Travel Edition of Politics Walking, Video Talking: The Irish Boys

Today is brought to you by the letter "S".

Actually my entire weekend (my kick-ass weekend that is) is bought to you by the letter "S".

As in "S is for shots".
Shots are dangerous.

Shots are the devil.

Shots make the Politics Chick chatty.

And ya know, shots and secrets don't mix.

One should always remember that loose lips sink ships.

So while I mainline this OJ/Coffee concoction and think about what I've done, you go ahead and watch this video clip.

This time I was in Dublin, waxing poetic on Irish guys.

Hit It To My Hot Spot

I have quirks (don’t we all)…on the first day of Spring I call up my close friends and sing a song to their voicemail announcing my new season happiness.

In the summer I create a flirty beat-filled, Let’s get it On Playlist on my Ipod. It’s great for spirited walks on hot summer days, or for a quick plug into the sound system at a party. But ultimately I think about getting it on with cute guys while I make it.

I feel comfortable enough to share an abbreviated version with you. Listen to it, make fun of it, steal it for your own Ipod – I don’t care. Just promise me that if it helps you get some you’ll say thank you to ‘moi’ in the comments.

My line up:

Yelle – Je Veux te Voir
It’s in French and it’s fun…need I say more.
Yeasayer - Sunrise
It’s still innocent now. I’m starting to get that great summer feeling. I’m stealing glances at you from across the room, pretending to listen to current conversation.
White Rabbits – Percussion Gun
I’m ready for my first glass of red wine, I’m feeling like the party is really getting started.
MGMT- Electric Feel
Chillin’ feeling the vibes in the room, finishing off that wine.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Heads Will Roll
Now I wanna dance. I’m turning the flirt up to high grabbing you by the neck of your t-shirt drawing you closer to me as we dance.
Anjulie – Boom
By the time the track gets to 00:55 oh it’s on…I’m the spider and you’re the fly.
Death Cab For Cutie – I Will Possess Your Heart
Longest intro ever…but imagine all the kissing and groping you can get in before a word is even uttered.

From The Male Perspective: The Wanted Ad

Ah, men …they say the sweetest things – sometimes. But most times they just say the most unbelievable, objectionable, mind-blowing things. I’m here to capture that moment with a new series I like to call ‘From the Male Perspective’. So meet this weeks’ guy who I asked to write a Wanted Ad for his idea of the perfect woman. This reads more like a guy who wants his own little Dr. Frankenstein lab where he can create the perfect woman to objectify and then loose interest as soon as one of her parts falls off. But I’m not here to judge and if nothing else, it’s funny…

WANTED: The perfect woman for me.

Has to be at least between 5' 4" and 5'11".
Can be anything from light-skinned to just below bronzed. I like dark women but not so black that they're BLUE. And depending on maturity, she can be as most as 10 years my junior and five years my senior.

As far as the body is concerned (and I AM concerned): Slightly voluptuous, but certainly not huge; long, smooth neck; nicely sized, firm breasts, shapely legs and an ass that makes other HUSBANDS look. Most guys are T&A. I'm a legs and ass man! And TIGHT!

I know I'm somewhat out of shape, but my girl is going to be tight all over; so tight, Spandex FALLS off of her. Skin so soft and taunt, when I tap my fingers on her inner thighs, it's like playing a snare drum. Oh my, my, my...
Her eyes, whatever shade they are, should penetrate not only deep into what she's looking at, but into herself as well.

My woman should also be smart, and a bit sassy. Without that last one, I'm afraid, I'd have to take Serena Williams over Halle Berry (not that it would be a bad thing, but I'd be robbing the cradle).

And above all, her HAIR, when we go out it has GOT to be TIGHT and DONE.
NO split ends, brittle strands, dry, cracking, moisturizer-lacking, conditioner-deprived, knockoff weave-wearing hairdos! And there you have it, the perfect woman for me.”

Flipping The Script

“Yo! What’s up with flipping the script?! Wasn’t everything ok, weren’t you enjoying what we had?” That is what I’ve said to nearly every guy friend I’ve had that wanted to take our friendship to the next level. After I looked at him like he was growing a second head, I’d voice my concerns about not wanting to lose a good friend if the relationship didn’t work out or not wanting to be in a committed relationship at this time in my life. More than likely I ended my speeches with some passé statement like, "In time you’ll see its better this way" or "Trust me, you don’t want me, you just THINK you do." Then I’d follow it up with a couple of lies: "Of course we can still hang out, BUD" or "No, why would I view you any differently now?”

Each time, something inside of me would be screaming bloody murder - my skin got too tight, my pores too small - their words were suffocating me. I conveniently lost their numbers, never hung out at the same spots we went to together so I wouldn’t accidentally run into them; basically I tried to forget we’d ever met.

It wasn’t that I suddenly stopped caring for them, but my mind couldn’t adjust to the change. A creature of habit does not like to be moved out of a cozy environment to one that doesn’t suit its needs. That may sound crass, but believe me, if they could have seen what little wheels were cranking in my head as they were telling me how they felt, they would have stopped mid-sentence and retracted what had been uttered before I began to suspect that it wasn’t a joke.


In my defense, I’ve never been much for confessions. Matter of fact, I hate any kind of confession that involves me having to deliver unsavory news. Nine times out of ten, chances are you don’t feel the same about the other person. I don’t want to hurt my friends but no matter what you say, if the person doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, you’re going to be wounded. Once I’ve known someone for years and we’ve established boundaries, telling me something that huge is tantamount to driving on the other side of the highway, jumping the median, and rushing into my lane head-on.

But now…now I’ve got a friend whom I’m not exactly feeling sisterly towards. My mirror is reflecting back a hypocrite, the worst kind, the kind who justifies their actions with barely plausible situations, borderline justifications and semi-sane answers to questions they’ve made up themselves in order to answer them with their own crazed sensibilities.

In my defense, if you’ve only known the person a short period of time and it seems like the relationship was never solidly set up for the rules of platonic play shouldn’t you have the right to flip the script while it’s still written in non-permanent ink?

This new situation I find myself in leaves me only one option. So this is my apology to all the guys who I abandoned ship on, just because you decided to follow your heart, just because you wanted to be honest with yourself and most of all with me. I over-thought things, perhaps, at times, over-reacted. Only now do I realize what strength must be mustered up to unload feelings of that magnitude. I will in the future put what you say in a safe place so that I can't analyze it, but instead, empathize with emotions that I have now come to realize should be validated and not victimized. Unfortunately - even though I understand now - it doesn’t mean I won’t get unglued…but I can try.

Travel Edition of Politics Walking--Video Talking: French Men Vs. American Men

While I recover from this weekend's debauchery (booze, boys, sun, seafood and the shameful, shameful viewing of a 'Jon&Kate plus 8' marathon) I'll leave for you with a new video clip.

I was in Paris a little while ago consuming large amounts of food & red wine (which I'd like to blame for the giggling you'll hear, but if you've watched past video's you know that's really just my nervous sex/love talk thang). I decided to whip out the video cam and interview some locals for the blog - things got really interesting, it'll take a while to share them all. But let's start off with this one; here I am by the Eiffel Tower talking to two French Women about their thoughts on American men (BTW, yes, she does say "they hit women").

The Average Guy

I am exhausted with the charming facades of men who look like they were cut out of underwear ads. I’m tired of swooning over the cultured appearances, the nice houses and careers of the previous men I’ve dated. While there is certainty nothing wrong with wanting a man with all those characteristics it’s come to my attention that this seems like a pre cursor for non committal, early mid life crisis, anal/flaky behavior, and an overall wishy- washy demeanor.

What I want instead is a man who is normal most of the time. A man who isn’t more concerned with his career than he is with me, who knows how to live a life rich with quality not quantity. More than anything I would for once, like to meet someone who doesn’t put out feelers without intentions of ever following through, or break my heart and then act like it was all some unfortunate misunderstanding.

In the beginning I perceived the problem to be about age – everyone knows women mature faster than men so I tried dating up. To my great disappointment I found that men are simply men no matter how many extra digits you try to round them up to. While patching up from yet another painful freefall to despair that I made this discovery, I find that the guys that lift my spirits, the ones there when you need them are not the majority in the dating game but instead the minority – so how is it that I’m just now catching on to that? Oh yeah, my pre conceived notions…those have been demonizing the men I used to label the ‘Average Guy’.

The description of an average guy depends entirely on a woman’s perception. I used to think the average guy lacked ‘flava’, that X factor I needed to keep it spicy. He must, I imagined, wear classic yet safe clothing choices ala, Gap or Abercrombie & Fitch. They love flip flops and man sandals, wrap around sunglasses and typically gather together at sports events or Jimmy Buffet/Dave Matthews concerts holding the never out of style ‘red’ plastic cup of beer. He doesn’t dance (at least not well), wears those God-awful hip sacks on vacation and only has sex missionary style.

Getting hit on by a so called 'average guy' would make me look at them in digust, thinking that he was looking at me imagining me in dress that looked like a table cloths, coming out of a suburban home handing him his briefcase as he kissed me goodbye and then I'd proceed to load our 2.5 kids into a minivan for soccer practice.

Yes I am this dramatic.

Now I’m hearing and witnessing women I know, dating or marrying the guy.
Most women say they overlooked him for so long but in the end they realize he was the one that always came through for them. My girlfriend remarked, "I’ve had guys care for me, but not on this level; in the beginning of our relationships I'd question the niceties, the compliments, the concessions minus the drama. I slowly began to understand that what I’d benefit from was a simple acceptance of these gestures within myself. I'm witnessing first hand the fullfillment in having what I’ve known I’ve deserved along but hadn't been getting out of my prior relationships. I simply want to enjoy him without making him pay for past dummies. Now reached the place where it’s ok if we don’t work out I’m just overjoyed that he's serious enough to think of us as having potential.”

Cute boys…you better step up the game, the tides are turning against you.

Breast = Power!

Everyday, seemingly normal women are walking around cloaking their superhuman powers. Right now as you read this a woman is receiving a overpriced designer token gift of affection and love has nothing to do with it. Love has no rationale here.
Oh sure, love may be a higher force in your world but I have discovered that breast have a power all unto themselves.

My mantra has been The Greater the Power, the more dangerous the abuse ever since mine were pimped out for free food by a good friend who for the sake of my kindness will remain nameless. But know this, Keri (oops), ‘sending your well-endowed friend into a fast food joint in order to get a few extra pieces of chicken carries a certain shame factor’, it’s a definite misuse of the power. Strangely, as small that victory was, I was left with a craving for larger battles to best. I blame her for starting me down this path of corruption.

Once you notice other people being beguiled by your breast there’s no ignoring the possibilities that they offer. Who could resist the temptation to spread their wings after trying out this new wonder? Suddenly you’re a comic book hero using them for justice, to right wrongs, solve crimes, or maybe you just enjoy employing them for evil deeds.

OK, even I have to laugh at that last line.

Honestly, they have never to my knowledge had the ability to solve crimes, but something tells me if Angela Lansbury had had a better rack it wouldn’t have taken an entire hour to make the villain confess.

Guys…don’t email me saying that it’s unfair that women can use a god-given creation to manipulate because we both know it’s just another golden opportunity for you to dream about being able to get closer to our breasts.

I’m sure women will write to me and complain about my condoning the use of breast to obtain some sort of upper ground voodoo like possession over men. You’ve probably never had the privilege of seeing this power made a sport worthy of Olympic medals. I have watched in amazement as women have procured tables at booked restaurants on a Saturday night by simply unbuttoning a few buttons.

It’s not as if I’m encouraging women to run out to high-priced, snobby stores that otherwise ignored them, press their boobs up to the window just to get some service! Honest.
Maybe to just …push them up a bit; heck, if you’ve got the goods, why not use them?
Come on…you know that even if you hid them underneath three sweaters their power would burn through the material. It’s as if they had hypnotic disc attached to them.

Kissinger said Power is the great aphrodisiac. True. But this is the part of the story where I blame the misuse of god given talents on those that give us the power. Whether it be men or women; the way I figure it, if you hadn’t turned them into such a big deal there’d be no power to harness.

Frustrated and fed-up I say, why not? I personally am sick of men having conversation with them instead of me. How many times have I had to use these lines: “I’m sure they can hear you, but I can’t.” “Um, if you hadn’t noticed, my eyes are up here.”

So why not let the breast work for me? Why should others get enjoyment out of them and not me? They have already been exploited, over used, over-worked, and highly underpaid by society itself. In this day and age, most women use what they can in order to make it in a man’s world. We have so little leverage that surely this one thing that God obviously wanted us to have should be put to good use. Let’s face it, soon time will pass and they will lose their perkiness. It’s a sign. It’s like that old saying about youth…get it while the getting’s good.

Well I guess I’ve sufficiently used my writing power for evil today. Here I stop, knowing I’ve reached too far, shot too high, flown too close to the sun. It’s all gone to my head as I was about to start blaming the makers of high-quality pushup bras.

So excuse me.
I think I’ll just cool off, go sit the girls, the twins, and the team on the bar and have a free beer.
Until next blog, please enjoy my favorite episode from that old show Designing Women - Mary Jo's new breast.

Politics Walking--Video Talking, Presents: Dating Do's & Don'ts

I don't like being couped up inside on beautiful days, so I decided when the sun comes a calling I'll grab my video camera and hit the streets in search of more sane advice than mine.

First up, three friends shopping around New York's South Street Seaport - though you'll only see two guys on the clip. The third was a bit shy and decided to just shout out his answers off camera.


BTW, when they laughed and pointed, saying "you wanna do those" they were talking about the sailors walking across the street - boys...

Interview With A Guy: What Type of Panty are You?

I was having drinks with a guy friend, we were discussing bad pick up lines when he told me he had on question he asks all the women he hits on. I immediately thought it to be one of the most ridiculous come ons I'd heard of yet– that is until his explanation started to sound plausible. It’s more of a question really, one he uses to find out what type of girl you are personality wise, from there he decides whether or not you’re going to be his one night stand, or his one true love. But you read on and see how accurate you think this testosterone fueled tea leave reading really is….


Guy: It’s my icebreaker question. If you had to pick a panty to describe yourself, which would it be? Each type of underwear represents a different type of woman. Your choices are: boxer, white cotton, thong, Victoria’s Secret, or granny panties.

Politic’s Chick: If she chooses boxers, what's she saying?

Guy: Your boxer chick is the more masculine, athletic type. Nine times out of ten, she may run a bit on the lesbian side but not really know that about herself yet.

Politic’s Chick: Ok, what about your white cotton panties?

Guy: White cotton are females that aren’t really worried about getting a man, probably because they’ve already got a man; they’re content.

Politic’s Chick: What happens if she says she is all of these panties? Every girl has a different panty for a different mood.

Guy: True, each chick has at least one of each, but each woman generally leans toward one particular type.

Politic’s Chick: So what your really asking is, ‘What type of panty do you wear more often?’.

Guy: Right.

Politic’s Chick: What if she's a thong kind of girl

Guy: Oh, she’s your looser girl. Nine times out of then, I have a good chance of getting with her on the first night. Thong girls are really into themselves, they feel sexy all the time.

Politic’s Chick: Do they carry condoms?

Guy: Again…nine times out of ten.

Politic’s Chick: Ok, on to the granny panty girls.

Guy: Granny panty girls, sad to say are your more lackadaisical, lazy, couldn’t care either way. This girl doesn't feel comfortable with her body.

Politic’s Chick: I hate to ask, but is she a certain weight?

Guy: Its’ not a weight thing. It could be that she’s lacking self confidence and that’s why she doesn’t have the sex appeal. If you don't feel it, we won't either.

Politic’s Chick: How does the Victoria’s Secret girl differ from the thong girl?

Guy: The thong girl thinks she is sexy and she wants you to know it, she oozes sex appeal when she steps into the room whereas the Victoria’s Secret girl feels sexy on the inside. Victoria’s secret is more content in her sexuality. One thing we notice is that older women walk around like they’ve been sexy all their lives, you can see her confidence in her sexuality because of the way she handles it, younger girls however are just realizing that their cute, their still feeling themselves out.

Politic’s Chick: But do they both wear the same panties?

Guy: No. The younger one will walk around in the thong because she just realized she is sexy and she thinks she’s bigger than the system. But your older woman goes to Victoria’s Secret to compliment the sexy she already possesses for herself, not for you.

Politic’s Chick: Any combination that doesn’t go together?

Guy: I know what combination doesn’t work for me.

Politic’s Chick: (laughter) and what’s that?

Guy: Granny panties/boxers. You can keep them!

Politic’s Chick: What type of panty do you think I am?

Guy: I’d have to say…hybrid white cotton panty.

Politic’s Chick: What’s a hybrid girl like?

Guy: They wear the nicer styles, they just jumped out of the Hanes her way, you’re trying to heat it up…but you are still the good girls at the core.

Politic’s Chick: (insert eye-rolling) Let’s have it on record – what type of panty do you prefer?

Guy: Actually I like an assortment, but I’ll take that Victoria’s chick any day!

The Restaurant Files Present: The Blame Game

The Location: Manhattan, NY
Scene of the Crime: Dallas BBQ
Assailant: Tristan, my best friend

Victim: Me

We’re at the bar when Tristan causally says, “…oh, by the way, I saw him.” Now, I know what this means. This isn’t just another “…oh, by the way…” moment; she meant to bring this up. That’s why she’s got me here surrounded by all this booze. She wants to talk about IT: her sort-of, kind-of relationship, with her almost, could-have-been boyfriend. I’ve just been hoodwinked; for the rest of the evening I have to play The Blame Game.

And for those of you who don’t know the rules, I’ll state them:
.

·The best friend (you) must agree with the said girlfriend in any conversation that involves placing blame for unfortunate accidents that have resulted in the ending of a relationship with the said boyfriend.

· Never insinuate that it is the girlfriend’s fault in any way shape or form, even if you know her account of the events to be untrue. If consoling words cannot be thought of, it is appropriate to nod your head in agreement or roll your eyes, it is never however acceptable to use the phrase “ok if you say so”-this can only cause confusion and mistrust.

· Any nasty remarks you aim at the aforementioned boyfriend can be recalled into later conversations by the girlfriend once they get back together.

Ok, so now you know how the game is played. However, if you are still at a lost on how this works, please refer to National Geographic’s documentary on the eating habits of the female praying mantis.

And now, to start with, let’s see how well you can pick up the principles of the game:

I’m going to give you a synopsis of our conversation as an example. Take notice of all my responses in quotation marks these will help guide you should your girlfriend pull a Blame Game on you. During the conversation I will refer to her male friend as ‘Bozo’. When mentioning the ex- in conversation, remember to coin an unfair-yet-humorous new name for them. This will ensure you ‘brownie points’, which are vital in this game.

The saga began when Bozo invited Tristan over to his apartment to have a couple of drinks with him and his friends. Bozo then mentioned something about having run out of vodka and that’s where Tristan saw her ‘in’, so she offered to pick some up on her way over.

Now, the ‘in’ is an opportunity for women or men to make like a hero and save the day. The goal is to gain that person as an acquaintance - to hang out, get tight, become one of his or her favorite amigos without the person realizing that this is but a ploy to achieve the ‘more than friends’ status. You have to go on the campaign trail and make like the politician pretending to love eating in the neighborhood restaurant. In fact, you love it so much that you’ve invited camera crews to film it. Not unlike the spectacle you’re willing to put on in front of his or her friends to win them over. Problem is, the ‘in’ is hard to swing and there are rarely second chances.

Ok, now that I’ve explained that, let’s put Bozo back in play…

Once Tristan got to the apartment, she made drinks, drank drinks, drank some more drinks, joked around with his friends, drank more drinks, got sick and threw up in his tub. Now, notice my immediate response to having heard of this tragic incident:

“Poor dear…no, of course it’s not your fault. Remember you didn’t have anything to eat all day. Bozo should have offered more at the party then chips and pretzels, because, maybe if he fed people right, accidents like this just wouldn’t happen. Cheap ass Bozo bastard.”

After the hurling incident, Bozo drove her home; that was nice enough. According to Tristan, she thought so, too. So, in the car, in front of her house, she revealed to Bozo that she had ‘feelings’ for him. She says that he seemed receptive to that bit of information, but two weeks later when she saw him at a social function, he ignored her all night.

Now, one could say that she was ignored because she’d blown her ‘in’ by boozing it up and hurling in front of God, country and his friends, but watch how I chastise him in an effort to stick to the rules:

“What a dirty thing for him to do, just DIRTY. A person should never be judged by an accidental sin. It’s like overlooking all Tom Hanks good movies and judging him solely on the basis of Joe Versus the Volcano. It’s simply not fair.”

I won’t bore you with the rest of the story (her drunken rambling), besides, I’m sure you get plenty of that with your own friends. The last thing she said before the eventual alcohol driven loss of common sense was, “I heard Bozo got MARRIED last week; hasn’t even known her for 6 months and he didn’t bother sending me an invite!” I sat there wondering if someone would save me by taking the fork off my plate and stabbing it through my right temple, but with a job still left to complete I manage these last few words: “I’m sure that he’s miserable and that she’s a troll.”

Oh well, now you know the object of the Game: To live through it.

The Un Married

I'm befuddled as to why some women feel the need to caress my back in that "oh, I'm so sorry for you lost" way when I say that I'm not married. Or why they follow that up with a sigh when I answer, "No, I don't have any children either".

Why the pitiful look? Am I supposed to be ashamed of this, or feel like a failure because I'm not attached to anyone?

I ran into a old friend from school the other day and as we were catching up I find out that she's been married for almost seven years, has four kids and a great hubby all packed away in a huge house in a tiny suburb in PA. She rattled on about how unfulfilling single life is and how part of being an adult was accepting these mature responsibilities. I got curious about what this life of hers looked like so I checked her out on Facebook and there they were, mountains of pics of her baby showers, her wedding, and family vacations. For a second I started to wonder 'what had I been doing since college'? And as my pity party was about to collapse in on me, another girlfriend called and we couldn't get in 5 minutes worth of conversation before she was hollering at her kids - they sounded like they were running around her apartment like banshees. Once she walked out of the kids room to hear better she started in on her husband, the bills, the lack of sleep, etc... Suddenly I started remember whats so good about my life and rationalization behind my choices.

I absolutely love doing things my way, when I want, and how I want. My money is mine, my time is mine and I'll be ready to give that up when I'm confident that I won't regret having done it.

For the future ladies reaching out to stroke my un married pain away - if you think that the new accessories are husbands, kids, family pets, and houses in the burbs that's ok. But my freedom is my shiny new bauble and anytime its starts getting dull and I bump into one of you and succumb to thinking for one second that I'm missing out on something I'm gonna hurry and shine it right back up.

*find the un wedding ring at http://www.fancyjewels.com/product.php?id=unweddingRing_rings

Tell Me What You Eat

Wow, I really don't maintain this blog very well do I?
But I'm back!
I started writing a book about relationships...blah blah blah.
It'll be out soon I hope but in the meantime I want to start this blog out fresh with new topics and confessions and I want everyone to join in and make it the hot spot to come to and talk it out.

I've been thinking about Fruit Salad lately - wait...hear me out.

Eating can be a very sensual experience, particularly if you pay attention to when you are doing it.

The weather has been getting warmer and coincidentally so have I. Springtime puts my flirt into action, I'm definitely more aware of my senses and my body. My reaction to fruit salad is one of my favorite spring/summer affairs. I wait patiently and anxiously for the winter to pass and for the fruit to ripen. I rise early on Saturday mornings, grab my shopping bag and head for the farmer's market. There's something about being outside and smelling the aroma of the fruits that gives me the vapors - and they can knock you out!

I pick Pears because they have that grainy texture that feels rough across my tongue.

Mango's because they're sweet and when you cut a particularly ripe one it's juices run down your arm - plus its pulpy flesh feels smooth in my hand.

Strawberries - well they need no explanation do they?

Kiwi for a tangy and sweet combo that makes my mouth pucker.

Pineapple because I enjoy the vibrant color and when i bite into a piece I enjoy the way the fruit sometimes comes off in strands - it's such a visual payoff.

Watermelon for that lush sound that comes from biting into a juicy piece.

Mixed together the colors and the smells make me think that good and healthy food not unlike a good partner can be awaken your all your senses.

Now I'll be the first to admit that when food starts doing this to you, maybe it's a warning sign. Maybe, there's a void in your love life and you're looking to fill it. Or maybe you just lust after good fruit. I think it's entirely possible that your desires could be sublimated and you're acting them out in another way. Hence my feeling energized, awakened and satisfied once I've eaten the fruit salad. Is it possible that not having a way to exert your sexual energy can cause you to eat food instead of embracing your sexual feelings?

What turns you on?

*luscious photo from http://sundaynitedinner.com/ginormous-fruit-salad/

It's So Judy Blume

My friend killed my crush.

All I wanted was to mention it and have a laugh. Crushes are supposed to be fun and flirty little obsessions that we’re allowed to take back to an unashamed girlish state. I think it’s permitted to gossip about, giggle unconsciously at and blush at the mention of them from one friend to another.

But no, she started going on about how it could possibly work out between us. Bringing it into a forum that’s reality based is a no-no.

Now I’ve noticed that there are people talking about relationships in more luscious wording than I believe I can muster. Matter of fact, I saw a blog where a 15 year old fasionista appropriated on tights with more passion.

Wondering why I can’t think more long term instead of on fleeting emotions.
Is it because I know this place where you can unwittingly become consumed with thoughts of them instead of you, or maybe because a crush carries a smaller, safer definition in comparison to say, love, worship…those words involve feelings of rejection if they aren’t reciprocated.

Can we hang crushes like charms on a bracelet that jangle together as we walk around; to admire at random while focusing on other pursuits?

Lustfully Speaking

Why is it so hard to control your urgings?

And why does that sound like this is about to be an episode of Degrassi High?

You would think that at my age I wouldn’t be prone to overactive sweat glands.

But I am, or I have experienced that as of late. It’s embarrassing to say the least.

Worst part of all this is that it’s a friend, a much younger friend who I’m lusting after.
No, that’s too strong a word… he gives me butterflies in my stomach? No, that’s too romance novel.

I think I have a dreaded boy crush …and I’ve officially turned this into an 80’s movie monologue.

We have those awkward silences; I think we’re sharing long suggestive looks. Or maybe I’m just the perv staring at him too long.

But for two solid weeks I haven’t been about to turn off the dreams or stop getting flustered when we accidently touch. For the record the dreams are sweet in nature, we’re just hanging out and somewhere in near the end there’s a little kiss exchange.

But I wake up every morning thinking “For real! For Real, G! Get a grip.”

Unfortunately it seems the only grip my mind wants to get is one on him.

So I started concocting ways to burn him out of my mind.
Watch porn. Masturbate more?

Only now when I touch myself I hear cheesy base laden songs playing in the background. He’s there wearing his socks and boxers asking me if I need him to put more toner in my copier.

I’m now convinced that was the wrong way to go.

So…I’m going to try something different, anything but acknowledging that this is actually happening would be good.

I’ll keep you posted.

That Vibe

Ok, I don't know what's going on with me. Then again, I think I do. It's not an ongoing thing - it just happens everytime he calls.

I use to really be into him and I thought we was vibing me too. There seemed to be every indication that we could ....now I can't even say it. Then, we had the 'talk'. You know the one where they list all your good qualities as if it were going to really soften the blow of the inevitable let down. The 'I don't see us together' is a killer.

Now he's seeing someone and he's really happy. Deep down somewhere I'm happy for him too. I don't dwell on what happened - we remained friends after that little chat. I don't spend my days thinking of him, matter-of-fact I'm seeing someone myself. So tell me, why do I feel like such crap after I receive a text or a phone call from him? It's not just a phone call; I can handle talking to him. It's when he talks about how right she is for him that it stings. Now given all that has transpired I gather to say that he was right, we weren't suited for one another - not in that way. But still I have the ache and I wonder if it's not jealousy. Over the fact that I listened on late night phone calls to his whining and dramas'; that he was never this outgoing with me. You can put so much time into a man that you began to feel like you own them - you created that. And then all your hard work goes to some other woman.

Perhaps it’s just jealousy over the fact that I couldn’t be that special to someone who I thought was special - he is, in fact. Letting go is harder than I thought, something always lingers there. Who knows why we crave things that we know we don't really want.... I just want to be done with it already.

Yeah, I Said It

Bitch is a term for the female of a canine species in general. It is also frequently used as an offensive term for a woman, taken to mean that she is malicious, spiteful, domineering, intrusive, or unpleasant. This second meaning has been in use since around 1400.

I really felt the need to define this word before I go off on my tangent today. I don't want anyone acting like I'm just misusing it or trying to deliberately be offensive. You get so used to guys screwing things up that you forget that women can be just as petty and catty. Why do certain women/girls have to go there? Why do they have to mess up good men before a good woman can get to them?

This only pertains to the women who make this word come to the edge of your mouth. I just figured they must have forgotten the definition of this word, since they insist on acting like one. Have some respect.

I have one final definition to leave you with...
A relationship breakup refers to the ending of a relationship, typically a romantic one. A breakup can vary between emotionally traumatic to consensual for those involved, especially if romantic love is involved.

Breakups can occur for numerous reasons such as conflicts in personality, lifestyle changes, or attraction to a different partner. Breaking up with someone is also commonly referred to as "dumping" (Though dumping is commonly used in situations where one person has feelings for one that are quite strong, but the other dosen't generally feel the same way, as in "Borice was dumped". However, due to the negative connotations of 'dumping', many who have consensually ended a relationship choose not to describe it thus. Furthermore relationships that are ended through "dumping" usually also end the friendship, however relationships ended mutually more often become friendships. –Thank you Wikipedia

Ok, so I want to be fair about emotions, ‘Emotionally Traumatic’, it said. What realm that extends into for you, I don’t know. I agree, when someone dumps you, the need to be chummy is gone. But why think that making their life miserable is going to change anything? Why waste any moment of your life on them? Everything is hard to hear when it envolves someone saying, no matter how nice, that they don’t want you. Yet I can’t help but wonder why one couldn’t be civil about it. The games won't help you move on.

Delta of Venus

I'm feeling quite creatively woman today and that can only mean one thing...it's time to re read some Nin. If you're not familiar with Anais, here's an excerpt of her famous journal writings

"The kiss in the taxi is the kiss which remains in the memory as perpetually unfinished and to be sought out again, for as the taxi moves it gives to the moment that physical proof of insecurity and ephemeralness of adventure, over swift, arousing resonances which cease at the first stop, the taste upon one's lips is a quick, deep lacination arrested by the sudden stop of the machine. The interference of the traffic is the recall to reality. Eyes out of the crowd rummage into the taxi to catch that flash of vertigo, that open mouth, the drunken look in the eyes. The street lights are the searchlights, opening crude ways into the smokey clouds of cigarette smoke, breath and perfume. And now the taxi is rolling again, the kiss is broken by fear of its termination. When the taxi stops, the adventure is broken. One steps on the pavement with a sound of a body falling from heaven."

And now I'm obsessed with this website - not that you haven't heard it mentioned before I'm sure, but have you visited this 'sin'fully wonderful bit of spice. Once you read Anais you really need the clothing the match the mood.
http://www.agentprovocateur.com/

Gin &Tonic

It's so embarrassing, but for the past week and a half I have gone to bed with at least one drink; Gin & Tonic or Rum & Coke.

Being an adult is difficult to say the least and responsibility has just about worn me out. It's one thing after another - looking after your credit, paying the bills, making the money, planning future enhancements, finding love, maintaining relationships, etc...

Right now I'm doing all those while trying to finish the book I've spent more than two years writing and not writing. Yet at night I can't help but wish all this were mapped out already and the task of completing it all had been taken care of. That drink instead of being taken to bed with just me, might just be taken to a bed filled with the relaxing contentment of achievement (and a man).

Enough angst and boo-hooing. How are you?

How Instant Messaging can screw you...

My conversation on Yahoo Messanger with the guy I'm kinda seeing:

JD: what are you doing tonight?
Gin: my friend, that doctor I was telling you about wants to have drinks tonight
JD: what doctor?
Gin: the girl doctor
JD: do you two have drinks often?
Gin: no
JD: that must be weird, sitting there, talking with him over a beer, knowing he's seen your ..
Gin: what? what are you talking about? I've never slept with the doctor
JD: I didn't say that
Gin: I'm talking about the girl that cute doctor I told you about
Gin: I'm quoting you: JD: that must be weird, sitting there, talking with him over a beer, knowing he's seen your
Gin: what's that then. lol
JD: but doesn't the girl doctor examine you below the waist?
JD: oh (insert blushing emoticon here) lol
Gin: lol
JD: I thought you meant girl doctor as in the doctor who checks out your lady parts
Gin: lol
Gin: There's no way in Hell I'd have drinks with my GYN
Gin: lol awww..."your lady parts". how adorable
JD: lol. that's why I was so confused!
JD: lol I'm glad you think I'm adorable
Gin: and then you thought it was a guy doctor too. awwww
JD: yeah, I thought he was hitting on you since you're so damn cute and sexy

In A Fog

I am literally 'zombie' like today. Thanks to my own drug choices of Allegra and Benadryl - a not so smart combination to cure my sinus problems. In my defense the Allegra was not drying up that nasty post nasal drip - yeah, yeah, I know its a yucky think to speak of- the benadryl took care of it in a matter of hours and finally sweet sleep started washing over me, only to wake up this morning feeling like I was an extra in Night of the Living Dead.

This past weekend, I took my niece to Sesame Place. Yup, kids galore, running around on sugar highs, crying jags, and temper tantrums. Any motherly instinct I might have had was frozen in fear on Monday. Oh don't get me wrong, kids can be amusing and down right cute - lets not forget about the unconditional love they tend to dole out. But didn't I want to reach out and grab the kids who ran over my feet, shoved past me in line, and those two little girls with the grabable hair that knocked over our Big Bird lunch pails - those meals cost $8 bucks a pop. So for the day
I was a rock star as far as my niece was concerned, I'm the cool aunt... but I could have easily been thrown out for busting up a couple of kids- and that's just a little scary. Not exactly a motherly thought is it?

I was redeemed however when the mother in the bathroom stall next to me called out to her run away son (he'd slipped under the door and was running around the bathroom) three times and had her request for him to come back ignored each time finally murmured under her breath "you little shit". If that's acceptable I may not be so bad after all.