Love, love, love… All you need is love… Put a little love in your heart… What the world needs now is love, sweet love…
But what kind of love? That’s the problem with “love” there’s only the one word that covers everything from how you feel about mango sorbet, baby penguins and me (or, for choice: papaya smoothies, a really nice pair of shoes and me). It’s not like those crazy Ancient Greeks. They had 170 words for “love”, so they could get pretty darned specific. This might seem like a lot of love, but then again they had over 1560 words for “snow”. Now this might seem like a lot of snow, but you have to realize Ancient Greece was started by a tribe of Inuit that got trapped on a gigantic iceberg and it floated south and then got sucked into the Mediterranean Sea and then bumped up against Greece and there you go. You wonder what they were all doing that they didn’t notice they were trapped on a giant iceberg until it was too late, but luckily they didn’t all die before they hit land? Go back and see how many words for “love” they got. Duh. (Don’t even ask me how New Zealand was ordinally settled. You wouldn’t believe it. But it has to do with beavers oddly enough.)
Most people are more familiar with the four types of love the old Romans had. But where did they get them? The Greek Eskimos. And they really should have brought a bigger sack so they could have gotten away with more than four varieties. But that’s the Romans for you, never thinking ahead. And see where it got them? Nowhere! I mean when was the last time you ran into any Roman culture? I mean ever? Even a car named after them or something. Gone, gone and never to return. No faint echo of the Romans to be heard today, no sirree Bob. They probably needed more love. Or something. Maybe more love would have cut down on their crazy emperors. Or given them more. It all depends on which kind of love they went with.
But this isn’t about Ancient Greeks or crazy Romans or nuthin’ like that. It’s about you and me. Well, most of you. All of you except two of ya. (And I’m not saying which two I don’t love because then they’d feel all bad and then have to kill themselves and I don’t want the blood on my hands, OK? So I’m not saying.) You should let love guide you through your life. You’ll be much happier that way. Trust me. Don’t let other people get you all wound up and mad, it’s just not worth it. Like you’re going through the grocery store and you just need three or four more things and there’s this Blue Hair blocking up the aisle with their cart on one side all crooked and there they are over on the other side of the aisle comparison shopping green beans and seeing which coupon to use and they won’t let you by when you go “eh-hem” a couple of times to get their attention and let them know you’re waiting on them and instead of moving over an letting you pass they say “Young man, you must need a lozenge”. Don’t get mad. Let your love flow out to everyone (including Blue Hairs) and know that you are loved too. And then cart-check them into the display of Little Debbie snack cakes on the end-cap. As long as the security cameras aren’t pointed at you at the time.
Little did we realize that this OP would be the most important speech of the new millenium, of equal importance to the Sermon on the Hill. Except with Little Debbie snack cakes. Let the Rue Jihad begin. Or something.
Speaking of love, I had 5100 email waiting for me in my work account this morning. Anybody here want a new low interest loan or some Viagra?
When my Perfect Child[sup]TM[/sup] was a wee little thing, she was fond of saying “I love everyone I know.” I’m not sure if that means she hated strangers or that to know her is to have her love you or if she was just innocently loving or what.
Now she’s just a crabby teenager, so she got over that phase. But I still love her.
I have to. I’m her mother. It’s some kind of rule.
Rue, ya knows I loves ya, but having a MMP on such a sensitive and serious topic has set me off-balance. Here I was expecting a tale of turkey overload and pumpkin pie fights, and instead you get all mushy and stuff. Well, the Little Debbie part wasn’t particularly mushy. Aw, forget it. I can’t criticize you! I guess I have that non-critical love for you. Wouldn’t that be #73 on the list of kinds of love? You little love-muffin, you!
Forget the love, what the world needs now is more Little Debbie Swiss Rolls. Was the Blue Hair blocking your way to the LDSR’s Rue? Then she deserved the cart check!
No pumpkin pie fights to report here. Didn’t even see a punkin’ pie all through Thanksgiving. No sweet potato or pecan pie fights either. And there were plenty of both of those around. I had 20 :eek: people in my home to eat Thanksgiving dinner. All went well. Much food and wine was consumed. And a friend let out a big ol’ poot about a half hour after dinner. No more collard greens for him in my house!
I spent Friday and Saturday at the folks house. My family got together for Thanksgiving on Saturday. Yeah, that’s right, on Saturday. Nontraditionalists we are! We drew names for Christmas. All the sibs, sib-in-laws and grown up nieces and nephew plus their assorted other halfs draw names for Christmas. I got my oldest brother’s name. He wants blank videocassettes (is that spelled right? I dunno). He’s unimaginative but easy to buy for.
Oh and love. Is there a greek word for the kind of love I have for burly men who bring me beer and cookies. Oh yeah, there is. It’s called kinky.
-swampbear (I put up a Christmas tree on Sunday. It’s purty.)
garius, my mom gave me condoms in my Christmas stocking freshman year of college. Unfortunately (for me) I wasn’t getting any at that point in time, so they really didn’t do me any good. Kind of like now, come to think of it.
Little Debbie used to have a cooking show on, IIRC, FoodTV. I’m talking about the grown-up Little Debbie here. She looked pretty much like a giant Barbie doll. She cooked dessert stuff, Natch. BumbaWife didn’t like her much 'cause she looked too good to be human. She was also a very messy cook.
We had Turkey Day dinner at BumbaDaughter’s house with a bunch of her in-laws, and then we ran away to the coast with a bunch of video tapes. It was monsooning there. Matrix Reloaded was ho-hum; Holes was pretty good; Whale Rider was very good, but 20 year-old cyber punks would hate it; Terminator 3 was okay for an action flick; X-2 was pretty darn good.
What’s the Greek word for love of turkey leftovers?
Or chesty blonde cookie cookers?
I dunno slortar. A Jihad? It really wasn’t the direction I was hoping to go. But it has my name on it, so how bad could it be? It’ll probably rain and the whole thing will get sidetracked anyway. So, what the heck?
This year there were not flying foodstuffs Snickers. We were trying to set a Good Example for the children. And my older sister brought along a Chinaman. Not a man made out of china, but a guy from China. He was being exchanged for something, I’m not sure what. Maybe his sister in the city. It was all very confusing, so I didn’t ask.
But I won at dinner. I cleaned my plate first. Then I threw up my arms (not like I ate them by mistake and then got them back, I raised them in the air triumphantly) and said “I win!”. There was a little controversy there. It seems my sister-by-marriage might have finnished her plate first. But she didn’t declare it, so I took the victory.
After we ate we played Dominoes. Or at least a version of Dominoes. Did you know there were actual rules to Dominoes? Not just “set them up and let them knock each other down”? Really. But we played Dominoes for a while. Then once the dishes were safely washed… I mean: after a while we went back upstairs and had some pie. There was a selection of pie, plus cake. (If Tevya ever shows up, we got the cake from the bakery on Blue Rock Rd. by the firestation.)
I didn’t get any Old Peculier myself Shibb. I was too busy shopping for the gift exchange. I pulled my brother’s name out of the basket and tried to get him something off of his “wish list”. That was too hard, so I went “off list” and wrapped up all my Christmas shopping and now I can just coast through December. I guess I could have thought of myself and bought some, but that’s not like me, thinking of myself. So I didn’t.
My folks never bought me condoms when I was in college. They bought me rum. By the gallon. Or was it a half gallon? Or some metric size? Anyway, it was the big jug. I guess they just wanted me too drunk to get lucky. Or something.
-Rue. (still loving you)
Neither of my parents bought me condoms when I was in college, although I did use a $20 that my Dad sent me as a contribution to Planned Parenthood when I went on the Pill, but he never knew that. Nor did my parents knowingly buy me alcohol (well, Dad did, but only when I was with him). However, money sent by my parent did buy booze, even though I told them I needed cash for books–books, booze–a minor change in spelling. It wasn’t really lying, I’ve always been a lousy speller.
Thanksgiving went well, no tiffs and we all ate too much. I could have gotten into a tiff with my oldest sister over seating arrangements, but I decided not to bother–after all, I knew I wouldn’t be sitting at the little table, so why should I care who did? (Notice that it is the little table–the adjective describes a physical attribute of the table, not attributes of any who sit at said table. The youngest in our family (who sit at the little table) are now teen-agers, so calling it the kid’s table is verboten.)
On Friday I went to the mall with my neice. I hate, hate, hate malls, and that hate is a thousandfold stronger on the day after Thanksgiving, but I love my neice. Her parents have finally agreed that she can get her ears pierced on her next birthday, so I thought I’d give her a sneak preview by getting a second hole in my ears. You first must understand that my neice is not afraid of anything, certainly not physical pain (she has two older brothers), and she is not grossed out by anything (she loves to watch the operations on the Discovery channel, the bloodier the better). So I was a bit surprised when she got all squirrely girly on me as I was getting it done. Gods, but she played it up! She eeked and yucked, danced around, put her hands up over her eyes and generally acted like she was watching my intestines fall out. It was not until we walked out and I noticed a group of boys hanging out across from the store (where they could have seen my neice) that I figured out what had happened. I think it’s something in the hormones of teenage girls that makes them act like idiots around teenage boys. Luckily, teenage boys are clueless and so rarely notice.
Yes, yes… there are many kinds of love but I love the unconditional love my daughter gives me. I love the sexy, romantic, passionate love my SO gives me. These two I return as much and more as I am given. Love does make the world go 'round!
I’ll have you know that I found this thread on the second page–and more than half-way down, I may add–and this is just Monday! People, people, people (and all others who post here), we need to work as a community. Rue’s MMP should not fall to the second page until Wednesday at the earliest. We all have a responsibility to add to the discussion at hand, hijack it into a completely different discussion or insult the last poster. We need the MMP, it gives order and interest to our day, if we allow it to fall off the first page, we are saying that we want our lives to be bland and isolated. In other words:
Not posting on the MMP makes Baby Jesus cry and gives brownie points to Satan’s minions.
And we don’t want that to happen, do we? SanguineSpider, I insult you! This is a do-it-yourself insult, so think of something that, if taken seriously, would hurt your feelings (but know that it was all in fun, so don’t really get hurt).
Kallessa (keeping it alive, folks, keeping it alive)
I would just like to say that Rue once again wins the award for best doper ever. I love this man. I’m not really sure in what kind of way, I still haven’t studied my Inuit Greek to that level yet. But I’m sure it’s somewhere.
