Why I watch Sex TV
John Paul Sartre was a very very ugly man. No doubt this sounds awful, but he had wall-eyes, and women generally found him repulsive, even the ones that loved him. But he seduced them not with looks, but words.
There's hope for me yet.
As has already been noted elsewhere, fireworks exploded by our house tonight. The only thing I could think of was that it was the first day of Oktoberfest. Good reason, good show.
We went and saw "the Last Kiss" at City Centre last night. I really really liked it. No one else did. It left me strangely restless though afterwards. I realized that my past loves have been a parade of men who don't try hard at anything, who never really put any real effort into maintaining anything outside of themselves. It's interesting, because it effectively means that I've systematically sold myself out with low expectations.
But then...isn't it bad to have expectations of your significant other? Of what they should minimally be like before you even meet them? This used to be such a taboo way of thinking for me, and now I'm like: Meet the fucking criterion, bitches, because I'll not have that anymore.
On the subject of being used.... I told Nate that I would no longer give him cigerettes. It doesn't seem like a big deal, I know, but it's a symbolic coalition that me and my co-worker have silently co-authored. Because as trite as it may sound, he needs to get a job.
Question for my audience (scanty, I know) to ponder: Being used is a part of life. It will always happen to varying degrees, for different reasons, and in different ways. Body, mind and soul sort of stuff even. But what do you do? Is it that inevitable that you must put up with it to a certain extent, or can any one person actually be completely free of it because of a certain mindset?
And: Is it a bad thing that one gets used? Does it make you a good person, a bad person, or a weak person? What about the people who use you?
This could be really a) horrible to think about b) stupid to bring up that I'm thinking and wondering about it or c) what the fuck? Who thinks about this?
Aaaaaand....I'm back to my uneasy relationship with the city.