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Thread: The Rain Shrouds
The Rain Shrouds
Posted: 9/18/2009 11:44:56 PM
Heh, guess I should finish this. By this rate 2010 will see the end.
Posted: 12/13/2007 6:52:35 PM
Great piece. Very poignant. I liked how you developed slowly from the innocence of the snow-man and child to the pain of the narrator.
The Rain Shrouds
Posted: 12/13/2007 6:30:49 PM
"I like to roast the mushrooms--baby bellas--rather
than fry them." She said as she entered, a steaming
dish balanced atop the dinner plates. "But I don't
like the way they look after being nuked."
She handed me a plate, put the other on the small
table and began ladling the cacciatore out.
"See? They look abused." She nudged one of the
mushrooms on my plate. It looked deflated, weary.
"Oh--!" She said, looking at my plate.
It took me a moment to realize that she was noticing
the steam rising up from my crotch. I yanked the
plate over the area.
"I...I've never cooked cacciatore." I said quickly.
"It smells great." My body demanded I squirm about;
the pain seeping around my privates was peeking. I
resisted. The food smelt wonderful and I sat looking
at the plate dumbly, trying to focus on it.
Laura was frozen in stance. Her eyes slid over to
the serving dish, but her spoon still pointed at where
the mushroom had been. Her arm and implement
held an almost accusatory line towards my inner
thighs. A drop formed on the spoons end, the tiny
reddish globe jerking her into motion. She ladled
food onto her plate and sat stiffly.
She hadn't brought cutlery or I'd have dug in: a much
needed distraction. I shifted uncomfortably.
"Look--uhm, the tea, I--" I began, trying to wrestle
with the steam episode.
"Did you want more?" She asked, grasping at the
"We need forks and knives." She said, getting up.
"And I've forgotten the bread."
She scurried into the kitchen. My mouth worked
around words silently. I clamped my teeth together.
There was a pause of sound in the kitchen, the
silence resting so completely that it felt like I was
suddenly the only one in the house. Then I heard
her clear her throat and pick up the knives and forks.
The pain was ebbing from my crotch; I could feel
things shriveling up and moving down there. I
fought a desire to flee.
Laura came back in, carrying the implements and some
bread on a plate. Her face was flushed and I worked
up the nerve to look at her eyes. She avoided mine
while picking her food dish up, placing the bread down
and handing me a knife and fork. Her eyes seemed
moist and big, like a child's on Christmas morning.
It was hard to tell in the poor light.
"Delicious." I said, after having tucked into a few
bites. "Josi's bread goes perfectly."
The food really was quite good, even nuked, and I
smiled warmly despite the strange tea-steam episode.
I hoped my enthusiasm would catch but she just nodded
and carefully lifted some food to her mouth, keeping
her eyes averted. I turned back to my plate, but was
left with an image of her lips, covered slightly in
the tomato sauce, gleaming in the low light. She had
a thin upper lip, almost non-existent, but the lower
one was thick and pouty. I looked up through my
eye-brows, my face still down-turned, to catch her
licking the juices off the lower lip. Her tongue tip
slid out, very neatly, cautiously. She straightened
and cleared her throat again.
"So what exactly do you do downstairs?"
"I detail the work orders for the line crews, and send
acquisition notes to the supply department."
"Yes--for the gear the guys will need in the field."
"Oh. I thought they carried everything they'd need in
"No, the trucks just have the basic gear. Quite often
they need extra things to complete a job. So I find
out if we have it, get it brought up, all that kind of
"Oh." She said again, still averting her eyes. She
was focusing on the bread-plate.
"Not very exciting, I know." I said, trying to fill
"Try sitting for eight hours everyday balancing
accounts receivable." She said. Her face developed a
few hard lines. "It's very boring. I think I'd like
to do your job. Or really--I'll let you in on a
secret: I've wanted to go out with the line crews."
"Really?" I smiled. "Me too. Just not on the really
cold days. Or the really hot ones." I tried to laugh
but it petered out as her expression still remained
"I'd like to go out on those days." She said, then,
seeming to notice how her words could be an affront,
she added: "It's just very boring where I am. The
same accounts, day in, day out. I don't even have a
window. Sherry has one--a cubicle over. It looks
over the tar roof of the machine shop. A building on
the other side. Not much to look at, but I find
myself getting up every now and then just to look at a
tar roof and the side of a brick building. Sometimes,
after a rain, water pools on the roof and you can see
the reflection of the sky. I love the blue sky."
She was wistful, thinking about it all, her tongue
coming out to lick clean her lower lip again and I
found myself drawn towards her, yet repelled by the
idea of how she lived at work every day, how she
clearly hated it. How it...was killing her soul. Or
strangling it, or something.
"I love the sky too." I said. "Especially stormy
weather. But not like today. Today it was too thick
and over-cast. Just one big dark gray. But I really
like it when you see those big clouds all hunched up,
and the wispy ones racing below them." I had become a
bit animated in talking, trying to convey a sense of
movement, of energy, to lift her from her spell.
She looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Do you
ever wish you lived on an island?"
I doused some bread into the cacciatore sauce. "Sure,
who hasn't? Or maybe just a vacation. I went to Cuba
and did that. Kind of. It was a resort. Everything
was very nice but kind of like vacationing in a big
"No, I mean really just living on an island. Like a
savage." She said, still looking at me. Her eyes
were sad, inward, yet almost angry.
"Like a savage?"
She shrugged. "Silly of me, I know." Her mood
collapsed, leaving behind the pale, thin accounting
clerk with slightly stooped shoulders.
"I--I don't think it's silly at all." I said, not
really knowing why anyone would want to live on an
island like a savage. "I think it's kind of...kind
of... romantic. Like Castaway."
"That was a sad movie." She said. "I have it. Steve
loved it. It was Steve's. He wanted to be like Tom
Hanks and prove he was a man by building fire. He
tried in the back-yard one night after watching the
movie for the umpteenth time. Ridiculous."
"Make the fire?"
"No, of course not. I watched him from the upstairs
bedroom window, wanting to love him for trying but all
the time thinking what a stupid little useless boy he
is." She paused for a moment, chewing a piece of
bread. "Then he came in, all huffy and said that he
didn't have the right wood. That Tom had had the
right wood on the island."
"What did you do?" I asked.
I squirmed a bit, covering it up by reaching for more
"When he came back in--uhh... what did you do?"
"I don't know. Said 'that's nice dear' or something.
Or--now that I remember, I said he was probably right,
but that it was a movie anyway and someone else had
started the fire and made it look like Tom had done
She gave me an odd look; distant and appraising--but
not in an entirely nice way. Kind of that hard look a
18th century school Mistress would give a slow child.
I shrugged and began to put the plate on the floor,
thought better of it and stood to put it in the
"That food really was very good. Thank you."
"I suppose you think you could do it." She said.
"Light a fire."
I turned my head, unsure of her tone and caught her
looking at my ass. She averted her eyes quickly to
her plate. For some strange reason I felt like a
spider inching across its web, attracted by some tiny
vibration, and I stopped and turned slightly towards
"I've never tried... but I think I'd need the right
"Steve just made a lot of smoke." She said.
"Where there's smoke there's fire." I said, thinking
of the steam from my crotch. It was a bold thing to
say and I said it almost as if someone else had made
me say it.
"Not with Steve." She said, pointedly.
Things were getting tricky and I had always been
terrible at deciphering innuendo. If there even was
any with Laura.
"I'm not Steve." I said, then walked into the
She got up and followed after.
"Yes, but you boys are all the same."
"Put the leftovers in the food-bin for recycling."
She said as I was trying to flip the garbage lid open.
"It's the green pale beside the cat box. You're all
the same. You all read 'Tom Sawyer' and boys books
about being able to survive in the wilds but the truth
is you can't."
I held the lid up for her. She scraped her plate
clean in one sweep then rapped the knife on the edge
to remove a few bits. She was so...perfunctory.
Precise. Her jaw was set in a stiff line and I was
about to work up an answer to rebuke her when I
noticed that her nipple, under the still-damp top, the
likely damp bra, was hard and erect. I wondered why I
hadn't noticed it before.
"You can't blame us for trying." I grinned. Somehow,
even under all the damp clothes, the scalding tea, and
now a very cold and wet loin-area, I was becoming
"I didn't say I blamed you for trying. I was pointing
out that you guys always act like you can do
everything when you clearly can't." She put her arms
around herself, covering her breasts.
I rolled my eyes, put the plate by the sink and walked
out of the kitchen. She was irritating.
A Hole in The Road
Posted: 12/13/2007 1:13:07 AM
Powerful piece and a faithful rendition of what the mind does when it is in shock.
Dealing with tense is a nightmare when you're attempting to render the staccato thoughts/reactions of someone in great distress. The subject often flips between tenses in how they perceive reality and it is natural to want to convey that as the writer. William Faulkner comes to mind with the Sound and the Fury, and the section written from the perspective of the mentally handicapped character.
Could you clarify the characters intuitive response to the modern industrial-capatilist system as he re-enters the reality?
The Rain Shrouds
Posted: 12/10/2007 6:42:50 PM
Thanks for the comments guys. I'm a bit busy right now and won't be able to add another section till Thursday of this week.
I knew many wouldn't like the 'terse', almost existential quality of the characters, Graham, but am glad some can appreciate the minimalist style for what it is meant to convey.
The Rain Shrouds
Posted: 12/8/2007 4:34:53 AM
Hey, thanks for reading the story Edge. I've got to try and work on the next piece but it will have to wait as I have my son for a few days. I actually like a hint of Earl Gray mixed with other teas... but just a hint. Anything more and it claws the pallete as ghastly perfumes do the nose.
The Rain Shrouds
Posted: 12/5/2007 4:21:48 AM
She pulled up to a pretty Victorian style home, it's
front split into two doors. In the driveway was a
large pickup truck, a pale white color, much abused,
with a ladder sticking out the back. A small red flag
hung from its end looking more like a bloodied rat
"My neighbor." She said, noticing me looking at the
truck. "He isn't often here."
She looked pensive, almost angry and I gathered that
she and her neighbor didn't get along.
"You sublet?" I asked.
"No, I bought my half but the woman who owns the other
half rents it out. She hasn't taken care of her side.
The rent is cheap, apparently, but that isn't enough
to keep anyone long."
She parked as far away from the truck as she could in
the small lot. The rain had let up a bit but it was
colder, and windier. The sudden chill from our wet
clothes lent an air of urgency as we gathered up her things
and dumped them into her cramped foyer.
"Would you mind bringing in the box?" She said,
pressing a grocery bag into my hand. "Just wrap that
around to keep it all together."
"Sure." I replied, not particularly wanting to go
back out into the cold. For bricks. I thought of my
cozy apartment, the space heater next to the arm-chair
where I could sit and watch the tv or, often as not,
the fish tank beside it.
She had parked her car close to an edging of thorny
bushes on the passenger side. I squeezed into the
space, feeling the scrape and claw of the thorns
against my coat, then a branch managed to get under
the fedora and try to tug it off. It brought on a
flash of anger and I wanted to snap the branches or,
better yet, hack the damned plant down. Who would
plant a thorn bush beside a parking lot? Probably
someone who wouldn't think that one day a woman with
bricks on her front seat would park right into the
thicket in order to avoid a beaten up pickup.
I yanked the door open and heaved the box out. I
didn't bother putting the bag over it. The cardboard
was mostly soaked through and bulging with the weight.
I wrapped my hands around it as if it were a large,
heavy egg. The thorns had another go at my
clothes and fedora.
Back in her foyer she motioned to put the package on
top of a old parsons seat.
"Where's the bag--you didn't wrap it up?" She asked,
throwing some flyers on the seat to protect it.
"Didn't seem to need it." I said, putting the box
down. The side had cracked and I noticed at the same
time a thin trail of blood across my hand from the
She looked at the box and bit her lip, turned away and
gestured to the coat rack. Under it were more flyers
scattered about. She disappeared into the house while
I removed my sodden coat and fedora. I sat beside the
bricks, taking my shoes off and licked the blood from
my hand. I was wearing a white shirt. With my luck I
would smear blood all over it. The scratch was
shallow and had already stopped bleeding.
She came back up the passage, carrying a towel and
"My ex's," she said, holding the pair of socks up.
They were gray, thin, the type worn in expensive,
close-fitting shoes. "I don't think he'll mind."
I slipped them on, waiting first for her to disappear
again into the house--not wanting her to see my ugly
pale feet. They were bonier than most, something the
kids used to laugh at in the locker room at high
school, and I'd always had a thing about keeping them
hidden. They were red and blotchy with the wet and
cold and had little clumps of sock-lint plastered to
them. I began to have serious doubts about having
come for dinner. My shirt was soaked through and even
my crotch, I now noticed, was damp and cold.
"Come on in to the living room." She said from
somewhere inside the house.
I toweled my hair a bit as I made it down the dark
hall to a room at its end, feebly lit with a lamp in
one corner. It joined the kitchen and she was in
there rummaging about. I stepped in, watching her for
a moment. The room was a disaster with dishes piled
up, piles of bills and paper-work on the table and
"Oh--" she said, somewhat surprised and a little
embarrassed "--please have a seat in the living room.
I'll whip up some tea. Do you like tea?"
"I'd prefer coffee." I said, not really liking tea.
"But if you're making tea, that would be nice."
"Earl gray?" She asked, holding up a tin which was
perched on top of some newspapers which were on the
"Uhm...sure." I hoped it wasn't one of those teas
that smelt like they would taste like a piece of
I tried to find a spot where I could watch her in
the kitchen, but the best I could find was the
corner of a ancient green couch, near the lamp.
All I could see of the kitchen was the littered
table and occasionally her elbow. Under the lamp were
some old Omni's and National Geographic's. I pulled one
out and flipped through it. Even seeing the pictures
was difficult in the lamp-light. I wondered if they
made 10 watt light bulbs.
She brought the tea in, on a wooden tray but stood
somewhat confused as the living room table was small
and at the other end of the couch. She put the tray
"Why don't you sit over here where you can drink your
tea?" She asked, fluffing up the pillows there.
I hadn't really wanted to move. She sat on the edge
of an old arm-chair, tinkering with the tea things as
I sat down again. For some reason I was embarrassed
to have the magazine. I wouldn't be able to read it
now so I placed it on the couch beside me.
"That stuff is old." She said nodding at the National
"Yes, from two years ago." I smiled. "Behind in your
"They were Steve's." She replied, tinkling the spoon
on a sugar bowl. "Sugar and milk?"
"No--no thank-you." The aroma of the tea was filling
the air. It smelt like cheap cologne. I accepted the
mug gratefully--at least it was warm.
"My lawyer said for me to leave his things alone. I
took pictures too, in case things got ugly in court.
That was 10 months ago though and I haven't heard a
thing. I guess I should throw all that junk out."
I nodded, looking around the room. I wondered just
what and wasn't considered junk... the entire place
seemed full of half-used or forgotten relics.
The microwave dinged and she got up.
"Do you like chicken?" She said, then laughed. "I
guess I should have asked you that before."
"Yes, chicken is great." I said, holding the mug
against my belly, then, as she turned and was walking
into the kitchen, sliding it down a bit to warm my groin.
"Chicken cacciatore...normally I'd make up some pasta.
Do you want pasta? Or I could just serve it with
some bread. I get bread from the bakery down on
"Yes--she's great! You know Josi's bakery too? Isn't
"Small world. Can I give you a hand in there?"
She was gathering dishes and cutlery.
"No, sit and relax. I'll just be a minute."
I took a sip of the tea. It was like sucking on a
sock with too much fabric softener in it. Revolting.
I put it back between my legs.
"Put the tea things on the floor, if you don't
mind--we'll eat in there." She said.
I hunched forward, trying to keep the tea between my
legs and it spilled, of course, right into my crotch.
She was making sounds as if about to come right in so
I hastily put the tea things on the floor and
straightened up, lifting the mug up and slurping a
bit. My crotch was scalding.
The Rain Shrouds
Posted: 12/4/2007 7:13:31 PM
Red spikes and fishnets, huh?
Ha! Davis is having issues with that. I don't. Whenever I see high-heel shoes on women I think they look like they're feet are in jail. Tweety-bird jail. I like a girl who wear stuff which is practical... like a good loafer or running shoe. They're harder to catch.
The Rain Shrouds
Posted: 12/4/2007 10:01:05 AM
Thank-you Alibabble. It's good to 'see' you again.
Then... the lazy Savage needs to get off his twigs and leaf-covered buttskinski's and write more on this piece. It's outside of my normal terrain, being done in a stilted Hemmingway style, minimalistic, which I thought suited the plight of the characters. Probably doesn't make for the best reading though
The Rain Shrouds
Posted: 12/3/2007 9:59:05 AM
The Car Ride
She stepped gingerly over a puddle, opened the passenger
door, and I maneuvered the heavy
"Feels like lead weights." I said, trying to grin.
The rain and cold wind twisted the expression as if
I'd eaten lemon.
"Just some bricks." She said, shoving the door
The action was a bit strong, almost like she was
slamming the door on our rapore. I tightened
instinctively, and set my face against a slight
stirring of anger.
"Well, good luck with all that." I said, moving away,
back to the sidewalk. It was a dumb
thing to say. I didn't care.
"Th-thankyou for the help." She said, stepping to the
front of her car, about to go around.
"No problem." I said, nodding slightly, pulling my
fidora down, and walking away.
Half a block away from the bus-stop I turned to see if
another bus was coming. Ms. Selena--Laura--was on the sidewalk,
walking towards me. Her car was emitting feeble yellow eye-blinks.
I stopped, unsure what to do. The romantic in me fleetingly envisioned
her drawing near, breathlessly asking if I'd like to go for dinner. The
practical creature in me, already jaded by having to
help her and feeling like she hadn't been very
grateful, squinted and refused to wave or walk towards
She waved. I turned to see if there was anyone else.
I was alone.
I walked towards her and as we drew close the wind
picked up, kicking up her long coat and again exposing
those rediculously sexy shoes. She had left the
umbrella in the car: she was thoroughly drenched. Her
makeup was running slightly, smudged around her eyes.
I thought of the band Kiss from the 80's.
"My car," she said, "won't start. Are you any good
Which was true, and I was fed up with her, the rain,
and late to get home. But her face fell like I'd
dropped coffee on her paperwork. She was startled, even.
My heart lept a beat and I felt like a complete ass.
"Well, I know how to change the oil..." I tried to
laugh but it was awkward. "You might have a wet cable
with all this rain. Have you got a flashlight in your
car? A dry rag?"
She bit her lower lip, looked past me, probably at the
phone-booth on the next corner. "Yes, but I don't
want to bother you. You've already been helpful.
And... you missed your bus. I'm so sorry."
Her acknowledgment of my bus was all I needed to hear.
Suddenly I didn't need to get home, the rain was just
a mild nuisance and she was just the beleaguered, pretty,
office girl from upstairs needing a hand.
I laughed with more sincerity and said "No problem,
come on, lets see what we can do."
Her emergency flashlight was long-since drained of
power... but fortunately her car was parked in front
of a shop-window that was well lit and allowed me to
see that the rain had in fact been soaking her somewhat loose
battery cables. A bunch of leaves caught under the hood had
been channeling the water into the engine. I cleaned
the mess out and dried the cables carefully. My last
bus for the night went by, trying hard to splash more
water into the car. I blocked it with my back,
cursing at the driver, the rain, and just about
anything I could think of.
"Try it now." I shouted through the rain and wind.
She hadn't heard me--her window was closed and from
what I could see she was huddled into her coat trying
to keep warm. I knocked on the glass, motioning for
her to start the engine.
It took, sluggishly, on the second start. I gave her the thumbs up
and closed the bonnet. She rolled down her window.
"Can I offer you a ride home?" Even with the smudged
makeup, her relief and happiness that the car was
working made her look very pretty.
"Sure." I grinned.
"You'll have to get in the back--I think the box with
the bricks is too wet to pick up. Do you mind?"
"No, of course not." I said, and she got out of the
car quickly to let me in behind her.
It was nice to be suddenly out of the elements, to
feel a tiny current of heat in the air from the
whirring heater fans. The rain was drumming hard
on the car and it felt like we were completely alone.
She was dabbing a handkerchief across her eyes.
"God, I must look terrible." She said with a little,
forced laugh. She whipped out a mirror and fussed for
I moved over, to the middle of the seat. It had felt
awkward sitting right behind her. I watched her clean
her face up. Her eye caught me in her pocket-mirror
and she smiled shyly.
"Really--thankyou so much for your help. I--I was
going to offer you a ride before but you seemed so
stoic and...and strong in the wind and rain, like it
didn't bother you and then I just felt foolish...but I
should have offered you a ride, I know I should of."
"It's ok," I said, smiling. "I live in the west
end--over by Montgomery Drive... do you know where
"Of course--" she paused and craned her head around
slightly, "--I live just off Montgomery, on Reginald."
"Really? That's just 2 blocks from me." I said,
startled, then smiled again.
She turned back to her makeup, almost drawing into the
upturned collar of her coat and I felt the mood
suddenly go cold. I looked out the window, confused.
She packed everything away, then pulled out and
started driving slowly. The rain was really beating
down and she seemed very small behind the wheel,
clutching it with two fists and peering over it like a
child might a Principles desk. Her collar had
flopped down, revealing neck muscles taught with
strain. Their curves reminded me of a gothic
cathedral arch in Rome and it took me back to that
vacation, Cathy and I sitting at a cafe watching the
people going by, the gorgeous buildings, the
cobble-stone street, the excellant wine...
"What are you thinking about?" Laura asked. Her eyes framed
in the mirror were dark and sharp, like a sparrows.
It felt odd to talk to her eyes in the rear-view
mirror when she was actually in a different position.
I glanced at her neck inadvertantly, then back to her
"A vacation. Rome. Many years ago."
"Rome? That sounds lovely. I bet it was lovely."
She said. She was still glancing at me in the mirror,
but her eyes seemed to be staring at something else,
"It was. Until someone stole our wallets and
passports. We spent most of our time at the police
station getting everything figured out."
"Oh. Your wife?"
"You said we. We had lost our passports."
"Oh--oh, no... not my wife. The woman I lived with at
"You're not married?" She asked, fixing her eyes on
the road again.
I glanced out the window, but felt her eyes dart to
the mirror. It was an odd question... a bit personal.
I thought over what had occured the past hour or so.
Was Laura attracted to me? Was I attracted to her?
"No, I'm not married. You?"
"Yes." She said. Her hands were whiter on the
steering wheel. "And no. Seperated."
"Oh. Sorry to hear that." I said, looking at her in
the mirror again.
She rolled her eyes.
"Oh, don't be sorry. He was an alcoholic. The
marriage only lasted a year. That was a year ago...
but he won't sign the divorce papers."
I nodded, unsure what to say, watching the mirror but
her eyes were fixed on the road. I glanced again at
her neck. I wondered what it would smell like. Then
shook my head. It had been too long. Like her, I
fixed my eyes out the window.
Several blocks later she motioned with her head.
"That's my street, Reginald."
"Oh--great. I'm 2 more up on Lintner. Number 57,
half-way down. Li--"
"Would you like to have dinner?" She asked, cutting
She seemed suddenly to have shrunken even further into
her coat, almost as if she was more surprised to have
said it then I was to have heard it.
"Well I... I--"
"I've got some left-overs. God, that sounds horrible,
doesn't it? It's just you've been very kind, helping
me with the car and I...I..." She stopped, her hands
twisted on the steering wheel. "I can't believe I
just asked you for dinner."
Then she laughed, her head going forward a bit. Some
hair, still wet, caught on her face and she flipped it
back. She looked into the mirror with a strange
expression. Kind of embarrassed, but kind of like a
child might who'd been caught in the cookie jar.
I smiled back, awkwardly.
"Left-overs sound great. But I am quite wet. Another
"Yes, of course." She replied, darting a quick look
at me then staring fixedly again at the road.
I had been an ass. Again. Why had I said no? When
was the last time I had been invited for dinner? Even
left-overs? We were nearly even with her street.
"Look, I'd love to come for dinner." I said quickly.
"I'm sorry--I'm just a bit out-of-sorts with the
weather and everything."
"Are you sure?" She said, somewhat skeptically.
"Yes, yes--absolutely. I--I havn't eaten a proper
meal in a long time. Bachelor food you know..."
"Good." She said, slowing down and turning onto her
The Rain Shrouds
Posted: 12/3/2007 3:00:23 AM
A piece for a lass who wanted something less then she was afraid to give.
The Bus Stop
I turned, the motion sloshing rain from my
fidora down my collar. It was Ms. Selena. From
accounting. She was carrying several large parcels,
thanksgiving and Halloween ornaments mostly, trying to
keep a grip on her umbrella in the wind.
"Yes." I said, trying not to cringe as the water
trickled down the nape of my neck. The wind tugged at
her packages, and she nearly lost a grip on the
umbrella. I reached forward, but the wind subsided
and she managed to keep everything in order.
"Yes..." I said again, trying to remember her first
name. "Ms... Ms. Selena? Upstairs--in Accounting?"
"Yes." She smiled, making a face as the wind tugged
at her umbrella again. "Laura. Please--oh! This
She fought with the umbrella. One of the
packages flipped up, spilling a wreath
to the ground. I picked it up.
"Oh--F-f..." she said, as a parcel, its paper sodden
now with rain, ripped.
She lowered it to the ground to stop everything
falling out. I leaned down and gathered it up, using
the wreath to press it against my chest.
"Thankyou." She said.
It was an awkward moment. She seemed about to burst
with tears or smiles, her face changing rapidly. She
clamped her jaw and nodded down the street.
"My car is just down there--would you mind giving me a
A car was parked way down, about 2 blocks. Approaching was the
bus I had already waited 20 minutes for.
"I uh...sure. Sure. Of course." I said, turning
away from the wind and rain, trying to cover my
thoughts. "Here, let me hold that other box too."
She lifted it from under her arm gratefully. It was
suprisingly heavy. I glanced at the label as we
started walking. 'Pierre La Pointe, Imports and
Finds'. It felt like lead weights.
The bus passed us, sending sheets of water onto the
sidewalk, missing her completely but managing to catch
me across the legs. She hadn't noticed, tucked in as
she was under her umbrella. She was wearing red
spikes, which I've never liked. Spike shoes that is,
but for some reason, in the rain, her legs glistening,
and my mood suddenly turned foul, I found myself
caught with the beauty of her calves, the black fish-net
stalkings, the perky, hard lines of the red shoes.
as we approached and
amidst a jangle of keys she popped the trunk and
dumped her packages in. She grabbed the wreath and
the sodden paper bag and squeezed it in with the other
things. There was a coil of silky red rope in the
trunk. The kind used as jibbing rope on sail-boats.
I began to put the heavy box in as well.
"Oh--no." She said. "I want that in the front, on
the front seat where I can keep an eye on it."
I shrugged, squinting as the rain pelted my face.
The Shocking Deterioration
Posted: 11/9/2007 2:59:29 PM
There isn't much one can do about ageing; we're all on a one-way trip. But one can do a lot about physical, emotional, spiritual, mental shape.
It's a fact that people try harder when they're competing. It's also a fact that we're lazy creatures, on the whole, and will, if given half the opportunity, take the easy way out on most things.
Marriage and the subsequent development of a family produce in almost everyone a profound sense of fatigue, a state which naturally leads to wanting to take it easy whenever the opportunity comes up. Comfort foods, booze, cozy couches and tv programming that requires little more than an alert eye... as close as most can get to Nirvana.
Then you're 35 looking at yourself in the mirror half-heartedly convincing yourself your still attractive... then an industrious flurry of cosmetics and clothes to patch things over.
I sometimes wonder that what keeps most marriages going is not a determined belief in love, but perhaps more a terrifying realization that you wouldn't be able to attract anyone else.
Not to say I don't believe in love. I do. I'm just not convinced that what one feels today one will feel tomorrow. Or five years from now. Or ten.
It's odd that we accept and expect change in our lives, in ourselves, yet we all want to believe that love won't change, shouldn't change.
The Age Of Innocence
Posted: 11/8/2007 1:56:20 AM
Ahh... cruel fate by eyes discerned on far
Fine beyond the mists yon kestrel larks
Sylvan roots espie the tithes of time
Whilst Loki's tail adds playful dash to lips
G'day folks :)
Is Intelligence A Curse In Relationships?
Posted: 2/24/2007 3:49:02 PM
The interpretation of 'intelligence' is bound to vary with each individual, as too will be their reaction to what they perceive as intelligence.
I've seen brilliant people treated like shmucks because they simply have poor social skills, or are so focused in their mind that they don't bother with things that others do: like dressing well (or at all in some cases), eating well, presenting themselves well, etc.
In the end what it comes down to for me is not so much what the other person knows or can do, but what I inspire them to release. Naturally, any mind, no matter how gifted at birth, can become a wasteland, like the body, if not kept well. I don't particularily care for the company of those who arn't inspired to live their life well--but this, in the end, has little to do with intelligence, but more to do with a spiritual connection to being alive.
Betrayal AND (more importantly) attempted reconcilliation - experienced people wanted
Posted: 2/19/2007 12:40:58 AM
Once upon a time in a land far away I tried the Walt Disney relationship idea out. Soul-mates for life, complete and absolute love, etc etc.
Didn't work. Why isn't important.
So I tried again. That didn't work either.
Looked around a bit more and saw it doesn't work with 99% of the other relationships I saw.
Which led me to wondering... are we, as a species, really cut out for this life-long bondage thing? I know the churchs say so, I know Disney says so, I know the laws say so... but really, in the end, when we accept our truth, are we really cut out for it?
The answer was no. At least for me.
Which led to: How do I balance feelings of jealousy, possession, age-old programming against letting the heart enjoy what it wishes? Letting others enjoy themselves as they wish?
Not so easy.
Op, when you talk of betrayal, you mean it as betrayal of a trust between two people. Ultimately, I wonder if we should betray our selves. Yes, rules are important, yes not hurting others is important, but in the end, are we not accountable only for ourselves?
Not to imply that maliciously lieing and deceiving others in order to get what you want is right either--and this isn't a route I take. Personally I've arrived at a state where I voice my needs ahead of time. Identifying them, accepting them, making them clear to others is all I can do.
Posted: 2/19/2007 12:22:00 AM
that she had to study and will be busy until April.
Clearly she's really into you but has her priorities set on other things. All other things.
Begin pineing now. You'll have a head-start by the time April comes around.
When it comes to the opposite sex, what is your weakness?
Posted: 2/18/2007 6:01:30 PM
When they are wizards in the kitchen. I know, I know--stereotyping, but it's true.
Chokers... the silk black or red ribbons. Dunno what it is about those but MmmMmm MM.
Delicacy. The way they touch or walk.
Eyes. Especially mischeivous ones, kind of bright and probing. Somewhere between a sparrow and a dolphin with a bit of pixie dust thrown in.
A girl who can hold her own... someone who doesn't simper or fawn or rely on barbie-doll preening, but someone who has strength of soul and presence.
And more, but me thinks that's all the pof mods would allow me to print
Are we all destined to repeat
Posted: 2/18/2007 5:31:55 PM
My question is are we all doomed to repeat the same mistakes in our relationships ?
No, I find new and interesting mistakes. A veritable pioneer of new frontiers of dysfunction. Keeps life interesting.
Why would some one not NOT talk to you if they think you're hot?
Posted: 1/24/2007 10:47:25 PM
Heck, if he said that about me, I'd be flattered. (though more so if he threw in 'sexy' as well LOL)
Vera daahlingk... any woman who can speak latin fluently and rip around on an 1100cc twin-jugged monster is a woman who is automatically SEHXY! in my books.
Why would some one not NOT talk to you if they think you're hot?
Posted: 1/24/2007 3:19:52 PM
Did I ask what you thought of me?! NO I did not. WTF is wrong with you? I didn't ask that at all... is anyone out there reading?!
Op... how is it possible for anyone to respond if they don't think? Would you prefer lame-ass answers like: 'The guy was just a dork' or 'You're so hot it's intimidating'.
Please. I gave you an answer, and a credible one, from my perceptions of what was available. I included the statement that I didn't think you were a 'hottie' as a direct response to you being baffled as to why the guy said you were a hottie. In building towards a conclusion one has to first neutralize the erroneous facts. You're not hot. His statement is invalid. You're not a 'hottie' so this isn't why you arn't getting hit on in bars. Nor do you strike me as a girl who's trying to be a hottie. I assumed you were cognizant enough of your own personality to understand this statement was a given. I appologize for grossly over estimating your intuitive skills.
Curious that when I went on to say you look perfectly normal and solid relationship material that you neglected to appreciate the value of that statement.
I don't get approached EVER and I just wonder if this has something to do with it. If any of you have a clue as to what is going on please clue me in.
You've come to a public forum asking for people to analyse an event and aspects of your personality/social-persona. Expect to get straightforward answers. I have never been flippantly malicious in my responses, nor will I ever be. I do, however, know how to bat balls back so if you're going to send a zinger my way, best be ready when it comes back. My tone was not meant to insult you, Op, but to asses the situation fairly and neutrally. Please accept it as such.
Regarding the above quote, I stand by my thoughts in that you have the look of the intellectual/librarian tinged with a bit of existentialism. Most guys, especially in bars, are not going to either have the skills to interact with such, or be in the mood to do it--they're in a bar having a few drinks joking it up with the guys and looking, generally, for vulnerable women. You don't overtly come across as particularly vulnerable. In case you miss it--this is a compliment.
As for the screen name, I don't watch tv, but if I'd chosen the name 'Mr. Ed's Stunt Double' I suspect a few would, oddly, perceive such a name as implying certain things. However, my ignorance of the Simpsons is large and the name 'ChestyLarue' could have any number of meanings. I assumed the most obvious.
Why would some one not NOT talk to you if they think you're hot?
Posted: 1/24/2007 12:40:59 AM
Op, the dude said 'well I had to stop talking blah blah blah' because he's throwing out a last ditch line. If you'd smiled and gushed and shown cleavage like in your pof name then he'd have played in deeper. Likely, the line was so lame and badly delivered and off the reality of the situation that you probably sat there like a goldfish trying to figure it all out. Barbie would have smiled and nodded with a sweet smile and a 'Oh my gosh--thanks!!'
Op, you're not a hottie. Your plain. Normal. Healthy. Smart. The librarian book-worm type. Personally I think you look good and wholesome--good material for a long-term relationship for the right guy. You don't project 'Barbie' or 'Player'.
Most chicks who go to bars do.
Ergo, most guys who go to bars expect that type. You're the odd fish in the bar-bowl, and most guys going there arn't going to have the sophistication or depth to understand how to deal with you.
If you want guys to hit on you, go to other types of places where more sophisticated guys hang out.
Need girls help!
Posted: 1/22/2007 11:57:05 PM
Well I'm not a lady, nor do I wear such shoes.
But if faced with a similar dilema I'd likely insert a duct-tape bandage where the strap is cutting in. Or, cut the strap, and use duct-tape liberally to hold it on.
*tips his hat*
Alternately, if feeling creative, use a car-trunk tie and sew it on in lieu of the strap. Be creative with the colors. Earn gasps of awe.
Pease help with advice on a new relationship.
Posted: 1/21/2007 4:52:30 PM
Op, my personal morals are of little consequence and I shall approach your post in the spirit with which you tabled your dilema: as needing advice, not a lynch mob. Besides which, you are likely to be your best lynch mob over the years and the heckles of the crowd will diminish long after you lock yourself into your own cell.
Both Sombient and Package Deal have already given excellant advice.
There is often no stemming the tide of great sexual desire, and let anyone here cast the first stone who has not fallen prey to Natures insidious designs.
The cat is out of the bag, so to speak, and you must now live with a life changed forever.
It is unfair for either yourself or your 8-second-hating damsel to continue the relationships with your spouses unless both or either of you feel that this episode will seriously shake up your psyches well enough that you will be inspired to re-address the issues which culminated in your arrival at the honkey-tonk venue. It goes without saying that marriages and especially the involvement of children are serious endevours and will require some time to ponder--far longer than two weeks I would suspect. Professional guidance would be helpful. Seek it out.
No one but you and your current lover can know if your marriages are doomed. If they are, I suggest acting on a decision with a mind to not further entangling the innocent parties deeper into your own issues.
On a different tack, if you're happy, your children will love you the more. If the marriage is untenable, staying in it will only breed great discontent, and such is no atmosphere for children to grow and be nurtured in. You have an obligation as a parent to think of your children first, your sexual needs at honky tonks second.
Did You Go Wild After Your Divorce?
Posted: 1/20/2007 10:50:34 PM
ummm, the weight from my mardi gras beads just pulled my rearview mirror off the windshield, so I'll go with, no.
I didn't go wild. I got a dog and a blow-up. They should make the latter tougher as they get torn to shreds too easily on the trails.
Romancing the Ex
Posted: 1/20/2007 9:57:47 PM
As I'm not romantic with an ex, I don't have anything to contribute to the post, but I would like to thank ya472 and Gallivanting for helping me get a crick out of my neck.
Would You Help An Ex In Need?
Posted: 1/19/2007 11:20:16 AM
I love animals, but I wouldn't help one out by covering a leg in bar-b-q sauce that was trying to eat me.
Same goes with people. I try to love everyone equally but I'm not going to extend myself for those who have a history of being manipulative or 'user friendly'. Part of the reason such people get away with dysfunctional behaviour is others rescuing them.
I helped an ex out a short time ago by takeing her child to daycare everyday while she worked out of town. Not a big deal, though it meant I had to break up my sleep patterns (3 hour sleep, help her son, try to get back to sleep before work) for about 6 weeks. Though she and I didn't work out in the long run, she is still a good person who willingly helps those around her. She was just in a bind and I was the most practical one to help.
I try to be kind as I can, but I do enjoy helping those who deserve it.
Do you guys think I should look for more than friends with her?
Posted: 1/18/2007 3:41:15 AM
Op. You're in the alley out back of 'Relationship Heaven Tavern'. Somewhere between the swirling lights, the drinks, the praying to god in the bowels of a dirty bowl in a defecated chamber someone put the hopefull sign of 'mens room' on you stumbled the wrong way, by lucky chance, and now you're in the alley, the bums up the way grizzled and covered in yesterdays news sleeping it all off, the nagging couple above, silhouetted against window like a tacky honey-mooners cartoon from the fifties, feeling the winds of change tug at your dirty collar, the remnants of your once proud mane. And there.... just over there, perhaps sitting in an alcove, rocking back and forth is your gf's brothers ex. So you shuffle over, lean against the fire-escape, blurredly take her in, pause a spell then belch out the nights events. She croons and moans, quaking back and forth, and soon the two of you against the nights colding winds, snuggle for some warmth.
In the morning the bums will be stemming the tides for a pity tithe, the ancient honey-mooners will be entrenched apart at work, oiling their guns for another nights run against the other's bullwarks. And you? Op? What will the day bring? A new relationship spawned at dawn, one or two fawns, a couple of pawns hoping to Queen. Good luck with that as that bricker-brack shack shutters up for the days dazed.
Best me thinks you sink to bed with one you wed when born, than stumble on oblivion convinced Hyperion and his Hades-night mate be made.
The touching of SOULS..........
Posted: 1/17/2007 11:40:16 PM
Before the net came along, I very rarerly heard the term 'soul-mate'. Perhaps this coincides with the demographics of my life, seeing as how I was about 25 when the net really started to come 'on-line', and perhaps I just wasn't associating with a lot of people who were looking for their 'soul mate', but I wager it's a term far more used now than pre-net days.
Much of what people are talking about here isn't differentiated from simple good 'ol love. Flow of energies? Why is everyone so quick to discount kitchen basic science? Sombient already explained the case of chemicals back a few pages, and did a far better job of it than I can.
Interesting how few people jumped up and down and said Exactly! That's exactly what I feel! How wonderful!
No, we'd rather believe this 'soul mate' love is beyond mere mortal flesh. That it isn't out of the kitchen, but up somewhere with the gods.
Even attributing fluxes of feelings and 'flow of energies' to the soul is somewhat dubious. How is the soul supposed to feel these things? React to them? Is there some centre in the brain or in the body where the soul-organism lives, some peculiar receptor site that can translate, feel, feed-back all of this practical matter?
I do not discount that people are deeply moved--clearly they are by their ruminations and statements here.
But speaking as someone who HAS felt this same 'soul-mate' experience, some 4 times whilst fiddling about on the net, I'm walking (well sitting) proof that I'm not so convinced.
Personally, as I privately related to Wicked, I think people are underestimating the power of their own imaginations, and the other potential causal connections that are going on within themselves to convince themselves that what they're experiencing is extra-ordinary.
I've come to think, from my personal experiences, and watching this same 'soul-mate' love routine get acted out so many times on line, that what's really happening is that people are tapping into very primal states within themselves--the pure loves of such things as our mother when we were breast feeding, the love we have for our children--the really really deep, personal, incredibly rich 'loves' of our lives. Each of us (barring sociopaths) has this deep well of potential feelings/yearnings/memories to tap into. Net love, I suspect, is unique in that we have someone we want to love, but no physical presence--so instead what we do is we dredge up within ourselves the most ideal types of love we have. Eventually we lay soaking in a golden stew of bliss, yearning, longing, pure love and heart-ache.
Do you attract who you are?
Posted: 1/17/2007 12:55:38 AM
I'd work on myself trying to heal different things i identified and then would poke my head out of the cave and measure if i had gotten anywhere by who i would attract in my life. All the time in the back of my mind thinking i was flawed. And i would attract the same people in my life sure they looked different but they were still the same people.
Having been a similar type of spelunkor, Lilting, I've experienced exactly what you so well said.
This topic is somewhat related to Wickeds thread on souls, but differentiates here perhaps on the focus of personality: we largely seek people who can resonate with the patterns of our 'self'.
That cosmopolitan gloobey thing a mash of soul, personality, genetic breeding programs, phenotyping, etc.
I do think it's important to self-assess ourselves to 'fix' the worst of our behavioural flaws (like uhm, say, picking our nose whenever we feel like it or over-reacting to stimuli because of 'triggers' from our past), but once that's done it isn't a process of creating a perfect image of someone you'd like to be in order to impress everyone, as much as it is being comfortable with yourself, comfortable with others, and, well dang it--just enjoying this thing called life.
The touching of SOULS..........
Posted: 1/17/2007 12:28:04 AM
... it is a quest to learn the person's inner soul and this takes a lot of effort and will power to obtain, YET it seems that because this connection is beyond the norm of other relationships that it is a joy to know the inner , deepest, core of your soul partner and it seems for the most part that this time put in simply flows naturally and without waves.
While I'm glad you're experiencing such a positive thing, Wicked, I don't see anything in your words or sentiments giving definitive proof of a 'soul-bonding' experience.
Clearly you are experiencing a wonderful reaction to exploring someone else's life. This is a powerful, beautiful, breath-taking, aweing sensation, and I'm glad you are on this journey.
Sombient and one other (gads I'm terrible with remembering names) have provided strong positions, Sombient that of the biological reaction to 'falling in love', and the other stating unequiviocally the necessity for definitive proof of the souls existance before one can start making grand-unified theories about it's power, abilities, dimensions etc, or assuming experiences there-of and attaching said experiences pell-mell to the lable of this thing called 'soul'.
I'd like to step back from the current trend to associate love/romance/bonding with proof positive of a 'soul' and examine the nature of the beast from a different perspective.
I arrived at the conclusion that souls exist several seconds after I was born. The remembering of which gives the skeptic in me no-end of wondering about over the years. As that very early introspective moment of thought has duplicated itself over and over again over the years, I'll provide the bones of that internal realization.
I exist. I am here. In life. I don't know where I came from. Terror. Fear. Confusion. Host organism experiencing stimuli. Unique to it, different from other organisms, even those similar in form to mine. Ergo, this shell, this host is a uniqe structure from all others. Ergo, I exist alone in this host organism.
Now, closer to the truth of the experience, I remember being extremely mystified (my first months especially) that I couldn't communicate telepathically with the other creatures around me. Clearly they were also host organisms with an *I*. In fact,
didn't differentiate their I was different than my I for some time. Their 'I' seemed oddly closed off from my 'I' and it took awhile for me to understand this dilema. Frankly I still work on this problem to this day, some 42 years later. I have arrived at some conclusions, which I will try to share here as they seem to fit.
Take my arms away and I will still be I. Take away my eyes, and I'm still there. Take away my ears, my legs, much of my body and I will still be here.
Now it gets tricky.
How much is the mind related to this thing called a soul?
How much of my brain can be damaged and 'I' still be here?
Through triumphs and failures, great extremes of both, I have watched my soul. Wondering how much the mind, how much the myriad amount of processess linked to this host organism are related to the sense that it is 'I' sitting here typing these words?
I have felt great jubilation. Great depression. Massive washes of chemicals throughout the body and mind triggering the massive amount of 'feelings' we all muchly feel. Yet 'I', if watched closely, remain exactly the same thing. No matter if I idly watch a bird in flight, or feel my brain cramping from working on string-theory concepts, that 'I' just sits there. Watching. The host thinks. The host feels. The host does. But seperate from it all, like a bird upon a rhinos back, my soul perches and goes along with the ride.
An argument could be made that I'm just merely playing a trick with my mind--I'm creating a seperate pocket of 'self' and calling it my very own soul. It is an argument I've tried to convince myself over the years is valid. But it fails.
Because I remember sitting in the crib. I remember using the host organisms 'brain', and knowing it was a 'brain', trying to figure out why my soul was caged off from the other souls I could see.
And why do I remember that? When so many don't? Because it struck me then, so long ago, that this phenomena is crucial and needs to be understood.
I recall, way back then, reasoning with myself and thinking: This is an important thing. Yet these other big creatures which are shaped similar to me have completely lost contact with this. Why? I didn't know. I remember it scared me to not know that. I then set about doing something which I suppose is odd, but at the time was one of the few tools I had at my disposal. I decided to remember every thing I experienced. To go back over all the memories I was receiving, to make sure that I wouldn't forget, that when I was a big creature, what I was thinking and experiencing way back then could be accessed.
Truth be told, I've forgotten much. I even forgot to do all that after a spell--I can't remember how old I was, perhaps around 3 or so. I remember getting swamped with the remembering, starting to glitch, forgetting things and being amazed I'd forgotten, realizing that such a concept was beyond the capacity of the organism I'd been born in. So I laid a trap for myself to discover years later, in the event that I completely forgot, like I saw so many others had done. I 'fixed' the memories of the earliest things, the things I was thinking about, the ruminations about the soul, the 'I', cemented them in my mind, attached images and the thrust of the concept into a chamber, with some tale-tale bread-crumbs to lead me back much later.
It wasn't until I was sitting in philosophy class, age 22, and puzzling over the soul and how to prove it's existance that I landed back in the mind of myself some 21 years, 9 months earlier. I'd forgotten about all of it. All the remembering, the crucial important message I insisted I'd have to remember. I remember my mouth going dry in the class, listening far-off to the professor talking about something. I felt sick, nauseated, swimming suddenly in the trap I'd laid so long ago, dumped there like garbage falling down an apt building chute to the bucket far below.
Then, I laughed. Who would ever believe me? The very fact that we're seperated from all other organisms, whether it be our own species or any other, produces an automatic distrust of their ruminations about their internal states. Because we can't know for sure what they're saying isn't just something they're making up. Or delluding themselves with.
So I set about trying to prove this thing called soul, all over again.
The answer, inevitably, was simple.
I arrived at it in the eyes of the animals. How is this important? Because animals don't lie. If you approach an animal as an organism with a mind, you will get one response. If you approach an animal by simply 'being' with it, you'll get an entirely different reaction. Hone this skill well enough and I can say from personal proof that it's like stepping into the garden of eden.
Animals can sense this soul-state. You can literally see their 'soul' swiveling into focus and coming directly into you. Sharing the same space. They know they're seperate in form, as I know I am seperate in form, but the soul is not so encumbered.
I've argued with myself that this is just a game... some kind of mind-game with myself, but inevitably I come back to: if I'm creating this mind game, I can fool myself. I can make myself think and feel all manner of things. But obviously that creature over there isn't part of my mind game. So why the heck is it reacting like that?
A long post, and I appologize for it's length, but one I felt needed to be placed here, for those of you who wish to assess, analyse, use as you wish.
The rabbit hole does indeed get much deeper, but that's a different story for a different day.
Collapse of the universe
Posted: 1/16/2007 2:49:36 AM
If my brain hurts from contemplating these posts, does the brane also hurt?
Trip my man, you're handling of the topic has astounding depth. Good work and thanks for sharing your thoughts.
Expecting your sweetie to do housework for you
Posted: 1/16/2007 12:19:25 AM
Subtle, even if the S/O likes cleaning, which I actually believe is possible because my grandmother was that way, springing for a cleaning lady every once in a while might get you more mileage than the bugs.
You READ that part?!? SHAME. My secret is out. BLAST you!
Do not underestimate the power of the Bug.
Meh... whatever works for each couple. Long as there is open dialogue/communication about expectations and needs, it's all good. Though I don't do near as much house-cleaning as my companion, I do compensate by providing other things to the relationship. Comes down to what each partner can/would like to contribute and if there is a sense of balance.
But bugs do work well.
And one only needs to do laundry once with bleach over everything to be forever banned from doing that cursed task.
Posted: 1/16/2007 12:07:34 AM
While BOTH genders can be equally as bad, the thread IS 'controlling men' not 'controlling people'.
That's a wee bit controlling
Fortunately pof forum guidelines are to not create threads which are gendre biased. Just as fortunately most contributing here have ignored the thread leader and provided a fairer, gender-open response.
Expecting your sweetie to do it for you
Posted: 1/15/2007 11:50:56 PM
Sorry Savage, you wouldn't get away with that here. I had a little brother...
Fine, I'm returning the lambrogini, the bow and the box of chocolates tomorrow. Enjoy your Valentines now :p
Expecting your sweetie to do it for you
Posted: 1/15/2007 10:51:32 PM
I am so going to get hung here
I don't like doing dishes.
I don't like cleaning.
Hell, I don't even like to change the cat-litter box. And they're my cats.
I like to cook, but that's about it.
On the other hand, I like building things, fixing things, taking care of the car, repairing/upgrading stuff around the house.
My companion does about half an hour of house-work a day. She enjoys doing it, I hate it.
I will spend 20 or 30 or 40 hours building something for the house, and enjoy doing it. She'll occasionally help, but has no interest in that kind of labour. Although she did learn, just this past summer, how to use a power-drill. I insisted. We now have about 200 new holes in the walls. I accept I was wrong.
I'm terrible at cleaning. I really am. I admit it. I don't like doing it at all. I'd rather go to the dentist, which for me and my fear of them, is saying something. When living alone I actually hire maids to do it.
The following is for men to read only. Ladies, please avert your eyes.
Most women are phobic about bugs. Especially big ones. Befriend the local bug-merchant, the guy with all the tats and a zillion bizarre creatures from around the globe. Bring home a few of the larger, more colorful bugs each week. Let them go in the house. Soon you'll hear demented screaming. Make a show of capturing the bug in a manly fashion. Return to the game/computer room. Listen smugly to the sounds of frenzied cleaning going on throughout the house. Return bug next day for refund.
The touching of SOULS..........
Posted: 1/15/2007 5:31:18 PM
Although it is quite difficult (for me) to define what the soul is, it isn't that hard to define other states which affect us dramatically.
An excellant examination of this is found, in part, in the movie 'What the bleep do we know', or it's other title, 'Down the rabbit hole'. One of the two (I forget) is a movie with interviews, the other is mostly just the interviews. Though the premise of that production attempts to grapple with new concepts of spiritualism as allowed by new concepts being revealed in advanced quantum mechanics and string-theory, there are a number of excellant interviews related to the Op's theme here. Highly recomended.
What is love? What is lust? What is spiritual communing? Are any of them seperate? Seperate but intertwined?
After long exposure to this subject, that of souls, I've often come across the sentiment that when we, as humans (I'll keep it to our species though I personally don't think the matter is in the least confined to us), go through traumatic emotional/mental/life changes, that often such things are related to movements/conditions/affections of the soul.
For example: I'm in love with him. He's my soul-mate. I've never felt such a bond with anyone else. Then, a year or decade later: too bad he turned out to be such a jerk and bonked his secretary. He's such a complete @sshole, I hate him.
Was there an original touching of souls? How powerful a movement in ourselves this thing called love is. And it's twin, let us not forget, hate. It is curious we don't attach a lot of our negative attributes to the 'soul'. When was the last time you heard 'He's my anti-soul-mate, that's why I hate him more than any other human on the face of this planet--he's my one true hate'?
We are quick to say hate springs from the mind, a clash of values perhaps, or a grave difference in ideals--those ideologies and tennets we've decided to attach ourselves to over the years.
Yet we are not quick to say the same of love. We give it an ephereal status, something beyond mere mortal divination or cause or affect. Unfortunately, such is not the case. It has been proven repeatedly that the state of 'love', much as the state of 'hate' is largely caused by an infusion of chemicals throughout the body and brain. A honeing of our entire being to fixate on some external source of love and hate, and to pit much of our life energy into dealing with it.
I'm sure Nature wouldn't care to have apathetic borred species out there, species who would as soon as look at a great genetic match as scratch their bums and wonder if the nuts in the bush down the valley are edible or not.
Love isn't proof positive of a soul. Neither is hate. It is proof positive of very ancient breeding mechanisms hard-wired in to our species. Can the soul be felt more during great emotional moments? Possibly. Can the mind be made to feel more alive or crushed or mangled by chemical influences? Without doubt.
I do personally think/feel/believe/sense there to be a thing called 'soul'.
Is mine different than you who are reading this? I don't know--I'm not in your body. We both have seperate forms, life experiences, personalities, that's for sure--but is the core thing different? Impossible to say until we can figure out a way to 'be' in other peoples 'being-ness'.
Resonating with others, sifting down through the cracks between the puzzle-pieces of their personalities that we perhaps hold unique keys too to see/sense/be-with/recognize their soul is perhaps, for me, the more intriguing aspect of the Op's thread.
Perhaps this is why children are so close to life. As we grow, our personalities grow like mountains... colossal creations dealing with the myriad aspects of human reality that we must interface with. Children are not so weighted down and buried by our grown-up 'baggage'. As anyone who knows who's watched them, children have an affinity with each other, an instant love/likeing/friendship/kinship which is remarkable, ever-present and beyond the ken of us adults.
But I dunno... I'm just a simple savage who likes to keep things as simple as possible.
Brand New Topic - Single White Female Seeks New Parents
Posted: 1/14/2007 9:54:06 PM
Interesting article!! I lost my parents when I was 20
Reading this (thanks Detour) made me more aware of the need out there for parents who have lost children, and children who have lost their parents, to unite.
Hmmm.... the more I think about it, the more I like it.
To this day I cringe whenever meeting my s/o's parents because of the ultra-dysfunctional crap I went through as a kid. Given that I have worked on this issue a lot, and how much it still bothers me, I can only wonder how devestating it must be for a lot of people who have not sought out help as I, or have not been fortunate enough to have the means by which to attain healing.
Would be nice to be adopted by loving parents :) Especially rich ones with disposable income, a cottage in a remote location complete with solarium, grand piano, cello, flute and...uhm... well, that will do for now :)
Brand New Topic - Single White Female Seeks New Parents
Posted: 1/14/2007 8:31:49 PM
It is far from a pity thread, Op.
Any who vote it so deserve to be..well, pitied
Long ago, in tribal times, children were raised by the clan. Now, in the industrial world(s), children are raised primarily by one or (rarely) both parents.
It's a proven fact that children who have access to multiple adults are much more socially adapted than their peers.
I think the ladies drive to adopt herself out at 40 something is a bit odd, but the concept behind it--that of finding a family who is supportive, is valid.
Guys, what kind of perfume you enjoy on your lady?
Posted: 1/14/2007 8:21:01 PM
How do you guys like it when your lady uses someof your signature scent?
I don't mind it, unless we're in public. It's irritating when she lifts up my arm and starts nuzzling for fresh musk.
Brand New Topic - Single White Female Seeks New Parents
Posted: 1/14/2007 8:17:40 PM
Interesting post Op.
I have little to do with my family, and when I did found among them only strife, bitterness and hatred.
Later in life I spent time with some native Elders and one said to me: You will have many fathers, many mothers in your time. Watch for them, listen to them; they are likely looking for their sons and daughters. Do not think only blood ties you to those around you.
His words were a revelation, a different approach to 'family' than I was ever taught, and it made immediate sense, and since I have identified those 'mothers and fathers' and learned from them much as a son would.
Western philosophy doesn't encompass this, which is sad.
Now, at 42, I find myself often being the father to others who need a guide. I take to the task easily and without prejudice, thanks to that Elders wise words long ago.
Panties? body type?
Posted: 1/14/2007 7:59:20 PM
Savage... you are obviously not educated on what exactly a boy short is... these should help..
Loki help me, I, with some timerity, followed the link.
Now THOSE arn't things I've ever seen men wear. Or boys, from what I can recall. Maybe fashions have changed in the 6th grade boys locker-room since I was there, 30 years ago.
Why on earth do they call those 'boy' shorts? Boy is normally used for young male human, correct? Or has there been some new adaption of that word I'm not familiar with?
I WANT OUR NAME BACK dammit!
Or I swear I'll go put on my knee-high lace-up pumps and thong and sashay my way down to the bank. I'm NOT kidding!
Posted: 1/14/2007 3:28:49 AM
the way they behave while driving a car. If there are ANY negative undeserved comments, road rage,
I'll remember to smile and wave at the next person who pulls in front of me from a side street and does 1/2 the speed limit and I have to dump on the breaks.
Guess I'm a potential wife-beater because I'll use my 'horn' (gads that must have been invented by a guy who beats his wife too) to get their attention and THEN give them a piece of my mind. Sorry. When someone endangers my life and the life of my passengers and the life of everyone around me because they're way too daft to drive a 2 ton bullet around, they deserve a wake-up call. If I was a cop I'd give them a ticket. As I'm not they can get something else.
I've never once laid a hand on any woman. Except in martial-arts training.
I have been involved with numerous women (especially the Irish girls--oi, what's up with that temper?) who have used anything ranging from physical abuse to screaming to get their way.
Perhaps it's the type of women I date. I do prefer the fiesty, fiery ones.
Still, a lot of it comes down to, for me, establishing healthy boundaries and communication.
I've never dated a man, so don't know how controlling they can be. I can say with complete honesty that there are a lot of women out there who are pretty controlling.
Panties? body type?
Posted: 1/14/2007 3:07:40 AM
pssssst.... ladies, notice no guy has said "Yeah--OH YEAH, Gimme a woman with boys underwear on!"
You all be wantin' to date priests or somethin'?
Girl, you wear whatever is comfortable. Just not the boys 'lacey' (wtf is THAT?) shorts. Not like a guy is gonna see until you get home with him--and if he's gone that far he isn't going to really care what you're wearing underneath. Except the lacey (!) boys shorts. I hope.
Guys, what kind of perfume you enjoy on your lady?
Posted: 1/14/2007 3:01:27 AM
she smelled like steak... better than any perfume on earth!
Personally I don't like any perfumes but one. The high-quality real-vanilla one.
ANY other scent or perfume makes me want to wretch.
The best smells on a woman I've ever had the intoxicating pleasure of enjoying are clean natural hair with sun-drenched hay-loft with a tiny tinge of wood-smoke.
love or lust
Posted: 1/14/2007 2:54:40 AM
sheil , i'm serious...........i find if i have sex with a man.......he touts love.....but i wonder if its just lust?
Maybe you're just that good?
Sometimes sex can open doors in women I hadn't known were there, and let me see things deep inside of her I wouldn't have seen in the light of day.
Usually I see ugly nasty creatures that kind of look like bent over skeleton things that start clickety-clacking towards me but usually I'm too fast and withdraw from the scene pronto.
I did know a woman who was attractive and a not a good match for me normally.... but something happened during love-making that was exceptional and unique. I took 4 months trying to figure out how I could bridge the gap between us in the day time and the night time. In the end it couldn't work.
Sex is uhm... pretty intimate. And.. err, well, pleasurable. Then there's that whole endorphin rush thingy going on. I've certainly fallen in love deeply for split seconds during 'those' moments. You know... that whole tender-closeness special yummy thing going on. I've even said "I think I'm falling in love with you" in those moments. Completely delusional frame of mind, of course, and wouldn't hold up for a minute in court--it being a 'crime of passion' 'n all.
Now, if the next day, or the next month, we're sitting eating ice-cream and I'm watching her and love the cute look in her eyes, the way she sits, the fact her pheromones are blasting me back like a fog-horn at 3' well... then I'm in trouble.
How Important are the NUTRITIONAL habits of a partner?
Posted: 1/14/2007 2:35:59 AM
^^^ I admire and respect those choices Rune.
I just can't handle tofu... it tastes like....like... cardboard
You don't like ....chocolate anymore? *blinks slowly*
The touching of SOULS..........
Posted: 1/14/2007 2:19:58 AM
Once upon a time behind a veil not so far away I espied the dips and glides of a faiery tale romance. I romped and skipped with nary a slip, chasing the butterfly-lies away. Then the abyss yawned deep and I scittered and scrawled in fright and slipped 'betwixt the mix of all the smiles and cunning wiles till soon enough not was left but broken laughs and shamans wraiths.
Out of the dark I sensed a thing, then another and then more. I cowered and glowered and willed myself back to the land of dreams and schemes and little plushy toy beams. But unlucky I was not and visited then I was under shredded moon beams by horses four who told of lore ancient and hakim. We travelled far and they eased my mind and let flow the trolls of fear and shame and hatred supreme.
Alight 'pon dew to view askance a world never the same. A world where souls flow about and jump like trouts but rarely on concrete seen. There they shuffle-dance, slips and slippers shifting sands by bands long asleep, and like billiards orbit 'bout wells till wearly they spin and spin about but one. Outside the myriad flows and flows and slows until obscene. Mother cries yet still plies the weaves and threads about the dead till a tapestry appears. It's enough to mount and hang while outside rang another link by smithy wed.
How Important are the NUTRITIONAL habits of a partner?
Posted: 1/14/2007 1:49:32 AM
Healthy living, in all of its facets, is important to me. People who eat well, excercise regularly and have a diverse, ecclectic range of tastes in life invariably have a 'shine' to them that I like.
Mind you, I'm not militant about my food choices either. I don't think badly of people who are extreme nutrionists/vegans, but I find them too far into the healthy spectrum for me. I respect and admire those zealots, though. Just find them kind of irritating :)
are both sexs here looking for perfection in a mate
Posted: 1/14/2007 1:06:27 AM
You're welcome Angel.
*bows--exposing trucker cleavage*
Posted: 1/14/2007 1:03:06 AM
Who's life are you living? The girl in Fiji or yours?
It's that simple.
If you're miserable, the girl in Fiji isn't going to be a very happy camper married to you, is she?
I respect your ties to your culture and their version of honor, and I respect your empathy for the girl in Fiji, and if you feel those things are more important than your own right to make your own choices, then it's that simple too.
Only you can decide which is more important.
If it's any concillation, non-arranged marriages have a 50% divorce rate. I'm not sure on the stats of arranged marriage, but I'll assume they have a low divorce rate. Probably closer to 15%. But does that mean those latter couples are happier? Is happiness even part of the equation for your culture?
I dunno. Different world-reality than the one I operate in.
Whichever direction you take, it's probably a good idea to keep the thing simple and accept your decision and make the best with what you have. Pineing about the grass being greener doesn't do a lot of good for the people you're standing with on this side of the mountain.
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