i hate him for making me feel then taking it away.
i hate him for saying words that i let haunt me.
I have to add my little two cents here too.
If he doesn’t see the value in you, he is not worthy of you. Obviously, he’s an idiot.
I know how it feels, all too well. But sometimes it just helped me to say to myself, “I know I have value; smarts, talent, sensitivity…and some day, a good man will see it.”
Some day, a good man will see that you’re the material of the girlfriend he wants.
Run this past future-you. Then duck because she is going to want to bitchslap you for spending even 5 minutes worrying your pretty head about this. Believe me, there will be a time when you won’t even be able to remember this person’s NAME. Then be grateful you’re now free and unencumbered and ready to be adored by a person who wants you and deserves you and is probably wondering where you are right now.
Before Nabokov’s death in 1977, he instructed his wife to burn the unfinished first draft—handwritten on 138 index cards—of what would be his final novel. She did not, and the cards have been locked in a Swiss bank vault for the past 30 years. Now, Nabokov’s son, Dmitri, who contributes what could charitably be called a skippable preface, is releasing them to the world, though after reading the book, readers will wonder if the Lolita author is laughing or turning over in his grave.
Instead, there it was, a hefty physical object, truly unusual in more than one respect. Knopf and presumably Dmitri have scanned the 138 index cards and presented them one to a page, in perforated detachable form. There’s a transcription by Dmitri below each card. You could detach the cards and shuffle them if you wanted to, although this form implies more randomness than the careful numbering, renumbering, and lettering V.N. has penciled in on most of the cards suggests. And if you were to remove all the cards, the hardbound book would look like a ghost town with all the windows punched in. But you have to admire the daring: The book’s form will allow readers to hold the cards in their hands the way V.N. must have, at one time or another, as he neared completion of this draft.
Holy. Shit. Holy. Holy. Shit.
I think I disagree with the decision to release this in any fashion, but if you’re set on doing it? Wow, what an amazingly sexy way to put it out there. And non-trivial in terms of production.
*this post contains adult language, bad puns, and mildly obnoxious whinging
Porn Versus Real Sex has been bugging me all day. The premise seemed sound, at first. Porn is different than “normal” sex. I even agree with the worrying pervasiveness of silicone and shaved pussies, but that’s in society at large. Yes, I wonder: will little boys growing up today even know what natural tits look like? What an old woman looks like? I’d like to think they will, if even a tiny segment of the population remain unaltered. I’m doing my fair share. I have small boobs, and they will remain that way. More than a mouthful is a waste and all that. But you can see that the unnatural epidemic is hitting men as well, as they continue to get more hairless, steroid-laden, and botoxed every year.
Porn, I’m going to venture a guess here, is mostly targeted at men. Since I’m not a man, I’m going to venture another guess and say that a large portion of men watching porn want to take care of the matter at hand, have a quick jerk, and get on with their day. There is porn that is targeted to women, with “romantic” kissing and slow, lingering intercourse. If you dislike the majority of porn, you could try ignoring the porn you find distasteful and purchasing porn that you find sexier (yeah, like people pay for porn anymore, LOL). I would also go way out on a limb here and note that it appears as though men like their fantasies raunchier, and women prefer theirs (their’s? gah!) more windswept. See: romance novels at large versus, say, Maxim. Again, broad stroke, gross generalization.
I’m not a porn expert, but I think what you’re describing as porn is probably the upper tier of porn, and there is every other imaginable variation available for perusal. Old, fat, crooked-boobed women having sex with midgets? Flatulent truckers with pregnant girls? I’m positive they are both floating around somewhere in pornland. Any and all body types and ages, all doing sexual things at every tempo, using all forms of descriptives for their body parts. And you know what? That kind of sex is no less valid than mine is no less valid than yours. We’re all rowing towards the same shore.
Which is what I find most troubling. How this quickly veers into a tiny keyhole of “normality”. You never call your pussy a slit. Okay. So if a woman does, she isn’t normal? I see putting her legs over her head is right out too. So a “real woman” having “real sex” would never have a shaved pussy? Or, heaven forbid!, a belly ring? What if a normal woman having normal sex liked to get spanked? Or blindfolded? Or wanted to call her pussy any number of things you might find offensive? Suddenly she’s not having honest sex? It’s not going to be an organic orgasm? Unfortunately, I think your version of sex is as limited as the porn you’re bashing.
With that, I must bid you adieu. It’s date night and I need to go put on some garter stockings, nuzzle up to my husband, and with any luck, do some things real women would apparently find decidedly inauthentic.