?
“This is what I stand for! This is what I can do for you! Vote me!”

I’d wait ‘till the crowd went wild or - in my case – until he gave me his number. But, like I said, it’s all politics, love is. ‘Cause once I approached my targeted audience with politician-like finesse, he started interrupting, preaching about his own stance.

Enwrapped in the silken words, my cause is now forged with his 'tomorrow is a brand new day' promises, complete with cheesy campaign songs. I was trapped - his Shatner like beam had been fired and now glued me to the distant planet. I was spaced out on sensation - excuse the pun.

Meanwhile, he’s still spinning his tale. “I really love this girl. There are days when I can smell her perfume in the streets on women passing by and I immediately think of her. I wonder what she’s doing and I wonder if she’s thinking of me.”

God, I thought, ‘How far away is she again?’

“Are you listening to me?” he says.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I spaced for a minute. Go on,” I reply.

“You’d love her; she looks like Katie Holmes from that show. You know, Dawson Creek. Only prettier.”

Dang Dawson’s Creek! I knew that show’s constant love mishaps and magazine good looks would leak out of TV-land and ruin me someday. I mean, how could that much drama and American Eagle clothing be good for anyone? Are all the kids on the Creek looking that great merely coincidence? Hardly. It’s politics, I tell you; the politicking of love.

Thirty minutes later, he’s romanced himself! Hell, he captivated me; it’s like he was the juicy chapter of your cheesy dime store harlequin novel. Words so smooth they hit you like ice but slip right off. He’s the guy that inspires the sympathy vote, rallying the nation towards a better cause, screaming at our consciences:

“It’s better to give than receive.”

“Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country!”

It bothers me that no one else on the train seems to notice his gushing displays. While he's ending his speech his arms are flailing and he’s flashing those pearly whites.

Well, he gets off three stops before mine and as we parted, I found myself hugging him “Congratulations,” I say while patting him on the back. The subway doors close, I sat in one of the plastic seats facing the window with my head down spinning out of control. What did I just do? Reflecting back on the past hour I knew that if he actually used that speech, he’d be sure to win her back. Hell, I’d cast my vote for him and don’t candidates usually vote for themselves?

It was getting chilly on the train so I pulled my sweater out of the duffel and put it on slowly. Dazed by my loss I concentrated on slipping the holes over the fabric-covered buttons.

“How about you dear?” a voice from behind said.

“Huh?”

“How about you, would you like a button?” Turning around, it was a lady dressed in a red scoop neck top with blue jeans handing out campaign buttons for the presidential candidates.

“How would you like to support a man who cares about your needs?” she asked as she started to pin a button picturing a smiling candidate on my duffel.

“No, thanks” I said. Pulling back my duffel before she finished, I walked towards the doors. Still bent over my chair staring at me, she looked confused and I yelled back with one foot out the door, “Sorry, but I’m through with Politics!” Click Here to Read More..

Sexy Saturday Video - 99th Post

Today is dank and grey in Philly.
And that's got me feeling pretty moody which is why I chose this video.

DJ Shadow's 'Six Days' is complicated downplayed sexiness with it's interlaced sulky beats.

My new project has kept me from updating as often as I'd like; but the next post will be my 100th!

And to say thank you for all the love you've give me over the past year, I'm gonna be giving away 7 (I like odd numbers) Politics Of Love Soundtrack cds.

If you've stuck around long enough you know that I've dedicated several blogs to TPOL's favorite songs

http://bit.ly/9FkSk
http://bit.ly/osCRb

So if you want one make sure to mention it in the comment section between today's post and the 100th coming on Monday! First seven to say "Hit It To My Hot Spot" ...well that's what I'm gonna do. :)

Click Here to Read More..