Man, I feel like this is an episode of *Starved[/].
“It’s NOT OK!!”
Misnomer, how I wish it were all that simple. You do make a compelling argument. Thank You, in some weird way.
Man, I feel like this is an episode of *Starved[/].
“It’s NOT OK!!”
Misnomer, how I wish it were all that simple. You do make a compelling argument. Thank You, in some weird way.
Having given it some thought (with the help of this thread and everyone who has contributed), I’m going to get out there again. It feels like the right thing to do and ultimately what I want.
Wish me luck.
Man, you guys and your tests.
Q1: d. all of the above.
Q2: I am not harshly reproachful.
Thank You, in some weird way.
You’re welcome, in an even weirder way.
Wish me luck.
Meet me at happy hour on Thursday and you’ll get lucky, bay-bee. Not with me, of course, but some of the women at this place we go to look kinda easy…
But seriously: good luck. And let us know how that Wednesday date goes!
That was a bit harsh.
Nah, it was about par for the course. I give it a C+, with points off for lack of originality, but then, the complaint he was critiquing was standard issue COTS[sup]*[/sup] as well.
It’s a common enough problem that everybody has a bit of sage advice on the subject, and none of it seems to make a difference when the young lady in question suggests that I slink back under the rock I came from, and at any rate, I wasn’t attempting sympathy but rather attempting to illustrate that a simple willingness to abandon one’s self to the winds of passion and “…love with all the stops pulled out,” isn’t sufficient of itself; it also requires that you have some measure of experience and the indeterminate quality that people describe as chemistry. You can throw yourself at the ground and try to miss it, but unless you’ve wings or a really extra-ordinary gastrointestinal problem, the odds are that it’s going to hurt when you fail to miss it.
There’s something a little mystical about love and romance, I suppose, and it takes not only a willing suspension of disbelief but a certain unalloyed vim, a sparkle or flame or some other form of emotional pyrotechnics that isn’t subject to synthesis. And it certainly doesn’t help when you’re ten runs behind in the bottom of the seventh inning, either.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our hero Quicksilver continues to valiantly [strike]tilt at windmills[/strike]slay dragons and search for his lovely and virtuous Dulcinea. We wish him good luck, and goodnight.
Stranger
[sup]*[/sup]Commerical Of The Shelf
Maybe if you talk like this around gals, that might be part of your problem.
Best of luck, QuickSilver. Don’t give up hope - just take a breather and get back in the game.
You’re welcome, in an even weirder way.
Meet me at happy hour on Thursday and you’ll get lucky, bay-bee.
Not with me, of course, but some of the women at this place we go to look kinda easy…
Hmmm… That’s a good point… Maybe I *should * start with someone easy…
I have good ideas every now and then.
Nah, it was about par for the course. I give it a C+, with points off for lack of originality, but then, the complaint he was critiquing was standard issue COTS[sup]*[/sup] as well.
It’s a common enough problem that everybody has a bit of sage advice on the subject, and none of it seems to make a difference when the young lady in question suggests that I slink back under the rock I came from, and at any rate, I wasn’t attempting sympathy but rather attempting to illustrate that a simple willingness to abandon one’s self to the winds of passion and “…love with all the stops pulled out,” isn’t sufficient of itself; it also requires that you have some measure of experience and the indeterminate quality that people describe as chemistry. You can throw yourself at the ground and try to miss it, but unless you’ve wings or a really extra-ordinary gastrointestinal problem, the odds are that it’s going to hurt when you fail to miss it.
There’s something a little mystical about love and romance, I suppose, and it takes not only a willing suspension of disbelief but a certain unalloyed vim, a sparkle or flame or some other form of emotional pyrotechnics that isn’t subject to synthesis. And it certainly doesn’t help when you’re ten runs behind in the bottom of the seventh inning, either.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our hero Quicksilver continues to valiantly [strike]tilt at windmills[/strike]slay dragons and search for his lovely and virtuous Dulcinea. We wish him good luck, and goodnight.
Stranger
[sup]*[/sup]Commerical Of The Shelf
Chemistry, Schmemmistry!!
Romantic gone-bys-- Sweet Pussy memories! People are looking for the Holy Grail of Romantic Love and clouding their vision because of it.
But really we’re looking for memes. Defining our superstitions of Love. Everything it can or can’t be. And if it can’t be something then by definition it’s not love.
I have good ideas every now and then.
Ideas are all fine and good, but what’s the address of this bar with the easy-looking women?
Chemistry, Schmemmistry!!
Romantic gone-bys-- Sweet Pussy memories! People are looking for the Holy Grail of Romantic Love and clouding their vision because of it.
But really we’re looking for memes. Defining our superstitions of Love. Everything it can or can’t be. And if it can’t be something then by definition it’s not love.
Maybe I’m a complete idiot, but I don’t understand this.
Maybe I’m a complete idiot, but I don’t understand this.
Yeah, me either. But the more I read it, the more it seems like poetry. Like, if I just read it one more time, I’ll get it. I think the point is that love is a cultural invention, and we’re bombarded with the expectations of what love is. We elevate the notion of love, and then look for our idealized notion of love, only to be disappointed when we don’t find it, or when what we find doesn’t match the expectation.
I like devilsknew’s poetry better than any explanation, though. It’s kinda beatnik.
Ideas are all fine and good, but what’s the address of this bar with the easy-looking women?
11920 Democracy Drive. Thursday, 5pm. Past performance is no guarantee of future results.
Yeah, me either. But the more I read it, the more it seems like poetry. Like, if I just read it one more time, I’ll get it. I think the point is that love is a cultural invention, and we’re bombarded with the expectations of what love is. We elevate the notion of love, and then look for our idealized notion of love, only to be disappointed when we don’t find it, or when what we find doesn’t match the expectation.
I like devilsknew’s poetry better than any explanation, though. It’s kinda beatnik.
Maybe.
So maybe what we need, instead of love, is more chocolate or a nice long walk. I’ll take my endorphins and such any way that I can get them for now.
Wait until next week when I post a thread about my upcoming date on Wednesday. A young woman from my former job asked me out recently for a drink.
And . . . ?
It’s Thursday; inquiring minds want to know!
And . . . ?
It’s Thursday; inquiring minds want to know!
Short story?.. Rescheduled for next Wednesday. Things came up and that’s the earliest either of us could make it.
But it’s still on… and thank you for your interest.
I may have a story about this coming weekend though… work in progress… stay tuned…
thank you for your interest.
Hey, I have to live vicariously through someone … may as well be you.
Hey, I have to live vicariously through someone … may as well be you.
Hmmmm… let’s see…
Still want to live through me? Are you sure? :dubious:
Whoa, that’s a lot of negative thinking there, big fellow. After you’re done having a nice wallow, I have an assignment for you, should you choose to accept it - take every negative thing you’ve written on that list, and turn it into a positive statement. My point here is not to turn you into a Pollyanna; just that life is 5% what happens to us and 95% what we think about it.
Still want to live through me? Are you sure? :dubious:
Only the date part, Job.