Feel the Love

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#epic

He waited until the train was in motion to make his move—a true sign of someone who knows how to make the environment work to their advantage. Then he leaned forward. “Hi.” “How you doing?” “What are you reading?” “What’s your name?” “I really like your hair.” “That’s a really nice skirt.” “You must work out.”

It was painful to watch. She clearly wanted nothing to do with him, and he clearly wasn’t going to take the hint. Her rebukes got firmer. “I’d like to read my book.” And he pulled out the social pressure. “Hey, I’m just asking you a question. You don’t have to be so rude.” She started to look around for outs. Her head swiveled from one exit to another.

The thing was, I had already heard this story, many many times. I knew how it would play out. I knew all the tropes. I probably could have quoted the lines before they said them. I wanted a new narrative. Time to mix it up.

So I moved seats until I was sitting behind him. I leaned forward with my head on the back of his seat.

"Hi," I said with a little smile.

He looked at me like I was a little crazy—which isn’t exactly untrue—and turned back to her.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

"I’m fine," he said flatly without ever looking back.

"I really like your hair," I said. “It looks soft."

That’s about when it got…..weird.

He sort of half turned and glared back me, and I could tell I was pissing him off. His eyes told me to back the hell away, and his lips were pressed together tightly enough to drain the color from them completely.

But no good story ever ends with the conflict just defusing. He started to turn back to her.

"Wait, don’t be like that," I said. “Lemmie just ask you one question…"

"What!" he said in that you-have-clearly-gone-too-far voice that is part of the freshmen year finals at the school of machismo.

And I’m not exactly a hundred percent sure why I didn’t call it a day at that point, but…..maybe I just love turning the screw to see what happens. I gave him the bedroomy-est eyes I could muster. “What’s your name?”

Right now I’m sitting here typing out this story, and I’m still not entirely sure why I’m not nursing a fat lip or a black eye. Because that obviously made him so mad that I still am not sure why it didn’t come to blows. There are cliches about eyes flaring and rage behind someones eyes and shit like that that are so overdone. But it really does look like that. When someone gets violent, their eyes just kind of “pop” with intention—pupils dilate, eyelids widen. And his did. Even sitting down he was clearly bigger than me and I was pretty sure he was kind of muscular too, so at that moment I was figuring I was probably going to need an ice pack and sympathy sex from my girlfriend by day’s end.

"DUDE," he shouted. “I’M NOT GAY."

That’s when I dropped the bedroom eyes and switched to a normal voice. “Oh well I could see not being interested didn’t matter to you when you were hitting on her, so I just thought that’s how you rolled.”

Writing About Writing (And Occasionally Some Writing): Changing The Creepy Guy Narrative (via veruca-assault)

I went on my first date ever on Sunday.

cutupan9el:

This doesn’t have to do with kink.
But I need to let this one out.

Because ohmylord, I am going to shoot myself in the face.

It was with a friend from Fet.
He messaged me a while back explaining an interest in making me his gurlfrand. I told him, right from the get-go: “I. Don’t. Date. I don’t have an interest in going out.” And since he seemed to take that very well, I didn’t see a problem continuing our conversation.

HOWEVER.
He had just bought a new car a few weeks ago and asked if he could take me out. This guy lives in CONNECTICUT. I live in NewfuckingYork. I told him several times, I was content with keeping an online correspondence. Noooo, I enjoy driving. I don’t mind the distance. Kay, sure. Let’s meet up. I’m not busy this Sunday. I say this all under the impression that it’s just a casual, friendly meet up between platonic friends.

He picks me up Sunday morning, I get into the passenger seat, and

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for four months.”

Things that he told me within the next ten minutes:

  • He took the car to the car wash yesterday
  • He shaved
  • Bought a new shirt
  • Contemplated buying me flowers
  • Worried that I bailed on him last minute
  • Wished he had gotten a hair cut
And I’m likeWhat did I just get myself into.

 

Don’t get me wrong. He was cute. 21. Just graduated from culinary school. Friendly. But…AUGH.

FAST FORWARD: We’re at a cute bakery I mentioned in one of our online conversations. We’re eating at a table, and I’m trying to play it cool and have a good time, when he goes: “I usually screw up the first date.”

EXCUSEEEEE ME? THIS IS A DATE?

“I really didn’t want to screw this one up.”

WOOOOAH THERE, COWBOY. SLOW DOWN.



“Like, I was so nervous this morning. Imean, I’ve been on dates here and there, but…GAH, lol.”

ISAIDSLOWTHEFUCKDOWN. WHATISGOINGONTHISISNOTADATE. WHYAREYOUDOINGTHISTOME. OHMYGODAREYOUSERIOUS.

FAST FORWARD: We’re walking down the street. He asks me if I’m working on campus.
“I am.”
“Oh, really? Where?”
“In the Fine Arts Department.”
“Doing what?”
“Modeling.”
“…Does it require you to take off your clothes?”
“Uh…yeah.”
“Well that’s awkward.”
“How so?”
“You know, like two, three months down the road, it’s like, ‘Hey, you know that girl you just drew nude in your art class? Yeah, that’s my girlfriend.’”



Uh…you did NOT just refer to me as your future girlfriend.

FAST FORWARD: We’re at Nintendo World. I’m eyeballing these adorable pair of Mario green mushroom knee-high socks. They’re adorable, so I grab a pair and he comes up and takes a pair of the red mushroom knee-high socks.

“Now we have matching pairs!”


Matching knee-high socks? ARE YOU FUKGNSDLJFDNVSKJDBFK.

“Hey, let’s take a picture!”
“…Can we not?”
And he gives me this most awful sad face, so I oblige and force myself to smile for the most awkward picture I’ve ever been forced to be a part of. It was worse than my yearbook photo. That bad. He’s like :)))) and I’m like



FAST FORWARD: We’re walking down the street.
“You’re so adorable.”
“…”
And he tries to hold my hand. I have an aversion to body contact unless I’m okay with the person, so I instinctually pull my hand away. Not because I’m shy, but because I’m not okay with him touching me.
“Oh my god, did I do something wrong? I’m sooo sorry!” And he’s genuinely sorry for whatever grievous sin he’s convinced himself he had committed, and I’m feeling so, so, so bad for him. So I’m like, “Nooo, you didn’t do anything wrong!” *eyes twitching* And I grab his hand and I’m swinging it like there’s no tomorrow.
He thinks that’s cue to hug me close and kiss me on the head.

 

FAST FORWARD: I’m freezing. It’s cold, and we’re walking outside. I hug myself and he asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m just cold.”
“Well, if it wasn’t cold, then we wouldn’t be able to snuggle like this!” *GLOMP*

 

FAST FORWARD: He’s just talking to me.
“You know, I’m having a really good time.”
“That’s great.” *forced smile*
“I’ve been on other dates before, but it kinda gets discouraging, you know?”
“I’ve never been on a date before, so no, actually, I don’t.”
“Well, it’s just so hard to find this.” *makes a heart using his hands*
*eyes widen* “I don’t date.”
“Oh, yeah, of course, I won’t ask you to be my girlfriend on the first date! But who knows, on the second or third date, if everything goes well…”

 

“So, is there going to be a second date?”
“…”
“…No?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Possibly…?”
And he gives me the most pained look on his face.
“We could keep in touch…”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No! Of course not! Psssh. Just, uh, um. Maybe.”

In the end, I end up giving him a half-assed yes/no answer and he takes it as an “okay” to make the two hour drive to my college in the next few weeks and take me to a movie.

FAST FORWARD: We’re talking about FetLife, because that’s how we originally got in touch. He says that he doesn’t really go on it that often anymore.
“Why not?”
“Well, I joined on a whim, because my friend joined, and I just wanted to check it out.”
“Oh, really…”
“Yeah, I’m not a big pervert or anything like a bunch of the people on it.”



WOAH, THERE. HOLD UP. WOULD NOW BE A GOOD TIME TO TELL YOU THAT I’M A SEXUAL SUBMISSIVE AND THAT I ENJOY GETTING FREAKY IN THE SACK?

“Yeah, I’m not into the ‘lifestyle’ or anything. That stuff’s a bit too weird for me.”

WHATBUSINESSDOYOUHAVEONABDSMFETISHSITE.

FAST FORWARD: We’re walking back to the car. I’m still cold. He says, “Don’t worry, we’ll cuddle and warm up back in the car.”




 

To conclude, I awkwardly avoid all attempts to hug/cuddle/kiss/touch in the car, and pretended to act like an innocent, oblivious shit until he drove me back home.

I’m all like,




FAST FORWARD: He’s dropping me off back at my apartment.
“I had a good time.” (LIE.)
“So there’s going to be a date #2?”
“Maybe.” (LIE.)
“Do you have a Skype? We should Skype.”
“No, I don’t.” (LIE.)
“You should make one.”
“Okay, will do.” (LIE.)

FAST FORWARD: He uploads our picture together on Facebook. A coworker of mine from a while back comments on it and says: “A BOYFRIEND! FINALLY!”



I’m trying to save my ass and I write back in Korean all like, “NO. NO. NO. THAT GUY IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND. I DON’T LIKE HIM. NO.”
And she replies in English: “But you two look like you belong together! MAKE HIM A BOYFRIEND! BE INVOLVED!”



And since then, I’ve been avoiding all emails and messages from him, because I know I’ll have to politely reject this guy, and I know he’s going to cry me a river. Literally. I cannot begin to describe how awkward/scared/icky/terrified/awful/horrified/guilty/trapped/confused I felt.

So, yeah.
That was my first date.
MY LIFE.

 


Dear Mr. Ramon,
Thank you for coming to our school and teaching us about weather.
Some day when I become supreme Ultra-Lord of the universe I will not make you a slave, you will live in my 200 story castle where unicorn servants will feed you doughnuts off their horns.
I will personally make you a throne that is half platnum and half solid gold and jewel encrested.
Thank you again for teaching us about meteoroligy, you’re more awesome than a monkey wearing a tuxedo made out bacon riding a cyborg unicorn with a lightsaber for the horn on the tip of a space shuttle closing in on Mars while ingulfed in flames … And in case you didn’t know, that’s pretty dang sweet.
Sincerely, Flint.
P.S. Look on back for drawing.

(via Kid writes most epic letter ever to TV weatherman)

Dear Mr. Ramon,

Thank you for coming to our school and teaching us about weather.

Some day when I become supreme Ultra-Lord of the universe I will not make you a slave, you will live in my 200 story castle where unicorn servants will feed you doughnuts off their horns.

I will personally make you a throne that is half platnum and half solid gold and jewel encrested.

Thank you again for teaching us about meteoroligy, you’re more awesome than a monkey wearing a tuxedo made out bacon riding a cyborg unicorn with a lightsaber for the horn on the tip of a space shuttle closing in on Mars while ingulfed in flames … And in case you didn’t know, that’s pretty dang sweet.

Sincerely, Flint.

P.S. Look on back for drawing.

(via Kid writes most epic letter ever to TV weatherman)

re: i want a tampon box with a motherfucking shark on it

madamethursday:

justjasper:

i want a tampon box with a motherfucking shark on it

I was just discussing yesterday how I long for pirate, dinosaur, and/or camo themed tampons and other hygiene products. I’m tired of this bright pink, soft blue, or “feminine”-yellow colored crap. 

I’m fucking SHEDDING THE LINING OF MY UTERUS. Something that, actually, is really rather important to how our ENTIRE SPECIES has evolved, developed, and adapted to become dominant on this planet. 

I want some recognition of the fact that it’s kind of badass, okay? I want pirates with peg legs and muskets and skull-and-crossbones on that fucker. I want a screaming pterodactyl descending with massive clawed talons extended to do battle with a motherfucking T-Rex with the kind of expression that tells you that it’s the primordial ancestor of the honey badger because pterodactyl don’t give a shit and hasn’t since the Triassic, y’all. 

Oh, and btw, when we’re advertising for this stuff? Can we stop with this “our product helps you hide your delicate lady business from the eyes of other people” bullshit. I want a product that shows me that these hygiene things can stand up during an epic firefight with brain eating zombies and face sucking aliens. I want guns and bullets and something to blow up like somebody just invited the Mythbusters on set.  I want a commercial with three or four badass folks-that-menstruate (including the non-cis woman menstruators in there!) as secret agents and doing kicks and flips to prove to me that these products can handle what I go through as a uterus-bearer.

Want me to buy this stuff? Prove I can use it during an epic demon apocalypse without my underwear getting marked by Zorro (if you know what I mean).

Can we do that? Is it too much to ask for something like that? Just no more flowers, for the love of endometriums everywhere, okay?

willowphoto:

kalishamalfoy:

naciasi:

Roman Opałka was a French-born Polish painter who painted numbers. In 1965 he began painting a process of counting – from one to infinity. Starting in the top left-hand corner of the canvas and finishing in the bottom right-hand corner, the tiny numbers were painted in horizontal rows. As of July 2004, he had reached 5.5 million.

He died at age 79 after falling ill while on holiday in Italy. He was admitted to a hospital near Rome and died there a few days later, on August 6, 2011, three weeks before his 80th birthday. The final digit he wrote was a 9.

EPIC.

Argh. This touches well upon my own numbers obsession. Least I finally figured out the formula for adding this series. Still have another I want to finish one of these days.