Some days

"Don't you let ANYTHING cause you to have a bad day today. You keep a positive outlook no matter what! Don't look around you -- look up!"
My mommy, December 13, 2004

Kiss Series: Dangerous!

Kiss Series: The Kiss of Death

By The Message. Note, I have chosen this translation because of its dramatic style and in spite of its translation flaws. The language is pretty funny. But regardless of how you may feel about the Bible and about Jesus, there is still something rather sad about being abandoned by your friends, no? A more accurate translation, as well as the full context, can be found here.

---

At that very moment, the party of high priests and religious leaders was meeting in the chambers of the Chief Priest named Caiaphas, conspiring to seize Jesus by stealth and kill him. They agreed that it should not be done during Passover Week. "We don't want a riot on our hands," they said.

...

That is when one of the Twelve, the one named Judas Iscariot, went to the cabal of high priests and said, "What will you give me if I hand him over to you?" They settled on thirty silver pieces. He began looking for just the right moment to hand him over.

...

On the first of the Days of Unleavened Bread, the disciples came to Jesus and said, "Where do you want us to prepare your Passover meal?"

He said, "Enter the city. Go up to a certain man and say, 'The Teacher says, My time is near. I and my disciples plan to celebrate the Passover meal at your house.'" The disciples followed Jesus' instructions to the letter, and prepared the Passover meal.

After sunset, he and the Twelve were sitting around the table. During the meal, he said, "I have something hard but important to say to you: One of you is going to hand me over to the conspirators."

They were stunned, and then began to ask, one after another, "It isn't me, is it, Master?"

Jesus answered, "The one who hands me over is someone I eat with daily, one who passes me food at the table. In one sense the Son of Man is entering into a way of treachery well-marked by the Scriptures—no surprises here. In another sense that man who turns him in, turns traitor to the Son of Man—better never to have been born than do this!"

Then Judas, already turned traitor, said, "It isn't me, is it, Rabbi?"

Jesus said, "Don't play games with me, Judas."

...

They sang a hymn and went directly to Mount Olives.

...

[H]e prayed, "My Father, if there is no other way than this, drinking this cup to the dregs, I'm ready. Do it your way."

When he came back, he again found them sound asleep. They simply couldn't keep their eyes open. This time he let them sleep on, and went back a third time to pray, going over the same ground one last time.

When he came back the next time, he said, "Are you going to sleep on and make a night of it? My time is up, the Son of Man is about to be handed over to the hands of sinners. Get up! Let's get going! My betrayer is here."

...

The words were barely out of his mouth when Judas (the one from the Twelve) showed up, and with him a gang from the high priests and religious leaders brandishing swords and clubs. The betrayer had worked out a sign with them: "The one I kiss, that's the one—seize him." He went straight to Jesus, greeted him, "How are you, Rabbi?" and kissed him.

Jesus said, "Friend, why this charade?"

Then they came on him—grabbed him and roughed him up. One of those with Jesus pulled his sword and, taking a swing at the Chief Priest's servant, cut off his ear.

Jesus said, "Put your sword back where it belongs. All who use swords are destroyed by swords. Don't you realize that I am able right now to call to my Father, and twelve companies—more, if I want them—of fighting angels would be here, battle-ready? But if I did that, how would the Scriptures come true that say this is the way it has to be?"

Then Jesus addressed the mob: "What is this—coming out after me with swords and clubs as if I were a dangerous criminal? Day after day I have been sitting in the Temple teaching, and you never so much as lifted a hand against me. You've done it this way to confirm and fulfill the prophetic writings."

Then all the disciples cut and ran.

Kiss Series: Kiss The Girl

The Little Mermaid, the movie that began Disney's rebirth as the masters of animated film (which climaxed with The Lion King and promptly began to collapse thereafter) is the oft declared favorite of people my age. Feminists such as myself can struggle with whether or not Ariel was a liberated character, or if she traded one patriarchal situation for another, but it is difficult to argue with the fact that "Kiss the Girl" is an amazing song.

What girl hasn't sat in front of a guy, the tension mounting, screaming inside of herself, "Just kiss me damn it!!" Who hasn't sat in front of someone he or she was attracted to, weighing the pros and cons of succumbing to the urge to lock lips?

Kiss Series: The Secret Kiss

I hadn't seen him in a week.

It seemed rather presumptuous to assume he was taking the energy to avoid me, but I couldn't help but think that maybe he wanted to make sure that I didn't get the wrong idea about our previous rendezvous. I knew it was all in fun but I was still disheartened that the fun might end so soon after it had begun.

But then, one day, there he was again. I heard him speak to our mutual friend about how he'd just gotten back from vacation. I extracted myself from their presence, going to a back room to do some work and to avoid facing him. I did not want to hear about his vacation.

I tuned them out and set about my tasks; mentally took stock of all of the things I would do that evening that did not involve hanging out with him. My concentration was interrupted by the sound of his approaching voice. I tried to seem even more diligent in my task and uninterested in his impending presence but my movements slowed. I looked up to see him standing in front of me, a self-assured, embarrassingly sexy half-smile on his face. He was still speaking to our friend who was in the other room but he looked only at me, inspecting the shit-eating grin that was slowly spreading across my face.

"You know all about that, don't you?" he said to me, bringing me into the conversation in order to mask his true intentions.

I said nothing. There was nothing to say. He slipped his hands on my waist and pulled me into him. There was nothing for me to do but to get caught up into the moment, the kiss, the feel of his body against mine, the thrill of knowing that no one else knew.

"What're you doing later?" he asked me after we finally parted, after my vertigo subsided.

Kiss Series: "a twilight moment"

By misha.

---

"What are you reading?"

He was older. Handsome in a way that only came with age. She looked down at the cover of the book in her hands, as if she never even knew it was there. Chick lit. He nodded, like he understood the need to just escape for a minute. To forget your own silly little problems and take on somebody else's. He smiled as his eyes invited her to make the next move. To make this conversation. To give him permission to extend that conversation over a drink. To make this what they shared a knowing smile about when other's asked how they met.

But all she did was smile and turn back to her escapism. She couldn't commit to that future smile because she had already made plans to drink with another boy. Wine plans. And even though it was past the time they were supposed to meet, she was enjoying this concrete excuse for a park. The gentle strum of instruments being tuned for the evening concert. The passing glances that kept her from feeling alone and invisible in a city so easy to be just that. It all made her feel nice, but now she was ready to see the boy. They were supposed to meet at seven. Was she supposed to call him?

"I thought I had been stood up. Get over here and help me drink this bottle of wine."

She felt relieved. He had been waiting on her. She wasn't waiting alone. She walked three blocks up and three blocks over and dipped herself into the Bourgeoisie Pig. He was sitting at a table by the door. All gangly, scruffy hair, and stained. He was leaning over the table. Talking to a group of girls sitting on velvet sofas. A half full glass sat in front of him, next to a bottle, next to another empty glass. Her glass. She sat down. He turned and smiled at her. Set about finishing his conversation with the other girls. She waited patiently. Waited to have him all to herself. Waited for him to fill her glass.

"I had this realization last night. That most of my life bores me. I called you, because you're the most interesting person I know."
"Flattery will get you no where with me."

She could see in his eyes that he really believed that. Too bad it wasn't really true. She had learned that simple lesson a long time ago. Flattery gets you everywhere. Everyone wants to be accepted. But she loved the idea that he thought he meant it. She loved how much he believed his own beliefs. And she hadn't intended to flatter. It was the simple truth. She was bored, and she wanted him to be the opposite of that.

"J has to catch up. We're already a bottle in."

They had run into J while she was outside wondering what it would be like to kiss an ashtray. The boy was on his second cigarette when J and one of his ex's crossed the street to them. They all stood on Mcdougal and volleyed back and forth the awkwardness caused by including the ex into the equation. She wondered if the ex knew about J's crush on her when they had first met in Paris and the ex wasn't an ex. She wondered if the boy knew of J's crush on her when J first introduced them at the park she had just left. She wondered if the boy knew about J's crush at all.

"He told me you asked about my performance in bed."

The ex was gone. They traded the tiny intimate table for the more accommodating velvet sofas. They were playing on a familiar equation now. The one they had solved so many times before. Her, the boy, and their mutual friend J. The guy in the middle. The guy spilling intimate secrets on both sides. Things she had only really said to make J uncomfortable about being the net in the middle of their tennis match. Now the boy was getting the wrong idea, but he kept filling her glass, drowning the guilt that came with leading someone on.

"Let's walk over the Brooklyn bridge."

She took J's hand now too. She didn't want him to feel alone. She had been holding the boy's since they left the Bourgeoisie Pig. There they were. Three walking down an empty street. She felt like she was floating, but knew that was just the wine. She had floated her way through Paris for six months, so she was familiar with the feeling. She swung her boy's hands back and forth. Imagined them conquering the steel bridge as a three. But she hadn't floated all the way into the clouds yet. She knew she would never convince them. Unlike her, they had obligations. The boy was house sitting. He had to feed the cats.

"Let's climb to the top of the monkey bars."

She found herself in the courtyard of an apartment building she couldn't afford. On top of a set of monkey bars that reminded her of when she used to be able to fly in grade school. The rusted chains of the swings creaked mixing with J's low attempt at a sexy voice. A swinger talking to his girlfriend. She laid back against the cold bars. Let the boy pull her back up into a kiss. They were all smiles. Like two children in the playground. Like two twenty-something's after four bottles of wine.

"This is nice."

She never wanted to leave the top of that jungle gym. Sitting. And flirting. And kissing. And touching. It felt like the way twilight sounds. That moment really didn't change anything though, and she knew she couldn't stretch a moment into forever. He was the most interesting person she knew, but it still wasn't enough. Descending that jungle gym was like falling from grace. Back on the ground it was just like any other night. Back on the ground she wasn't floating anymore. Not like four bottles in. Not like her grade school self. Not like the way she wished he made her feel all the time.

Bombs Over Baghdad

Five years ago, on this day, I had dinner with the family of my boyfriend at the time. When dinner was over, I found myself standing behind his father - an intimidating man: doctor, quiet, serious, as Southern as you get - who was quietly watching the news. We watched the coverage in silence as the bombings began. My boyfriend entered. "They've started bombing Iraq," I replied to his questioning. It was my spring break.

After 9/11, I knew the government (even many of the American people) would be out for blood. I even mentioned as much in an angry editorial I wrote in the school paper, which was written in response to the indifference and the joking of many of my peers. "When your family and your friends start going off to war, you'll start to care," I warned. I didn't think that this would be that war.

As I listened to the news commentary that night and looked at President Bush's face, I honestly believed it would be over in just a few months, a blip in our history like the bombings sanctioned by Clinton or our little tussle with Kosovo. But here we are in 2008...thousands of lives later, billions (trillions?) of dollars later...wondering when it's going to end.

All I can do is look at a list of the casualties from the war, read their names, look at their ages, see where they come from...and wonder how many people are crying harder than I am, because this war is more real to them than it can ever be for me.

Kiss Series: Forbidden Fruit

As the recent news surrounding former New York governor Eliot Spitzer and current New York governor David Paterson has reminded us, it is often the taboo kiss which is the most irresistible.

Kissing and Telling

"Some women, when they kiss, blush, some call the cops, some swear, some bite, some laugh, some cry. Me? I die. Die. I die inside when you kiss me." -Samuel Fuller (line from his film, Underworld USA)

Another attempt at a series of like-themed posts. These will be about kissing, one of my favorite pastimes.

Cliché Dictionary

method - (Pronunciation: \ˈme-thəd\ Function:noun) (1): a way, technique, or process of or for doing something (2): a body of skills or techniques

of - (Pronunciation: \əv, before consonants also ə; ˈəv, ˈäv\ Function: preposition) used as a function word to indicate the object of an action denoted or implied by the preceding noun

mediocrity - (Pronunciation: \ˌmē-dē-ˈä-krə-tē\ Function: noun) moderate ability or value

"Attaining even mediocrity is often a struggle." -Mason Cooley

Sometimes, I'm Unwell

Rob Thomas wears a t-shirt, with "Love Me" haphazardly written across the chest, while singing about temporary insanity.

I once stood in the middle of a road screaming to a newly-ex-boyfriend. "I hate you so much right now!" (I can think of maybe 3 other instances in my life when I've raised my voice in anger at someone...and no other instance in my life when I've used the "h" word in any non-playful way towards a person.)

"Madness is tonic and invigorating. It makes the sane more sane. The only ones who are unable to profit by it are the insane." -Henry Miller

A certain pleasure can be found from moments of madness. Liberating oneself from one's own sense of normality can be enlightening and refreshing. It breaks up the monotony of life and awakens emotions that might otherwise have been ignored or eternally repressed. It can boost creativity and create a new appreciation for life's intricacies. Most importantly, it helps exercise all of the mental and spiritual muscles one needs in order to feel.

I Like Big Butts

Two Words: Ironclad Prenup

Ana #1: Oh my god, look at that guy. He's huge!
Ana #2: Like, really, someone needs to introduce him to Weight Watchers or something!
Girl passerby: Hey, snugglebutt! [Gives large guy hug and kiss.]
Ana #1: What the fuck?
Ana #2: Girlfriend? That fat whale?
Girl passerby: Husband. And you two might have men in your lives if you actually had boobs rather than a caved-in skeleton chest. Come on, schnookums, let's go get some ice cream.

--Westerly, Rhode Island

Overheard by: blanket not far away, lauging my ass off

via Overheard at the Beach, Feb 29, 2008

An Experiment in Unavailability: Too Bored to Continue It

The message I sent out:

Quite honestly, this experiment ended before it officially* began. I failed. The lack of knowledge of the time at any given moment, the constant reaching into my purse, the jump and disappointment following the hearing of a familiar beep or feeling of a mild vibration, all became too much for me to bear...and therefore, I bought a phone, which I received this past Wednesday.

Thusly, you are now free to call me or text me, if such an activity would appeal to you. And those of you so kind as to give me your phone numbers are now capable of being called and text messaged by me. Thank you for your time and good humor.

Best,
Marian

* - "Official" meaning the start time stated in this Facebook event. It should be noted that nothing in life is official unless it appears in some form on Facebook.