Italian Dressing

Calma

is a chant I repeat over and over to myself whenever I'm frustrated, stressed, or a little bit short of breath. It's not that I speak Italian, or have any grudges against "Astagfirullah", but I just prefer saying 'Calma' out loud, despite the reckless pronounciation.

Calma.

Remember, everything's fine. You are happy, life is good.

Think about what you can do to others, instead of what others can do to you.

Okay, shoot, now I'm starting to sound all funkyfucius.

(pseudotrance mode -look how I used pseudo instead of pretend. Yeay)

Wow.

Good lord this blog is turning into the dreaded 'curhat' blog.

Okay, that is so not cool.

Okay, I am having second thoughts. Okay, I am having issues with this. Okay, this is so against the image I want to project through this blog. Okay, this is embarassing myself. Okay, well maybe I should...

Calma! Calma! Calma! Calma! Calma! Calma!

Does this shit really work?

God why does Berlusconi get to bang hot young women and jibe Finnish cuisine at the same time?

-R

PS: I knew the word from reading a volume of FANTASISTA, in which main protagonist Teppei Sakamoto shouts the word out loud to distract the opposing team's defender's concentration

I Saw You Doing Something With Your Hands

Let's talk about Grand Gestures.

Objects, love-gifts, charming giveaways , whatever you name it.

I'm a fan of them, I craft them, I enjoy making them, although I don't buy them.

Some people (the well-educated, I presume) questioned why I needed to make them.

Useless, over-the-top, theatrical, they said.

One fellow even went to the point of analogising them as masturbation.

Yes, jerking-off, playing with yourself, rocking the snake, all just because the act was assumed for self-gratification.

Now my friends, this woeful misinterpretation, I think, is because some folks think that the climax happens when I'm spraying stories around with that gleam in the eye to the canteen crowd, when I'm engaging in some kiss and tell (inherited from my old lady) with my comrades, the so-called Kom, where gossip spreads at the speed of light (of which I know, Kom peeps are secretly proud of this notion. Sorry to say, my highschool still one ups you by a country mile).

Well, that would be a very, very daft conclusion, a dishonorable mention to who I intended all of my 'Grand Gestures' for. That's why some have a degree in Sexology, like Boyke, while some play the Love Guru, like Mike Myers. They just can't spot the difference between actual orgasm and that spring in your step the following morning post-sex.

Pardon the analogy, by the way. I've never had intercourse, of course, but I couldn't find a more appropriate counter-analogy to the one about masturbation, which irks me constantly. But my point is, the pleasure... --Okay, I'll defect from the sexual thesaurus, so it won't erode my point--...

That warm, fuzzy feeling, I'd never experienced before I woke up on the other side of the bed some 30 days ago, sometimes occur when you truly know that the one you gave a Grand Gesture likes it, feels that it's special, and likes you even more for doing it.

The effort doesn't count up for anything.

Whether the effort has any meaning for that special someone, however,

counts up for everything.

-R

PS: Do you know where I left my sweetener?

33 Days Ago I Finally Woke Up On The Other Side Of The Bed

And I smiled.

-R:)