Apparently there’s this part of my brain, lodged uncomfortably somewhere between the temporal lobe and the cerebellum, that drives me against my will to start aimless conversations while drunk. No matter how unengaged the interlocutor, how uncomfortable the scenario, how forced the interaction–I’ll do it.
Sex involving two partners shouldn’t have anything to do with Victoria Secret catalogs, Penelope Cruz, or any TV/movie love/romance/sex scene that once impressed you so deeply that it’s actually become a part of your sexual repertoire. Sex doesn’t have to be loud, it doesn’t have to be graceful, and you don’t have to roll your eyes to the back of your head to show your pleasure.
After college, you’re thrusted into the real world to Find A Job and Be Self Sufficient, and in turn, you become aware that the people in this world think binge drinking after college actually = alcoholism and a potential sign that one doesn’t have her shit together.
On the most basic level, movies simply ask for a type of attentiveness that is hard to muster if you’re depressed. Cerebral films tend to have a lot of silences and moments where the spectator is encouraged to reflect on the images. That’s fine, but when you’re depressed, the only reflecting you’ll be doing is on various sad thoughts and anxieties floating around in your head.
Facebook has no influence on the relationships that actually matter to me. It’s the people on the periphery who get to stick around past their expiration date. If I deleted it, those are the kinds of people who would become casualties.
Herein begins one of the most controversial sections of the song: The rap. Featuring an African American man in his mid 30s, audiences expect this lyrical maestro to hop on the flow and “break it down.” He evokes the muses by calling for “R-B,” but what follows can only be described as gibberish.
Heightening the aforementioned emotional experiences is the ominous unanswered text message. Perhaps you’re just reaching out as a gesture of thoughtfulness, or perhaps it’s a deeper expression of longing, but whatever it is, if it goes unanswered, it can be, and usually is, quite hurtful.
As if being gay wasn’t gay enough, I’ve gotten myself into quite a hole (metaphorically, not sexually, I’m a total bottom). I’ve started the complicated procedure of talking to a “straight” guy. I’ve never dated, or fucked, a straight guy before and therefore I am totally lost here. Is it a good idea? What experience can you share about fucking “straight” guys?
Indeed, the two people in the Relationship for Show find each other almost by some self-organizing principal of reality, nature, society or culture; friends of the two are likely to affirm upon hearing of their newfound relationship, “oh, that makes sense,” or “heh, not surprised at all.”
Recently, a good friend of mine and former roommate, who happens to be gay, made a pass at me through a facebook message. He knows that I’m straight and threw in, “two thoughts: I want you to be gay, and I want you to be my boyfriend.” Does that mean he respects my straightness and just wants to put it out there? Is he joking?
I’ve been with this girl for the last few months and she’s pretty awesome. She doesn’t take any shit, she makes me laugh and she has an amazing body. Our sex life is pretty phenomenal too except for one major detail. She NEVER gives me head. One night, she grazed the tip with her tongue, but then quickly got out of there. What’s the issue?
During this time the individual will have several windows open, generally several browser ‘tabs,’ a Microsoft Word document in some state of incompletion, the individual’s own Facebook page as well as that of another randomly-selected individual who may or may not be on the ‘friends’ list, 2-5 Gchat conversations that are no longer immediately active, possibly iTunes and a ‘client’ for Twitter.