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The Cozy Spot



49 posts categorized "dating"

September 12, 2008

Are You Hot Enough?

There are many things that amuse me on the web, but dating sites have maintained their appeal for me - in the sarcastic humor stakes, because it’s not enough that online dating has taken off or has become an established (if not weird) form of dating, but there apparently seems to be a need for ongoing improvement. When you think about it, there are hundreds of dating sites, and all of them rely on paid membership (for members to access the extras). It doesn’t matter if they advertise on television telling you that ‘joining is free,’ and they’re not really lying, but they do tell partial truths. You see, if you want to message people, you have to pay (in most cases).

The dating site that had me laughing, is something that was emailed to me as a possible joke subject I could blog about, and who can resist blogging about a site that is titled: Hotenough.org. The main header on the site: “Not for the Average Single.” No, it’s not, it’s for the conceited single. Whatever happened to the days where relationships were more about a meeting of minds, that followed the initial chemistry. Do people actually base their relationship of whether their potential partner has a six pack or perky tits? Well, in this technical age of convenience, many do. It’s, ‘click, I don’t like that profile, click, he/she seems a little conceited, click, they’ve listed themselves as being on the portly side forget that, click-click-click.’ Human Ebay without the bidding, only clicking.

Hotenough.org is all about the long suffering ‘good looking’ people. It makes your heart bleed doesn’t it? If they can’t get a date…then what IS WRONG WITH THEM? I ask myself that question when I see sites like this. The thought is frequently followed by the other evil thought: do these people have more issues than Italian Vogue? Do their neuroses outnumber the number of fashion accessories on the market? What the fuck, I think?

And the thing is, if you’re not deemed ‘hot enough’ for Hotenough.org then that’s it, you’re not added to their elite list of singles. They try to minimize their superficial stance with clever wording, but they're superficial all right. It's like a virtual version television reality dating shows The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, without the expensive dates and locations.

There are days when I think that the dating world becomes more absurd as time progresses and technological innovations increase. This form of dating would have to be the most dissociated form of human communication, highlighted by 'distanced' evaluations or at the click of a button.

July 01, 2008

Age is a State of Mind or Low Tolerance?

Do you feel that you’ve reached an age that really animates your worst nightmare - that you’re getting old? I've recently felt this following my recent birthday, and it doesn't relate to digits, more my attitude relating to certain things like dating.

Scrap getting old, it’s more like reaching a certain tolerance level, maybe a lower tolerance level (refined taste?) for certain things as well as a super refined masturbation technique, because really, what else can you do after you experience the rare occasion - the blind date (which is what an Internet date really is) or any date?

You know you’re getting old or been around many blocks when you can’t tolerate things that you think have either appeared in every television sitcom or have come to symbolize the zeitgeist of superficiality that is all about products and pop philosophy/psychology.

You’re asked the usual questions, questions that push you close to the edge, questions that confirm that you’d rather have white-hot pokers placed on your nether regions than endure an intimate moment with your date. In addition, I’ve thought about this lately, and the inspiration of the thoughts was founded on my realization: I haven’t been on a date for three years. Am I missing dates? As unusual (or insane) as it may appear, the answer to that is no. After enduring some of the annoying things one has to endure, and coming out dejected, disappointed or simply frustrated, one can teeter on the edge of being an obstinate bastard in all things date related.

No, I no longer have jabs of envy when I see couples in restaurants because I’ve realized that a restaurant is like a Jenny Craig advert and as we all know, most Jenny Craig spokespeople fail (Hi Kirsty). What do you get is the ‘Before’ and ‘After’. Before couple are touchy feely and conversational to the point of nausea. They’re so affectionate, they make you ill or bitchy enough to wish food poisoning on them but before you utter your first curse, you see the ‘After’. The ‘After’ couple are a few tables away. They gaze at everything in the restaurant but they don’t gaze at each other. Their conversation is dryer than the Sahara, and if you observe them closely, you’ll find that they’ve barely uttered twenty words within a half hour. Before and After. Before settling into the comfortable routine, and After enduring the routine.

The worst date any one can experience is with the conversationally challenged, those who recite popular quotes, books and every cliché fad they have seen. What are your favorite five books? What have you recently read? Moreover, these are useless questions because it’s not as though your date will immediately recognize the book titles. If I answered the first question with, “The Unsinkable Rubber Ducks,” my date would definitely be, ‘The what? I asked you about a book, not a toy.” I don’t know why people ask those silly questions. Then there are the silly answers. A conversation begins, it enters a particular subject, and you need to be cautious because there is such a thing as setting yourself up for failure. So how open-minded can a person be before cringing and texting their friend from the restroom to call them on their mobile phone with a fake emergency? Many people proclaim they are ‘open-minded’ but it's a fib. I don’t think there is such a thing because it isn’t sufficient to claim ‘open-mindedness,’ without some clause. Open-minded about what exactly? In relation to what? Sure, you can say you're open minded about sex, to be confronted with a scat fan. What do you do? You didn't specify, did you? You thought 'I'm open minded about sex,' covers it all. Let me tell you, it barely scrapes the surface.

I’m not open-minded on matters of hygiene. I don’t like grotty fingernails. I once went on a date with a car mechanic, and couldn’t handle the fact that he washed his hands with ordinary soap, like Dove instead of Solvol. He had grease embedded in his cuticles.
I’m not open-minded about fashion faux pas. When the invitation says smart-casual, don’t turn up in friggin flip-flops thinking you’re a style king. It looks horrid, and you gain an extra hundred points if you have visible toe-jam.
I’m not open-minded about certain personal beliefs such as racism. I’ve been there, the date with the racist, to receive a rude shock as we were held hands on a street. He used an ugly word to describe a passerby, and I thought, ‘this one bites the dust,’ as well.

I’ve already concluded that I’ll end up being the professional masturbator. The more time you spend away from the mating game, the more fastidious you become.

It’s a lot like the Henry Rollins video below.

Enjoy.

May 22, 2008

I See Dead People & I Am Going to Eat You

I was watching a reality show last night. The reality show takes place in a family run Poway Bernardo Mortuary, and is called Family Plots, and is quite hilarious. Yes, there is humor in death and people do have to laugh to shake off the morbidity.

In the episode I watched, Emily, the youngest sister is about to go on her first date in nine years, and she is bouncing off walls. She can’t wait. Any first date can make any one cringe. I almost cringed in the beginning, but I laughed when Emily discussed her work. It reminded me of all my failed dates during my uni years. You can’t avoid those personal ‘what do you do?’ questions, and lying isn’t a valid option. How many times did I consider tweaking my answers? Each and every time. Emily talks about working in the mortuary, and her date asks her if she’s been scared, and she then goes on about working back late one night and how the light switched is located behind a casket, and how she had to switch off the lights. As she is about to switch off the light, her eyes glance at the occupant of the casket whose eyes are open. Her date reels in awed shock, ‘No way!’

I then thought, ‘uh-oh,’ will he want to see Emily again? But they did have fun, and yes, they indulged in a post-date kiss that looked promising.

My dates were never that promising when I was at uni. I’d be asked about my course, and I think my dates expected a feminine (in their mind) degree or something. A BA in English literature, or a commerce degree, something safe but they were always in for a shock, and it was difficult because my major said it all, and there were some occasions when I’d find it amusing, my amusement being more macabre than anything else. One date unfolded at a gourmet pizza establishment in the toff-nosed Eastern suburbs. The pizza arrived, and the conversation took off. My date was aware of my status as a uni student, but decided to delve into my course, so I gave him the short version.

“Anatomy? You mean human?”
“Nah…canine,” I replied, with jovial sarcasm.
“Really? Human?” He abandoned his pizza for a few moments, leaned forward on his elbows and I noted his hirsute arms. I can work with this, I thought. I like men with hair. And although people are repelled, they are intrigued by the same things.
“What else? I’m not studying to be a veterinarian.”
“So what do you do in labs?”
“Let’s eat first. It’s not ideal dinner conversation,” and I didn’t want to be rude or gross on my first date. It’s one thing to be a nurse and say you work in a hospital and leave it at that, but it’s quite another to say that you’re majoring in a subject and dissect human cadavers on a daily basis.
“Oh, come on…” he said, waiting for more details. I thought it crazy.
“I’ll tell you later.” After dessert. It wasn’t that my appetite was put off by discussing these things. My labs increased during my second year, and after three to four lab sessions a week, a certain level of desensitization occurs. It wasn’t unusual for students (medical or science) to bring their coffees and donuts to dissection labs during the exam cram - call it multi-tasking. I'd bring my bagels, coffee or my Beef Rendang (at lunch) - I had no problems with it. It’s something that is considered disgusting. We never used the term ‘gross’ in anatomy because ‘gross’ - to an anatomist- refers to anatomy. It doesn’t define the yuck or disgust factor, it technically defines what can be seen with the human eye.

I didn’t think I’d get to third base with this guy. His tenacity overruled my patience, and I gave him a summary of what I did. His eyes widened in that, ‘you mean you actually look at dead people on the inside?’ way.

We did make it to my place after the date. I thought it odd. Some dates normally made an excuse before a swift exit: a work meeting or catching a business flight, some bullshit, but this guy was different, or so I thought.

There we were in bed, and the horniness factor reached exponential levels, and in my excitement, as I grazed in his nether regions, he received the shock of his life:

“I’m going to eat you!” I said, at the crest of my horniness. He almost shat himself. Yes, that was when it all hit him, that was when his brain integrated all the information. Talk about a delayed reaction.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, noting his deflating erection.
“Ummm…nothing, I’m tired is all.”
Yeah, sure…
We fooled around a bit, but didn’t go any further. He didn’t have it in him, and I couldn’t really blame him. He probably had Dahmer images in his mind or something. It would have been an easier score if I’d said I studied commerce or English literature. At the uni cafeteria the next day, I rolled out the disaster of the previous evening and to my astonishment, some girlfriends shook their heads.

"You don't tell them that. Of course they'll run away or freak out," one said.
"What am I supposed to say? What if I lie and they start bombarding me with questions about my course and I'm busted?"
"What do they know? What does your date do?"
"He's an aircraft engineer."
"What the fuck would he know about English literature? That is what I use as a cover," she said.
"But you don't even read any novels," I said.
"So what? Like they read novels. Their idea of reading is Wheels Magazine," she replied.
"I tell them I'm at TAFE studying vet nursing," another replied.

Why did they use covers? Simple. No one really finds the idea of death - on the scale we studied it - appealing. I didn't end up using a cover. I thought, if guys couldn't handle it then they weren't man enough for me.

September 22, 2007

Living Single & Not Giving a Shit

Intuition tells me that a new film will be in the works, only because it touches upon Irritated Male Syndrome. It’s a new trend. Many television shows are touching on the disillusioned male character, a type that can be many things: picky, frustrated, and sexually obsessed (translation: Mid Life Crisis). It’s only logical to have a big screen version of a sardonic 21st Century male, one who would make Fitzwilliam Darcy weep. I think Eric Schaeffer’s blog (and now book), “I Can’t Believe I’m Still Single,” fits into the film category. It’s not something that’s purely based on libido, it also features other everyday nasties, like frustration, cultural observation and takes things, like relationships, on another level, one that isn’t solely focused on getting laid. It’s something I’ve become a little addicted to this week, going back and forth to catch up on archives as I’ve arrived late in the piece. Eric’s been the subject of much controversy. Me? I like the title of his blog, it reminds me of all those ad campaigns starring Fabio, “I can’t believe it’s not butter!”

I think there’s one thing that’s better than being ‘popular’ by a generic stream of people, or select group of people, and that’s having the ability to polarize. That way, one is adored by one audience, and loathed by another, which results in a wider audience, one that isn’t limited to one genre or subject, or a defined view. Thus, Eric has a sector that loves him, and a sector that loves to hate him; both read him. It’s similar to a short interview I read the other day, featuring James Blunt. My housemate can’t stand his voice ("It's going to fucking drive me into Bedlam!"), others adore him, and I’m middle of the road; I still listen to my golden oldies, Zeppelin, Hendrix, Cat Stevens, because as far as I'm concerned today's examples are too emo for my liking, and teeter on the side of politically correct caution, instead of wild abandon. But that's me; there are songwriters, like Neil Diamond, and flash in the pan pretty boys whose songs won't be rerecorded two or more decades later ('and I saw her face/I'm a believer' - Shrek). Blunt, in response to the common question on those who dislike him and/or his music, is quoted as saying, that as far as he’s concerned those people who hate him need counseling (if they had nothing else to do). He knows he scratches their itch, and it maintains his public profile, but he also gives a shit because he wouldn't be so personal as to mention the 'counselling' bit in the first place (it will be interesting to see what his second album has to 'offer' and whether he drifts into the realm of one hit album wonders). It’s a mistake to think that one can be liked by every being on this planet. It’s like customer service: you can’t please every one. Embrace it. Eric embraces it. Or maybe he doesn’t give a shit?

Continue reading "Living Single & Not Giving a Shit" »

August 07, 2007

Seduction Styles of the Wanky

Women are flawed. We’re so flawed that our impediments continue to inspire contemporary fashion designers who seek to improve us. So flawed, we’ve been picked on by a select group of - yes- unattractive feminists for our supposedly relaxed stance on the patriarchy (a nice generalized term that’s supposed to fit everything into a neat scheme). And by unattractive, I refer to the sort of people who spit forth diatribes that encourage alienation than resolution. Then there are the female dating gurus, who construct Rules that focus in minimizing a woman’s individuality, putting herself second just so she can acquire a wedding band. If that’s not enough, there’s another form of hype revolving around picking up women, or more pointedly, the construction of pick up guides that are supposed to guarantee a guy getting laid based on the premise of, ‘rewiring a woman’s attraction circuitry.’

We’re flawed within our Central Nervous System as well. This view is held by Mystery, a guy that I wouldn’t take a second look at in the sleaziest bar in town, who teaches men to ‘rewire’, like women are an electrical circuit; I call it this type of guide a pickup guide for inadequate cretins or those a woman wouldn’t want to fuck. Further to this, I find that the hype over singledom, body clocks and our ‘behavioral’ flaws to be trumped up charges, made by inadequate people who operate on a system based on psychological mind games aimed at breaking down a person into bite sized pieces, reducing their self esteem to such a level that they’ll settle for what appears to be the ideal candidate; badgered.

This rewiring approach, from none other than a non qualified pseudo psychologist, the type that always becomes a huge success story in no place other than the United States, where psychological generalizations and self help guides are as common as influenza, has become the norm to the point where it can be considered socially bourgeois; there’s a new hybrid cropping up just about any week, month or year, often renovated to earn its author a maximum sum of money. It amazes me on one level, and disappoints me on the other. I think I read about Mystery in Cosmopolitan or Cleo magazine, here in Australia, and I do remember having a giggle at the time because I thought that the environment couldn’t be any more perfect, especially with rising popularity of dating sites, or dating practices that are virtual, that don’t rely on a lot of interpersonal (physical) interaction in the opening phases.

Salon Μagazine features an interview with this…man or (allegedly) intrepid pick-up artist, and some of the generalizations that come out are amusing; women are attracted to men based on their need of protection whereas men are attracted based on body ratios (hip to waist, bla-bla-bla). The garden-variety snail of psychological thought and philosophy in a nutshell; bullshit doesn’t get any more piquant. I find (and did fine, even at college level study) a lot of psychological studies, particularly those that are published in Psychology Today, for example, to be flawed; the sample population of any of these studies is far too small to make a finite conclusion or hypothesis, as the hypothesis cannot be replicated in every society or within every culture, and yet, add a marketing machine and people obtain their own talk or reality television shows, never mind the fact that their qualifications don’t match or that they’re backgrounds are inadequate (for the psychological premises they make); cash driven philosophy for the masses, without nuances (or nous). A lot like Pro-blogging. You read one, and you've read them all; where every piece has a general (predefined) plot, with a finite destination - the good or hypoallergenic one.

Maybe I'm cruel. I don't know. Perhaps I can put it all down to the paternal side of my family tree. Either way, as a female, I can say that I find the 'Tipperama' thing tedious, not to mention insulting to one's intelligence. One would think,that after the few odd decades, that adults -regardless of gender - or those adults who write 'guides', and proclaim to be interested in psychology, to fucking take it seriously, to inject some Humanism into relationship matters. But there's always another Clown (this one thinks that his fur top hat makes him a babe magnet, LOL), and that's why psychology is still not taken seriously in many countries.

Continue reading "Seduction Styles of the Wanky" »

July 19, 2007

The Work Shag

The thought of ‘Only in America,’ did enter my mind as I read an article about office romances, and it’s a thought I would have had a year ago, but there’s always a real example that hits you in the head like a cricket ball for you to seriously consider the logic behind the concept of drawing up legal documents called ‘consensual relationship agreements.’ Apparently lawyers organize thousands of these contracts each year in the United States and one of the reasons is the fallout that can occur, fallout that crosses the lines of sexual harassment, or what could be sexual harassment after an office relationship ends or if one of the two parties sits on a higher rung in the ladder, and can exert all sorts of emotional blackmail.

In one case I’d read about, a woman was awarded US $250,000.00 for a sexual harassment and discrimination claim. She was out of a job three years after ending an affair with a senior executive, all because her ex caught wind of her starting a new relationship. Ergo, harassment and threats ensued. She didn’t have a ‘future’ in the company, according to him, and she could reverse this precarious situation by ending her new relationship and returning to him. Sweet stuff, eh? What makes this nightmarish, or terrifying (on an equal level of having a stalker, I think) is that a person spends the bulk of their day or a high number of hours of their day, in the workplace. Few people have the luxury of working from home on a full time level, and due to the high amount of hours, possibilities do eventuate, namely attraction or discovering a common ground with a colleague and for this to evolve into a relationship.

The purpose of the consensual relationship agreement is two fold. It protects an employee; in cases where the relationship ends thereby lessening the risk of harassment (the employee can take legal action) and it also lessens the likelihood of an employer or company being sued. Thus, while it offers some protection (from harassment or threats by ‘injured’ parties or ex lovers), it can also put one’s feet in one shoe in the sense of limiting protection; it’s limited to the workplace. Would a contract like this protect someone away from the workplace? If a person was stalked or harassed outside of the workplace (by their ex work colleague/lover), and didn’t collect enough proof, then what?

Continue reading "The Work Shag" »

July 16, 2007

Life's Little Sexual Introspections

I thought I was a step ahead, two actually, but he was far more advanced than me and this realization dawned later, and it came to mind as I really forced my ass down this weekend to continue with one large project, and two erotic short stories. I think the erotic stories kicked it off, because I had to travel to The Place in order to create the sexual ambience.

One of his first affirmations, once we shifted our communiqué away from the PC, astounded me. I wasn’t sure if it was a joke, or an arrogant aside. It jolted me because no one I’d come across made such an admission.

“I’m not the type of person who dates on the Internet,” but he just happened to do it, stumbled across the new wave and thought he’d give it a whirl. Is there a specific type, I wonder? Sometimes I think there is, particularly when a person is a serial online dater. I can appreciate people with children using this medium, but I’ve had difficulty understanding why a single unit or a person with no kids or big arsed responsibilities (such as children) uses the Internet to date and the thought is due to the single person always having more time to date (compared to one who has to juggle a job, children and domestic responsibilities, who also has to make arrangements prior to leaving the house). So no, I’m no sympathy mama when single units (male or female) whine about the difficulty of it all. I just think they’re plain lazy, insecure and expect everything to be delivered to them like an Amazon package. I often feel like telling the person who goes on and on about the difficult of actually meeting a potential lover, partner and so on, ‘it’s not like you have to arrange a sitter in advance, thereby nullify spontaneity, so shut your cake hole.’

Continue reading "Life's Little Sexual Introspections" »

July 14, 2007

Sexual Selections & Other Songs

The University of California has an interesting short page on Sexual Selection. Sexual selection, as a choice, is slightly more complex in the human sphere.

Male peacocks may maintain elaborate tails that they display in season, and male tomcats can sniff out a female cat at distance humans find perplexing. Human sexual selection takes on different forms, and when the vast sexual spectrum is entertained, can take on many forms or be based on various aspects; kink, sexual orientation, and socio-economic status.

One area that has always intrigued me is sexual selection based on culture and/or genetics (only because I think ‘racial’ is a stupid term that has gone beyond its use by date with our knowledge of DNA). These differences can be termed ethnic, but on closer inspection they’re genetic. A group of people adapt to an environment, over centuries and develop physical characteristics that is, on some level, reflective of the locale. David Suzuki, in one of his essays, used his eyes as an example to illustrate the fact that there are higher fat deposits behind his eyelids , which reflect a need for the body to adapt to extreme temperatures, ie cold. I remember reading an article in a fashionable women’s magazine years ago that illustrated the variations of female beauty from one society to the next and in certain tribes, beauty standards are salient, if not confronting, which is why the mainstream end of the sea is quite calm in comparison. Female beauty, on the western scale, can be viewed as being moderate but at the same time, it’s generic.

Open up a copy of Vogue (French, US, Australian, UK, etc) and you’ll see the same products being advertised, and you’ll see similar palettes being used to decorate a woman’s face. With the exception of seasonal apparel variation, everything else falls into a steady current of convention. One could be fooled into thinking that beauty is ‘standard’ or sexual selection is standardized in some way, but there’s the other, the type of sexual selection that also includes the genetic aspect, or the type that considers cultural origin. Using the smallest example I can find, but one that is a frequent example or salient enough to sit global bookshelves, the common romance (erotic, or otherwise) that always ensures that two people originate from the same (or similar) genetic phylum (for want of another term); it’s always a case of characters having the same complexion. You can have a scene incorporating bondage, golden showers or reaming, but the two consenting adults are always white (for some reason) within a city (Paris, London, New York) that features significant cultural variance. Nine out of 10 erotic stories are like this. In fact, most Black Lace (one example of a publishing imprint) erotic novels are like this and I doubt that all the readers are Anglo. I sometimes call it the homogenous aspect of sex, and despite all the different preferences that are out there, many stories gravitate toward the same thing; black on black, or white on white, but it’s almost always a case of white dominating. I read my fair share of romantic fiction while growing up, and I dabbled a little as I got older, and I can’t remember ever seeing any variation. The Sixties, Seventies and to some extent, Eighties, saw a lot of migrations across the world. The Sixties heralded sexual change, however the mainstream continued to maintain a generic stance where relationships, sexual or otherwise, were concerned, and to some extent it still does. For example, there are never any articles in magazines that discuss the impact of cultural or religious differences on the relationship front. Maybe it’s considered controversial, or politically incorrect, but it’s something that thousands of people confront at one point or another; on a large or small scale.

As recently as yesterday, my cultural origin was queried, by a frisky waiter who turns it on for every female that comes his way (I’m no special case), or passes by the brasserie (as I’ve witnessed over the months), and I wasn’t sure what to make of it, whether to link it to the global attitude on a select culture or religion. As is obvious, I’m not blue eyed and I don’t have a lily-white complexion. In the pre 911 world that was, cab drivers would often begin conversations in Arabic, thinking I could follow for me to interrupt them and politely inform them that I had no clue what they were talking about, to which they’d exclaim ‘but aren’t you (insert any culture)?’ So in the post 911 world, and everything that’s flowered since, it’s become an interesting social experience for me, like yesterday. He needed a verbal confirmation, and posed his verbal hypothesis as I paid for my lunch, as in ‘you’re nationality X aren’t you?’

No, I'm not, I replied.

‘Oh,’ and then his attitude did a three sixty, for me to think ‘what a dickhead,’ for the tete a tete to transform into a one sided come on from his end. He’d returned from Rome, as did his attitude, coloured with the view that it was perfectly okay to cast verbal bait to every woman in passing, like an expert angler; cast the bait, and see how many fish bite.

Continue reading "Sexual Selections & Other Songs" »

July 10, 2007

Freestylin' 2007

It feels as though the era I came from rubs up against this era, furrowing it until it resembles a porcupine. This era, despite its sexual proclivities (online, at least), produces a frequency that irritates my ear. There are two distinct dimensions; the real and virtual, and sometimes adults have difficulty distinguishing either one, for many present two distinct personae that can be defined as light and dark, or day and night. I’ve briefly examined my life of the last few months, and have arrived to this conclusion. Sure, the entire globe watched Sex in the City, but try getting the few members of this world, or those around you within normal hours to discuss any of its contents and it changes.

Housemate and I originate from the same nocturnal world P.T. or pre-tech, which is why I’m still perplexed as to how I eke out my living during the course of the day, and how I haven’t self combusted from the frustrations surrounding ordinary life. We arrived from a world where people walked the walk, and stumbled into the virtual realm that talks the talk. I can remember all the times he’d screw up his face and point out the stupidity of text messaging a few years ago. I’d tell him it was the new way, a revolution in communication, until my digits ached from endless texting. I can tell you that the thrill ended for me the day I received my first phone bill in an A4 envelope.

‘Why don’t you pick up the phone? Why doesn’t he pick up the phone?’ he’d ask.

Continue reading "Freestylin' 2007" »

June 26, 2007

"Friends with Rights."

I came across this new term recently, and it’s like a shady amendment. I’ve tried to look it up on Google, but had little luck. As far as I know, it’s an Australian term, but any thing is possible. Don’t you love when people try to make you feel ancient with new phrases that are only synonyms for things that are as ancient as Aristotle’s testicle?

I felt like a vintage piece of cheese when the term slipped out.

“He wants to be a Friend with Rights.”

“A Friend with Rights?” (WTF? I thought. Is that like a class buddy that you hold hands with on elementary school outings?)

So I had to ask.

“Meaning,” the person began.

Meaning that he wanted to be ‘boyfriend-girlfriend,’ to see each other in the ‘normal’ fashion, and for them to have sex as well, but wasn’t ready for commitment.

“Oh, so he’s a player.”

Isn't the terminology interesting?

"Friends with Rights" adds a certain United Nations/Security Council ambience, and it's common knowledge as to how useful or efficient these two agencies are. If you don't know what I'm referring to, think Security Council and couple it to the most recent Gulf War. If the Security Council and United Nations can't shut up a grammatically challenged man by the name of George, then nothing will. It's more horrifying than everything written by Allen-Poe,King,Straub,Little and HP Lovecraft combined, but let's not dwell there, shall we.

Player.

Continue reading ""Friends with Rights."" »

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