Blog Crush

I have a crush on a fellow Blogger. My friends keep encouraging me to try to meet him. But I think some things are better left "fantasy". What do you think?

So commented Snafugirl yesterday. [link to her blog]

I think you should meet him, Snafu. First though, we need to prepare. Defusing the fantasy is the most important thing here. Your imagination has taken this man's words and loaded them with meaning that might not live up to reality.

Words are deceiving in the right (wrong?) hands, meaning that it's all too easy to create a picture enticing enough to lead you down a particular path. In other words, words hint at a direction, and our imaginations grasp those words and steam off full tilt in that direction. In my opinion, taking snippets of information and applying imagination to find a whole is one way our minds work.

The trouble arises because the imagination is a giant melange of everything you have ever experienced, plus everything else inputted, like books and movies - ersatz experiences. So the possible 3D mental picture you've created about this blog man will inevitably be at best only partially what he's like in the flesh.

The picture improves if you've seen pictures of him. But my point is that I think the best way to approach this is to have zero expectation. If you meet him, don't expect anything other than a meeting of two bloggers. Anything more is a bonus.

For dilemmas like this, we need a Bloggers' Glory Hole. Two bloggers, or a reader and a blogger, should be able to get together in something like a confessional. They can talk, and, if sufficiently interested, ask to see various bits of the other without revealing everything at once. Otherwise they are invisible to each other, but proximate. I'm thinking metaphorically here, not actually showing each other your bits, but hell, if that works, why not?

Let's know how you make out, Snafu.





Pic from here [link]

Crush

A Crush is a mysterious animal, a combination of anticipation, fear, uncertainty, nervousness and being drunk.

The alcohol link works like this: For me, the peak alcohol buzz is at 1.2 martinis. That's the drinking waypoint which gives me feeling akin to having a Crush, or being in Crush, as it might be. That feeling is kind of shivery inside, a cool happiness full of wanting what might be.

Maybe that's why we drink, because that emotion emulates the Crush, at least for some of us.

Trying to dissect a Crush is difficult because they are such slippery creatures. One day you have no Crush, the next you have a terribly yawning desire for the Crushee. Crushes follow us through life, like those parasitic fish who follow sharks around the ocean. Oh. Maybe that's not the best analogy.

What I mean about Crushes is that they're entirely illogical and utterly unpredictable. My past Crushes have been on girls I have known for a while, not women new to me. For some reason the reservoir of emotion overflows the dam holding it in, and BOOM - I'm Crushed. Hopeless. Helpless. Unable to put her out of my mind.








Photo from this great site. [link]

Friday Fluffer - The Rise of the Hedgehog

If anyone is qualified to write about Fluffers, it's Ron Jeremy. [Wikipedia link] This is his autobiography which, as you can see, didn't sell at full retail price. The publisher's loss is our gain, because this isn't a half bad read.

Ron tells the tale of his loves and likes in fine style. He started out as a legit actor, but then his penis got in the way.*

In case you don't know, Ron is one of the universe's most prolific porn actors. His curriculum penii includes more than 1,750 films, over 4,000 sex partners and the dubious boast that the oldest women with whom he had sex on video was Rosie, aged 87. They co-starred in 87 and Still Bangin'.

Describing how he separates sex with women on camera and sex with girlfriends, Ron says that "sex is like" leaving us to draw the conclusion that romantic sex is something else. Presumably, if a man walks up to a woman and says:

Hi. I like you. Let's have sex, she'll react positively.

Yeah. Only on porn sets.









*For the record, Ron's penis is 9.75 inches long.

The Hardest (working) Man in Showbiz by Ron Jeremy. ISBN: 978-0-06-084082-2

Mr Clean

With a couple of hours to spare around noon today, here's what I did.

1. Grabbed my caddy of environmentally friendly cleaning products (which, by the way, I keep close to me at all times.)

2. Collected, from my 'cleaning' drawer, micro-fibre squares, sponges and polishing cloths.

3. Entered the bathroom.

Working from the top down, I cleaned the tiles first, shower and tub. Then on to the vanity, which is probably the easiest part, although faucets can be tricky. Toilet next, making sure to get to all those idiotic curves at the base that those dumb toilet designers create specifically to confound us. Then on to the floor, where you would have found me on hands and knees with an old toothbrush cleaning the grout. Lastly, the mirror, door handles, towel rails and the shelves of the medicine cabinet.

I stood up after about thirty minutes and looked upon my work with pride.

A (woman) friend opined recently that, had it been her bathroom, I could have expected a blowjob at that point. Is this a common reaction, and should I start a high-end cleaning business?





No, that's not my bathroom pictured. [link]

Oh, God, I'm about to come, Oh God, Ohhhhhhhhhh,Gooooooooooooddd.

It's the point you've been hoping to reach, that pre-ecstasy moment where (I guess) she leans over the edge of the Grand Canyon before letting herself fall.

If I'm finger-banging my girlfriend, the whole point is to find her climax. They can be predictable, easily wrangled, neither elusive nor skittish, but don't try cashing in that guarantee. As soon as you think you've got it wired, something changes.

But for the most part it's cool knowing I can get her off with two or three or (ahem) four fingers, good navigation and some delicacy. Reaching this point the first few times, a small fear creeps in, a fear that doubts you're doing the right thing. The fear says that you need a change-up, to do something more, rearrange the rhythm to get her over the top.

The trick is to not give in to the fear - don't stop, and don't change. Keep on keeping on until you watch her giving in to the feeling. At that point, your job's done. Sit back and enjoy the wonderful leg-shaking, hip thrusting, nipple grabbing, head-back howling joy.


Pic from here.[link]

Edited for spelling and clarity.

Cooking with Condoms

Beware all you non-bareback fuckers out there. The LA Times reports that China is not only producing low-quality goods for Walmart, those sneaky commies are in your wallet or purse now too.

Millions of knock-off Trojans were produced and exported to the USA in 2008, and it turns out they're still out there. [link]

From the article:

None of the counterfeits are properly sterilized, and others are of such inferior quality that they could rupture during use. Authorities say they're all dangerous.

And:

Authorities have yet to track down more than 1 million condoms they believe have been distributed nationwide, lubricated with vegetable oil and stored in metal drums.

Lubricated with vegetable oil. Hopefully they're MSG-free, otherwise you'll bonk, and ten minutes later you'll want to do it all again.




Pic (ironically) from here [link]

Friday Fluffer - Who's a lesbian now then?

Like anyone cares, but Meredith Baxter* (pictured) has found the confines of her closet somewhat restrictive, and exited with a new title: lesbian. Yay her. I mention this only because of the article in which I read this news, which quoted an academic person thusly:

While evidence is anecdotal, "the consensus in the field is that these late-life transitions are more common for women than men," said Lisa Diamond, a professor of psychology and gender studies at the University of Utah. Her book, "Sexual Fluidity: Understanding Women's Love and Desire," posits that women's sexual feelings are more complicated than straight or gay, and may change over a lifetime. [link]

It reminded me of some other research in which I personally participated:

While evidence is anecdotal, "the consensus in the field is that Wombat attracts more women after he's had a glass or two of red wine," said a source. "It's more common for women to realize they want to bed a burrowing marsupial once his tongue's loosened by alcohol." The source, a graduate student of Wombat Studies, said "Marsupials are complicated. It's not as easy as you might think, what with the nocturnality and so on. The women often change their minds in the morning."

Or this, sent to me by a friend:

While evidence is anecdotal, "the consensus in the field is that girl-on-girl action is more likely to occur when money changes hands," said Maria Sappho, an associate professor. Her thesis is entitled 'Hookers and Poon: why guys have to pay professionals to live out their fantasies.' "Threesomes involving one man and two women are more complicated than pornographic movies suggest," Maria said. "Cash probably works, unless one of the girls has a credit card reader. The guy often feels regret when he checks his credit card statement."





Quote of the day: Gardening experts Mary Henry and Margaret Purcell like to joke that "we slept together for years before we realized we were lesbians."

*Meredith.[link]

Pic of Meredith direct from her agent. And pretty much everywhere on the internet when you search her.

Good Morning Kiss

Another reason (if you're single) to find a mate is to make certain you start each day right - with a morning smooch. People everywhere wake up and pucker up, a sensible ritual that might even aid your health.

I read about a study recently where 500 people, both couples and singles, kept a diary about their morning kissing schedule. The results were surprising only to the extent of the scale of the benefit to those who made a point of kissing their mate upon waking. On average, the men lived around 1 year and three months longer than their non-kissing peers, and women likewise lived around 1 year five months longer.

Actually, I totally made that up. There is no such study, although it would be fascinating to see. But I bet you had a positive reaction. It feels right to us that a morning kiss is good for you. And you know what? I'd put money on the fact that couples who deliberately have a kiss and a cuddle in the morning do in fact live longer. And those who have sex as soon as they wake live forever. Okay, I made that up too, but I got you thinking.

That's the wonder of relationships. I believe we can influence our happiness, and even our longevity, by being even the tiniest bit conscious of how we think and how we communicate, especially with our sig oth. Even if you get out bed on the proverbial wrong side, a thoughtful kiss might well mitigate your mood.






Pic from here.[link]

Resignation

Being single is okay, but that might be resignation talking.

Resignation has a habit of filling silence with verbal equivalents of shrugs and open hands raised in surrender. He (or she) is the kind of emotion who sits in a comfortable chair in a corner at parties, not saying much, but making it count when he (or she) does.

Not that Resignation is devastatingly funny or heart-breakingly pithy; it isn't. His (or her) trick is timing, knowing when competition is at a minimum. Resignation is what's left when there's not that much left.

Like I wrote, he (or she) lives to fill the gap.





Oil from here. [link]

Sticky

Wet-spot and post-bonk jokes aside, there's a kind of cosmic glue that holds people together.

You know the kind of glue you buy at the hardware store to repair stuff you've broken at home? The kind that costs a mint and requires two tubes of foul-smelling, vaguely dangerous-looking goo? Well, dating is the process of mixing the two parts of this Love Epoxy together. We squeeze, mix, apply, clamp, wait, and at some point you'll figure out if you're attached to the other person or not.

Unfortunately, even the best glue can come unstuck. Just as when you repair that lamp or piece of crockery, relationships can split along the same axis to which you applied the sticky stuff in the first place. This is not pessimism. It is simply an observation of change within relationships that we're powerless to stop.

The upside is that if one epoxy formula loses its 'stick' there are always other combinations that will work. In fact, I'd say that relationship maintenance - the same as preventive maintenance on your car - is all about exploring other kinds of glue. Experimenting with small amounts of other compounds can be fun, and might lead you to lots of different ways to stay together.

Fitting together's great, but sticking together's good too.



Pic from here.[link]

Be Prepared, Boy and Girl Scouts

If we were serious about dating, we'd spend time preparing. We'd ask ourselves questions, pre-think scenarios, contemplate the the optimum outcome - in other words, we'd to a little homework.

Dating is a combination of job interview, performance evaluation, therapy session, doctor's appointment, détente, casting call, trial, interrogation and water-boarding (giving and taking.) Granted, not all dates encompass all elements. Some dates are like a delightful walk through a perfumed garden, others more like being assigned to watch an endless loop of your least favourite tv show.

If you're anything like me, you worry way more about how you look and smell before you head out on a date. Freshly bathed? Check. Shaved? Check. Man perfume? Check. Hair? Check. Clothing and shoes and accessories? Check. Right. Good to go.

No need to discontinue all that, but a little time thinking would be useful too, particularly in the early innings. Instead of reacting to whatever is said or whatever happens, spend time pondering the following:

Is there an outcome I have in mind for this date?

Is it the dating part I like, or the person?

Am I looking for a LTR, a shag, or something in-between?

What non-verbal messages do I broadcast?

What are the red flags I should look for?

How will I react when she (inadvertently or purposely) finds a button?

Will I be scrupulously honest about everything? (Feelings too.)

What do I want to know about my date?

Plus a million others...

I think it matters less what you think about than the fact that you are thinking about it. Any mental space you create between the real world and the world in your head is filled with pure oxygen. In that gap lies what I call my 'Understanding Room' where I get to see life stuff more clearly. There's room for understanding there.

Humans are good at creating mental paths around abstracts like "Why am I dating this person?" We justify, ignore, look the other way, think of something else, mask, divert, pretend, create straw men (and women) and convolute any number of ways to do anything but look at life straight-on.

But I have strayed from the dating idea. Think of it this way: folks who fly aeroplanes spend a lot of time in simulators where they can practise stuff that will keep the machine upright when the real world gets tricky. The simple act of thinking through 'what ifs' ahead of time makes a difference.






Picture from here. [link]

Friday Fluffer - Caged Heat

Although I cannot find the article online, I read recently about a woman falling in love with a man in prison. Unusual, to be sure, but not unheard of. Until you know their ages; she is 75, and he is 37. Crikey. That's odd enough in the non-incarcerated community, but when one party lives in the iron-bar motel...can we say 'screw loose'?

Which might not be the best expression if one's putative lover is doing porridge.

The big question is why anyone would fall for someone who is:

a) a criminal and

b) locked up.

But people do, and not just for non-violent felons. Serial killers like Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy attracted many women correspondents. Front and centre, those gals are fucked up.

How about we make a little money from this romantic backwater and set up a social network for folks looking for a little caged heat? Unfortunately, I'm too late. Here's Meet-an-Inmate, serving inmates and their free lovers since 1998. [link]


Also Jailbabes. [link]

Sex Before Marriage

Am I right in thinking that the distaste for pre-marital sex stems from Christian religious belief? Do any groups of agnostics, atheists, communists or other non-believers likewise implore the unmarried to abstain? And - forgive my ignorance - do Judaism, Buddhism, Shinto, Hinduism and Islam also teach that sex is a married person's activity only?

The arguments against sex before marriage are clear enough: sex is the physical act of making love, the result of which love is the miracle of a child, which child will require raising, for which the best institution is marriage, and marriage is a sacred union.

The arguments for SBM are similarly obvious: sex isn't always making love; modern contraceptives mean sex doesn't always result in a child; are we all naturally monogamous? for life?; sex is a big part of marriage, and buying without trying sets people up for misery or infidelity; sowing wild oats allows for stronger marriages and more mature people.

I'm sure you can add to both sides.

My interest lies not in changing the beliefs of either side. Having sex with someone in or out of marriage is a personal choice, a choice everyone must live with.

In my mind choosing no SBM is about abstinence, self-control, delayed gratification, belief, and life after death. It can also be about love.

In my mind, choosing SBM is about self-expression, freedom and feeling. It can also be about love.

The dilemma is that we can all identify with parts of both of these arguments. Therein lies my problem; the way this stuff is handled (at least publically) polarizes ideas about people when anyone with a brain can see both sides reflect different elements of being a human. Conflicting layers of understanding about ourselves and our place in the universe is a part of being us, and a better way to communicate this to our juveniles is worth pursuing.

In the same way I think our 'Sex Ed' is flawed [link] , so too is our approach to more complicated life decisions.

A bigger principle resides in this neighbourhood. Every freedom has a flip-side of responsibility, and every responsibility has a freedom. Problems arise when we see only freedoms, or only responsibilities.




Edited for clarity and spelling.

Absinthe Makes the Heart Beat Faster, Cheri

It's a romantic conceit, of course, a vision as imaginary as it is unobtainable. Living in a Parisian garret occasionally crosses my mind, devoting my hours to creating something lasting from words, and perhaps gaining a French lover or two along the way.

The aim is to find any place a couple of levels above the street, because I'm not sure about the supply of garrets. One big room would be best, with floor to ceiling windows, preferably with a view of something louche - the rear of a boudoir or the window of a rich man's pied-à-terre so I could write about the women coming and going.

My bed would be big and low. It would live in the style of a loft, half-way between the main floor and the ceiling. A short flight of stairs - a ladder, really - would give it the feeling of being the top bed of a set of bunks. The fun of watching women climbing up would be worth the small awkwardness.

The pace of the day would be strictly French. (Hopefully) morning sex upon waking. Coffee and croissant for le petit déjeuner, then writing. A little yoga around noon, followed by lunch with a friend. Wine, to loosen my Protestant mind. A little more writing.

With good planning, a lover would arrive around a cinq heures, to indulge that most sophisticated Parisian scene; the cinq à sept aka love in the afternoon. We'd share dinner, perhaps eating out, perhaps cooking for ourselves, all the while watching for goings-on across the street. Material for writing is what I'm here for, it's not a vacation. On weekends we might head out, to a wine bar or for some absinthe.

My heart grows fonder at the thought.




Miss Paris from here. [link]

Edited for greater pomposity.

Novelty Slut

Are you a novelty slut?

In case you're unsure, this is how you'll know.

-> you think conventional wisdom is something your dentist deals with.

-> you understand airport fiction isn't a type of book, it's the security people.

-> reading a newspaper is for between mouthfuls of fish.

-> 'professional sport' is a joke without fencing.

-> you think even fencing is rigged.

-> hardback books are back because Kindle is already so last Christmas.

-> on a date, you've said: "Okay, I'm bored now."

-> travel to China beckons, but your heart lies in Prague.

-> you end up going to Montana.

-> the idea of meeting someone special sounds tedious.

-> friends can last forever, but

-> lovers should make you want to come again.

To her place or his, that is.






Pic from here. [link]

Reid Speed might be a Novelty Slut. [link]

Hat tip to Pink Squirrel for the idea.

Friday Fluffer - Foot Massage

I know of few greater pleasures a man can give to a woman than a foot massage. Memories of ex's eyes rolling back in their heads and coos of encouragement reinforce my understanding of this as a great form of foreplay.

Men know this, but few of us take the time out to make an event of it. It's my New Year Resolution: give more women foot massages.





And here is the definitive guide to the politics of massaging other men's wives' feet.









Photo from here. [link]

Depression

Suffering from some kind of post New Year blues reminds me how debilitating depression is in relationships. Real, diagnosed, clinical depression and its many variations I'm talking about, not the passing sub-par-ness everyone catches from time to time.

My experience with a bipolar woman caught me by surprise. She seemed normal, almost super-happy in the first weeks we dated, and I figured she was a winner. Later, I understood that her pendulum was at the manic end of things during that period. That explained her hyper-energy, extreme sociability and sexual aggression. Had I been better prepared, I would have recognized these behaviours for what they are. And I would have stayed away.

Heartless as it might seem, starting a relationship with a clinically depressed woman would be a bad move for me. Being generally of mild temperament and logical disposition, dealing with someone else's manic to depressive swings takes away all my energy. Because I find myself emotionally lost with someone ill with depression, my mental process suffers too, then my health. Ergo, failed relationship.

Not that I'm saying the depressed and the non-depressed can't get together. Of course they can. But it depends a lot on communication, with both people clearly understanding the way depression works. I think that plans made in advance of the extremes of behaviour help a lot, taking away much of the uncertainty for the non-depressive partner. Doctors and medication and therapy should be a part of those plans.

There are some big numbers thrown around describing the numbers of people affected. No doubt, it's a big problem. But it's not a problem that improves when another person is dragged down by second-hand depression. Knowing one's own limitations can save heartache beyond description.








Photo from here. [link]

Quicksilver

In another of my wanderings through the periodic table [link], I started contemplating a post about Mercury - or Quicksilver as it was called in times past.

Quicksilver is a liquid metal at standard room temperature and pressure, the only one. It's useful in all sorts of industrial applications, from medicine to gold mining. It is also extremely toxic.

If you have ever seen a beaker of mercury, you know how fascinating it is. The shine and look grab your attention. It moves kind of like water but not really, and has the colour of silver - highly polished shiny silver that reflects everything around it as it sits there and trembles.

Even a small volume is heavy, confusing the brain to begin with. Lift up a quarter-full beaker and the question marks fly out your ears. Your body and brain do not understand how a liquid could have this heft. Pour some onto a non-reactive surface (glass or iron) and you see the pronounced meniscus, the curvature at the edges of the sample. And with the slightest provocation, the blob of mercury will split into a bunch of rivulets, baby dribbles of silver running with gravity this way and that. Then the rivulets turn to blobs, sitting there, waiting. Gravity likes playing with an element with such a high atomic number.

So here's my metaphor: I think negative emotions can be like Mercury. We start with a beaker of them, all contained by the glass. Then one day something happens, and a little spills out. The liquid metal runs downhill as fast as it can, seeking the lowest point. That's the nature of everything subject to gravity. So we of course go chasing after the Mercury, because it's kinda funky, and all shiny and unusual. It's interesting to see how it reacts to the world.

But then we find that chasing Mercury and getting it back into the beaker are two different things. We can't just scoop it up, because some will inevitably escape. It's decidedly tricky to vacuum or sweep back into one spot, for the same reason. It's the damnedest stuff. The more we try to contain the spill, the more divided and hard to keep track of it becomes.

We manage to collect some of the Mercury in, say, a dustpan, but not all of it is there. So we have to keep going back to find the missing blobs. Suddenly you see shiny specks of Mercury in the carpet, or between the floorboards. Now you realize that you're unlikely to ever completely retrieve it, to put the entire amount you started with back into the beaker.

Then it hits you. Shit. This stuff is poisonous. Hell, what do I do now? I wish I'd never started fooling with this gear in the first place.











Photo from here. [link]

One-a-Day

Warren Beatty is an ancient Hollywood star.

There is news - or what passes for news thesedays - about the number of women with whom he had sex in his past single life. The allegation (congratulation?) is that somewhere north of 12,000 different women played hide-the-sausage with Mr Beatty. The source is a newly published unauthorised biography written by Peter Biskind of Vanity Fair.

Mr Beatty claims (via his lawyer) he was misquoted and that the book contains inaccurate statements.

The 12,000 number might or might not be true. It has the smell to me of a publicity ruse; a nice big round number that newspaper 'style' and 'life' sections picked up without question. The number didn't come from 12,000 women coming forward claiming they'd been with Warren, nor were there 12,000 condoms or 12,000 soiled sheets. Mr Biskind takes an unattributed statement that Mr Beatty had sex with a new woman every day for thirty-five years, then multiplies 365 and 35 to come up with 12,775.

In other words, the source of this 'fact' is a pocket calculator.

You will be relieved to know it does not include "daytime quickies, drive-by [encounters], casual gropings, stolen kisses, and so on", writes Mr Biskind.

That is good news.




Photo of Julie Christie, apparently one of the 12,000, from here. [link]

Edited for clarity.

I could do so much better.

A list of words describing relationships will include The Good:

+ loving, honest, devoted, a partnership

The Bad:

+ abusive, mismatched, infidelitous

And The Ugly.

+ she settled.

Any union including violence is abhorrent, and if contempt moves into the spare bedroom it's pretty much over. But settling has a quality all its own.

If we settle, we're in worse shape than one innocuous word implies. Settling tells the world that we could have done better. We ended up with the 1995 Honda Civic when we should be driving a showroom-new Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder - according to the voice in our head at least.

More than that, settling means that at one point we thought the Civic was the Lambo. The fact that we now see how blinkered we were is evidence of self-criticism verging on self-flagellation That leads to self-doubt about any further choices we make relationshipwise. That is not a winning formula.

And then there's the corrosive effect of looking at what we have right in front of us, and imagining what might have been. To me, that's the very worst element of thinking that we've settled because it combines the two deadly mindfuckers: regret for the past, and (irrational) imagining of the future. Between them, those two will suck all the life from us, stopping, as they do, the only thing we have.

Right now.






Photo of Humphrey and Lauren from here [link]

With thanks to Belle for the inspiration.

Friday Fluffer - Maximum Fluff

A mate recently gave me a used copy of Maxim, the lads' mag that bills itself as "The Ultimate Guys' Guide".

Remarkably, I swear that this edition was exactly - exactly - the same as the last one I read, more than ten years ago. All the same articles were there, from hangover cures to the photo-folios of unknown F-List girls. Beer ads. Condom ads. Jolly jottings on television, dates and how to dress well without being called "gay" rounded out the rest.

Ironic then that the first pop-up ad to appear when I visited their website was for eHarmony. Yep. Maxim. Fluff for men who daydream of fluffers but would be happy settling down with a nice girl. Like Sarah, above.


Edit: Media are a mystery, but recent correspondence makes me wonder why mags like Maxim don't embrace this wondrous internet thing, if only to tell me that I'm a douche. Why don't these morons know that I'm panning their loss-making arses? And why not make friends of like-minded or anti-but-sympathetic writers?


More fluffers here. [link]

Photo of Sarah Silverman pointing at her best asset courtesy of her PR flacks.