I don’t mean to be a ballbusting diva who likes to save his private parts only for ‘special’ occasions, so every time ‘feels like the first time all over again.’ I just need to feel comfortable to get down and dirty, and since I’m a social neurotic, I can never quite feel comfortable enough.
It’s probably a family curse. We, Lansbergen ladies, are the victim of our own genes. My sister has a big ass, my grandmother has a big ass, my great grandmother probably had a big ass too. We’re all a bunch of big assed losers. A fact we often like to point out to one another.
You need to stop saying things like ‘You cannot destroy me. Because I am an art piece’. That line lives next to ‘I’m tired of people not treating me like the gift that I am.’ and you don’t want to end up being Paula Abdul’s next door neighbor.
And as soon as you?re done with your long boring story about changing diapers or having a one-night stand, I shall bring back the conversation to me, me and euhm…ME. None of your stories of divorce, wild sex and careers. I just want you to give me your opinions about my lack of commitment.
He wasn?t aware of the world around him AT ALL. But I wasn?t going to judge! We all have different interests. We all have different priorities. It?s ok. So I closed my eyes and made out with him.
We flooded the message board with personal flirty messages that redefined the word corny. We called each other husband, and wrote big public posts of longing and missing. After two weeks we had enough of the distance (Death Cab’s Transatlanticism was our theme song.) and decided to meet up.
