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About love and conquering, from @thaabzeniko

Sometimes you stumble on something so pretty you have to share it. That’s how I felt about a thread of tweets I read yesterday. I followed and asked permission to share. @thaabzeniko’s twitter bio reads: “gay. they/ them. mostly in black. guzzling wine somewhere. this be ma corner on the interwebs”

Gotta love that. They (the pronoun the bio states to use) sent me this to add:

“I don’t consider myself a writer but I tend to write occasionally, at times through experience, but mostly through observation. I never knew I could write until I went through some things and I just couldn’t relate to anything out there so I started writing/ facilitating my own lived experiences and fantasies, and it’s been gravy ever since.”

Below are the tweets I’ve typed out, and used the full words in place of abbreviations.

 

One day, you’ll be in bed with your partner when your bodies stick to each other under the sweltering heat and your sighs are soft keys to a song.

They’ll be sleeping but you’ll be restless, trying to catch every speeding thought, thanking God you’re in love and alive through it all.

You’ve lost track of how many times it took you both to get here. But you’re here and there’s no more lies, bullshit and half-assing things.

You’ll stop wondering how much simpler things would be if feelings were easily altered, whether we’d bother to love at all. You’ve made it.

Silent moans of relief as you feel so close to them and the only way you can get closer is by letting them hold you even closer. Tighter even.

Caressing every part of you; existing peacefully between each other. Like Pablo Neruda they’ll catch glimpses of the moon alive under your skin.

Your skin will smell like sleep. Things will begin to make sense. Loving each other will feel like being heard after a lifetime of silence.

You’ll remember the times you spent your early 20s freaking out, believing you’re a mess when really you were always iridescent from the start.

You’ll forget about the exes that were into music/ poetry and wrote songs about everyone they fucked except you.

You’ll forget about the exes that made you feel so used to being second best – only inviting you over when they’re lonely and horny.

You’ll touch your lips, tasting the tendrils of the escaped Disney fairy tale you spent your early life searching for with exes that weren’t for you.

You’ll build a life with a love books don’t talk about. The one found in the spines of everything you’ve been taught to run away from.

You’re a hero with claws. It’s how you climbed out of darkness when you believed everything was disappearing and made of smoke.

It’s going to be the small moments here and there, however they arrive, look for them. Happiness will walk in and I hope it works out for you.

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The endings of dreams

“Gay kids can be selfish too, and should have more patience and empathy with parents, because what the parents are dealing with is the end of a dream”.

A friend said this a few years ago and I never forgot it. It was so counter to what we’re expected to believe.

Dreams might not always be realistic, but we still have them. The strangers we meet when we sleep might be manifestations of people we know and have seen, but that does not mean we have control over them . Likewise dreaming while awake also takes over and we get caught up in what we think we know.

Expectations may not be fair, but they are expected. Unfortunately we’re human and we tend to hope that things will go a certain way. Stick to the script.

Normal, yes; but detrimental to happiness? Possibly… definitely.

As I deal with a breakup and wonder why I am still upset (or just disappointed?) I realise that some dreams are meant to end.

How does a dream end? We don’t know, and never will. Ever think about that? There will never be a conclusion. This is not Inception.

I relate to this from an article on Salon – Why we cant remember dreams:

When we sleep, wrote English psychiatrist Havelock Ellis over a hundred years ago, we enter a ‘dim and ancient house of shadow’. We wander through its rooms, climb staircases, linger on a landing. Towards morning we leave the house again. In the doorway we look over our shoulders briefly and with the morning light flooding in we can still catch a glimpse of the rooms where we spent the night. Then the door closes behind us and a few hours later even those fragmentary memories we had when we woke have been wiped away.

And that’s what happens when dreams bleed over into the real world. We are opened up to a realm of possibility and endless hope. Then there’s the pain.

This reminded me of anecdotal experiences from people who’ve said that physical pain is a sensation we can’t remember. I raised this point in a conference, and I got shouted down, but the more I think about it, I realised that I don’t remember the sensation of physical pain. Think about it. Come on, science, prove me right!

That time I stepped on a rusty nail and shrieked in pain; post wisdom teeth removal surgery; the time I fell on my face; my fall on a recent hike (Ok, I may have been drunk, but it still counts. Drunk hiking is a real thing, get on board). As my knee heals from that hike, I can feel the itch as my scab gets knitted from below and gets pushed off, its job nearly complete. And then it will be over.

Our bodies understand pain. Whether its pus or a scab, we get cloaked in a protective blanket for as long as we need, and then healing happens and we move on with our lives.

Emotionally and mentally we have not evolved as far yet.

Despite the dream being perfect and according to script, a feeling of dread can still set in. Fear is an enemy that never lets go. And it often leads a mark.

“Yes, we are left with (fear). Scarring can do that. Wounds heal. Scars don’t,” said my friend Glynn.

Ever the biologist, I tried justifying scarring as leaving us tougher and stronger.

He politely shut me down and said: “[A] scar indicates a weak spot. A specific vulnerability. That’s the biological fact, not the metaphorical myth. But we can live with scars. And move. Maybe not even while “moving on” or “moving ahead”. Maybe we just move. Scars have little sensory tissue. So it feels rougher. The nerves don’t grow back. Maybe that could be a metaphor for trust”

I’ve always told you that I have smart friends.

So does a dream ever end?

One of my favourite stories, again dealing with pain and dreams, is the one where I am falling. Apparently this is an indicator of losing control. Ya think?!

Well I was a teenager and my bed was pushed against the wall. In the dream, in which I was free falling mid air, I got closer to the ground, arms flailing and panic setting in. I woke up, but as I was supposed to land, I jerked forward and knocked my head against the wall. Hard.

I fell and bruised, but I lived. I survived.

<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>

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In a relationship with…

Subtitled: Letting Go

Because these two work together so fluidly.

You know what I hate? Thanks for asking. That thing when you’re not sure if you’re still in a relationship with someone and when you do see them you do that “extended handshake-half-bro hug combo/ attempted pretentious air kiss” (you know it! Don’t pretend you don’t!) and in the process of uncertainty you trip, butt heads and wake up three hours later coughing up the sawdust on the floor.

I hate that!

So complicated!

To be in a relationship, you have to let go. Not quite what we expect from the 2 become 1 mentality we all know, right?  (Thank you to the Spice Girls for that reference #NeverForget #VivaForever).

I’m always surprised when people say their relationships are complicated. Is there any other type? I’ve written a lot about love and dating. This blog has a whole category dedicated to it, for goodness sake.

So I’m over wondering how they work. Trying to understand what goes through the minds of those with whom we share our hearts has become futile.

I recently had a near-incident (is what they should really be called), which fizzled out before it even hit ANY phase, let alone the expected – courtship phase; honeymoon phase; I like you but I’ll wait for you to admit it first phase; the “I lied to you so you would tell me you like me so I could be bashful and coy about it” phase; the actual honeymoon; the divorce phase; the cynical phase…  Mind you, these are not in chronological order.

So I wrote a letter to this someone. But it was over. I tried to have no expectations, so when I asked to meet to give it to him, I was not surprised that he said no. I shrugged my shoulders and let it go. Which is not to say that I did not feel a modicum of hurt at his rejection. (You WILL pity me, dammit!)

I had messed up in a certain instance, but to blame myself (my usual recourse) and feel guilt would be virtual suicide and a waste of time.

What matters is that you have; you felt; you loved.  Am I right, ladies?!

I removed names and context, but you can glean the meaning.

What better way than getting over yourself than making fun of yourself, right? I”ll spare you the whole thing and present you with key take aways. This is the edited version with my comments in square brackets.

 

Dear _____ [because if it wasn’t clear that this was a letter, this really lets you know]

I write to you with regards to our conversation. I know that you probably do not want to see me, and I express myself better in writing in anyway.I don’t know how far you’ll read, so I should get right to it.

I’m sorry for hurting you. Its usually never the “intention”, but I really stand by that. [If nothing else you have to admit that that was smooth. This is where being honest comes in handy]

 

In 2012, when you told me about ____ (the new partner) and, I’m not sure if you remember, but I made a joke and said “Well, now I have more time to focus on my daddy issues”. [way to make it about you, JAW! But this really is the only way to get over a kind-of breakup. See the bright side and be practical!]

What I didn’t tell you was that I was as close to heartbroken as one could be in a situation like that (because who am I to be heartbroken when we weren’t even dating, right?) [To be fair, this is not inaccurate]

 

What I’m trying to say is that I wish I had an inkling of what you felt. That is in no way an indictment on you. Rather I blame myself for missing the “whispers” (Oprah reference). [I honestly wrote this into the letter, I swear. I feel ashamed. They say that you’re allowed one Oprah reference per decade, and at this point, I’m well in the red]

Just like you said that you learned from past mistakes, I too was trying to not be as “desperate”, pushy and (to force another reference) like Olaf in Frozen – my idealism has been the cause of much disappointment in my life, and unfortunately this time I went too far to the other extreme. [I need to be stopped. This is the reason why life does not take me seriously. I am literally a 10-year old girl!]

I hope that that verbose explanation was not too much. If you got this far, thanks for reading. [You never know!]

I’d like to take this opportunity to present myself with the “Calm down, girlfriend” award.  Its like an Oscar, except its not.  This award is usually reserved for internet forum commenters.

So henceforth, JAW, that’s me, is in a relationship with…

myself.

 

 

You thought that was the end?! I’m not that much of an asshole/writer to leave a conclusion as open as that.

Now I really should have ended this post right there. It would have been suitably esoteric. But what does that even mean? How many people really mean when they say that they are in a relationship with themselves/ putting themselves first and the like? It sounds like a concession. Like you’re going to settle on yourself until someone better comes along.

My long-winded conclusion from my romantic non-dalliances is the lesson that “you are ok; you are enough”. It took me this long to figure that out. While I’ve always been comfortably alone, having a carpet ripped out from under you is the best lesson and reminder that when you’ve landed on your behind, the first person who should be laughing at and with you, is you.

Besides, its only funny if its shared.

<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>

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I like you more than you like me

The curse. You wonder if this is how it’s meant to be for the rest of your life. The one who is always “too”: much, needy, emotional, cold. It hits you out of nowhere, but you know that the thought has been with you for a long time.

You look back at your dating life, the detritus of ten years, as you look back at what you have written. You write in pencil and wish that things were as easy to erase. But you know that even pencils leave marks. Every kiss is a stain, every touch a bruise. Even if it does not show at the time.

You start off by writing – about heartbreak in general – how the feeling hits you months, sometimes years after you thought you were over it; how you used to work out and look after yourself as revenge only to realise it was a sham and you worked on the wrong part of yourself (the outside); how heartache and loneliness are reluctant bedfellows walking hand in hand, not looking at each other, with you, their child torn between.
Until you realise the root cause of all the ruminating – I like you more than you like me. Like, that word so bastardised by social media, the phase when you know you are not infatuated anymore, but not yet in love. The transitionary period, the crucial time.

Your pencil moves faster than your hand will allow, but you know that no pencil or the fastest fingers on the best computers would be able to keep up if the heart was allowed a language, a voice, a chance to speak. But you’re grateful that the heart knows its own strength and spares you its sermons that would destroy you with its truths.

You think that giving is enough. You think that being there, being present is enough. Ultimately you realise that this is a poison you’re doomed to keep swallowing.

You feel stupid. Juvenile too. Stupid child.

You wonder why something that seems so simple can be so complicated – every single time.

Your eyes are now open to other people in relationships like this. Your thoughts vacillate between pity for the poor person in your shoes, and respect for their patience and determination to be with the one they want. Could this form of partnership grow to be love? Who says it isn’t?
All you did was over read the situation. Blame it on your star sign, maybe on your mind, family issues, past relationships, whatever. Truth is you like him more than he liked you, and that’s all there is to it.

Author Jerome Cornelius

The Side Ho Expansion Project

Not known as SHEP, so don’t call it that, please.

For the last few months I’ve embarked on a mission to get hoes. I was inspired by a prolific tweeter, and thought I would reclaim this word and give it new life.

@Beyonka_fierce is one of my favourite tweeters, a guilty pleasure if there ever was one. Some of her tweets are too unsavoury for me to quote, but often they are humourous, and even at times, heartfelt. It was these tweets that urged me to embrace hoedom.
She is, in fact, a “he”, and an alter ego. What stood out for me was the way she refers to her male companions, the hoes. I found this so refreshing, if a little, disconcerting.

The idea of reclamation is a tricky one. I’ve spoken about the use of words and their power in a previous post, so because this one is super serious and an explorative journalistic piece, I’m allowed to contradict myself.

The word “ho” is derived from the word “whore”, however I am not using this definition. A ho, to me, is just another word for a dispensable person to have fun with. A side ho is even worse (I mean, better). So to recap, we are not using the shortened form of “whore” made so distastefully unpopular by gangster rap, nor is it a gardening tool.

Therefore they are side hoes, complementary to the main. Or rather in anticipation of the main.

My hoes give me life. My hoes give me strength. They make me want to be a better person. But not really.

 

The main, however, is the one you marry, the one you set aside all the hoes for.

And like the ancient Greeks said, a ho must know. A ho must grow. And when they get too wordy, the ho must go.

The Side Ho Expansion Project took on a life of its own, but I soon realised that it grew to an extension of the 100 Dates Challenge. Whether that failed or succeeded to you, dear faithful reader, is not important. The hoes are what matter.

So what was it about? Just having fun and meeting people. That’s it! There were, however, a few conditions.

-Never lead anyone on.
– Be honest.
– Have fun.

For those wondering, I am not a ho myself. Nope, no way. I am not about that life. What I am is a Side Ho Management Specialist. Official title.

The SHEP was ultimately fun, however misguided, but not entirely wasted. I made lots of new friends on social media sites and met many people, but like I said, the original definition of the word (whore) did not apply here.

I reached a point where I just got tired of looking and meeting, and eventually they would come to me. It’s really true what they say about ones aura and how a certain energy is detectable. Even leaving the house looking like a homeless person I would make lots of new friends.

One day, however, someone said to me, “But it’s not you” and I unwillingly was forced to agree. As much fun as I was having, what I am looking for is a main. I did not hurt anyone in the process (as far as I know, because I am friends/friendly with everyone I’ve met) but it made me think of people who do this full-time. You know the type I’m talking about – jumping from one relationship to the next without so much as a thought, or even just sleeping around, and ultimately lying to their partners, or leading these people on.

At no point did I think I would do this. The SHEP was also a practise in honesty. I refused to lead anyone on, and had anyone asked me what the status of our relationship was, I would have told them, “You’re my side ho”.

And before you pity any of these men, or me, don’t worry, look at the word itself – there is HOnour in being a ho.

So that was a brief about my life-changing sojourn into the world of dating, and my time with hoes.  I learned a lot. Like I said, it was not me. I did, however, have fun and really got a bit of my proverbial groove back. Too often we’re confined to boxes of what we are supposed to be. This will screw you over big time. When you go into meeting someone with zero expectations and with you holding the power, your perspective will change. Once you realise that if someone leaves you because they do not like something about you, you shrug your shoulders and say “Ok, there are five more of you waiting in the wings”.

So go out there Floor Jawers, my faithful readers. You don’t have to rename them hoes, but you do need to stop thinking so far ahead, stop taking it so seriously and enjoy the world of dating.

 

<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>

The Art of Listening

Which shouldn’t even be given an entire jawonthefloor blog post, but apparently it does.

I’ve been told I am a good listener. People often say to me, “Oh my word, how do you know that?!” when I bring up something they had previously mentioned and I’ll tell them that we spoke about it a few months earlier.  This always brings blank stares of shock and “but how do you remember?” Well, because I was listening.

I’ve recently had the opportunity to be in a few conversations in which I noticed zero listening. Let me go back and tell you, Floor Jawers that I wasn’t always as attentive as I strive to be. I used to be the discreet version of what I witnessed. People were literally shouting at each other, no single person being allowed to finish their points and a lot of wisdom being lost at the wayside because, why bother when you’re not being heard?

I used to do this in my mind. I would nod, smile when necessary and do the appropriate “ooh”, “aah” and “uh huh” at correctly timed interjections. However, I would be jumping in, interrupting their lines of thought and bringing my own point across, but without actually saying it.

Now I don’t know which is worse: what I used to do (in my mind), or the louder version where you just shut someone down as they are speaking. Either way, to me it amounts to that person saying “what you have to say is not as important as what I need to right now, despite you speaking to me, so shut up and listen to me instead”.

Listening really is an art. You have to step back, zip your lips and put aside what you have to say. Even if just for a minute, some people find this too hard and find that they have to interrupt. One of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received was when I was told by various people in a de-briefing session for a youth facilitation and mentoring programme, was that they had never experienced someone who would be as fully engaged as I was. Now it took all my willpower to not let that rush up to my head, but it really felt good. Something that I had been doing for a large part of my life was now being commended, and I became aware of something important. When you allow someone to fully express what is in their heart, you allow them into yours. Deep, I know, but it’s true.

The danger with this is that people tend to monopolise a conversation and walk over you, because they had never experienced someone listening to them before. This is not for you to navigate. People soon realise that they are being too selfish (because a little is necessary), and that leads to a shift in thinking.

So how do you do it? Let your mind go blank and don’t think of a question or response until the person has finished their thought. Don’t judge! Hard, I know, but you must try (I fail often at this, but trying is all that counts) and then just try to be fully engaged in their presence. Try it; it does take a certain amount of strength to get through a fair bit of ignorance. But when you spit your uninformed opinion back at someone, it’s just ignorant volleyball, without a winner.

While you’re at it, look out for the way in which people tend to not listen. Besides the obvious interrupting, and shouting in response, body language is a fabulous indicator of ignorance. I love seeing people shifting in their seats as someone speaks, raised eyebrows in anger, averting of the eyes and agitated facial movements. It’s all rather hilarious and quite interesting when you ask someone who does that “what did I just say?” The answer is entertaining, but hardly ever surprising.

You hear?!

 

<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>

Two Poems

This being the month of love…

These lips no longer belong to you,

especially not in this photo.

So put down your brown and shooing hand,

trying to get me up.

Behind the camera you direct me,

but my nose is in her shoulder.

I hide, second from the left, is where I’ll now remain.

Immortalised, they laugh with you,

as you click and snap.

But smiling lips, that curl to God, pink and slightly full,

are mine, all mine and mine alone, free to smile again.

Selfish I may call myself, but they belong to me.

These lips that I once gave so freely,

I’ll now keep to myself.

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Look into the eyes of the one you love

as he looks away.

Grab him, hold onto him

as he turns away.

Say goodbye, for now, forever

as he walks away.

You loved him, you left,

makes no difference anyway.

Look back, think back,

as it fades away.

 

<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>

“I Got Your Back” (why we have relationships) but not really

The area between the neck and the buttocks is the only reason why people get involved in relationships. Think about it…. No, really think about it. Anyone who has had the itch in that part that you.. just.. cant.. reach knows what I’m talking about.

I’ve previously mentioned the dichotomy of needing another person to have a relationship, because even if you are independent, you can’t date yourself. I’ve tried this, and it’s not easy. I succeeded and revolutionised it, but my partner was insufferable. A real stubborn lug I, I mean, he was. And the sex was a snooze fest. Someone should really break it to me, I mean, him.

Besides that, everyone knows that being in a relationship is all about the fighting. And how does one do that without turning your back? The coldest part of the shoulder is that bit where you have to turn a full 360 and *boom* we’re back to the back!

*

So I was trying to put on this dastardly necklace and I spent the better part of 13 minutes strangling myself. This got me a one way trip back to rehab and the kind of misunderstanding which won Angelina Jolie her Oscar.

Women do not need anyone, but opposable thumbs do not help you when you can’t tie that damn necklace. There that ominous part of our bodies comes back to bite us in the… back side. They even invented special mirrors for them.

In fact, that’s how I found out that I have scales growing back there. Seriously. Half of Cape Town who has seen me semi-nude knows that this is not an overestimation. I can’t reach my back! It hasn’t been thoroughly washed in over a decade. And my husband Jacob Zuma is focused on other things whenever we cleanse our black bodies.

I’ve grown eyes in the back of my head, yet I can’t reach my milky white back with my loofah. No wonder a knife keeps falling out whenever I stand up. I need to get those surgically removed.

I made the mistake of going out and meeting someone just to wash my back. I got a little too drunk in the vision-impairing process and ended up taking a little person home. Before we could get to the scrubbing, he did my spray-on tan and now I have a lower back that’s brown. The upper half is still creamy white.

I’m the human cappuccino, with a lot more froth.

But this is a serious point. A relationship is about leading and following. One takes the lead, while the other follows. And sometimes those roles swap. And other times you chain them up until they tell you you look pretty with this new haircut GOD DAMMIT! But singletons never appreciate this. The stranger who passes you on the street will give you the wink ‘n smirk, and sometimes he will turn back for a second glance. Sometimes they will come back and get your number. But they won’t tell you that your ass looks ridiculous in those pants.

And that, my friends and Floor Jawers, is the secret to everlasting happiness. Having someone who will (literally) always have your back.

 

<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>

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My Female Celebrity Obsession…

…with strength. Didn’t see that one coming, did you?

This was a separate post, but I decided to use it as the follow up to the one about Rihanna I posted a few days ago.

I’m a sucker for celebrity. I won’t even pretend to not care when a star gets a DUI or marries some loser has a baby. I go mad for it and all the education in the world will never change that.

This post however is something that had me thinking about my favourite female stars that have inspired me recently.  Relationships are also a particular point of interest for me.

What is betrayal? I guess this is up to the couple to define, however I think it should go by feel. If it feels wrong, get out. Oprah says, when a man shows you his true colours, believe him. If he moves on with hast while you are on a break, or even a break up, how real was it to begin with? Are you listening Chris Brown? I am coming for you.

A colleague told me that a few weeks is a drop in the bucket of relationships. And she must know what she is talking about as this is her field.

 

A few examples that spring to mind:

The good? : Cheryl (Cole) who dropped the “Cole” recently after she emerged from the cheating scandal with footballer husband Ashley Cole. We all know the story; it seems perfect until it goes bad.

How could anyone cheat on Cheryl?! She is gorgeous, talented and seems a genuinely nice lady. And then someone did. Of course we should not judge as we do not know the inner workings of a couple.

But whatever the track record, she is back with a new album and some scathing lyrics.

In her single “Screw You” off her latest album, she sings

“I love you so much but you never gave a fuck, so screw you / I can still remember our first date, never thought I would scream I hate ya.”

This is known as an oopsie-woopsie-poopsie moment and should make all men cower in fear.

You grow girl!!

The bad? : Rihanna, again, we should not judge what we do not have knowledge of, but come on!

Now I am definitely not one to speak, but this cannot be good. I’m on the fence with regards to celebs being role models, but surely they must be aware that their actions will have consequences. After the last post and the attitudes of people, especially women and girls regarding this incident, is it wise for Rihanna to go back to Chris Brown? Even as friends?

I’m still torn as to whether these people should be held up as role models for young people. A conversation with a die-hard Rihanna fan, he told me that she is only human. But what about choice? They chose to be celebs and have people idolise them.  This friend of mine made the great point that the parents should serve as mediators and not blame celebs when things go bad. [Thank you Vernoodle!]

If not for herself and her own self-esteem, surely for the many fans who worship her and look for a positive influence.

The inbetweener? : Victoria Beckham how soon we forget. Remember a certain Miss Rebecca Loos?

Yes, that’s right, with David and Victoria being such shining examples, it is easy to forget that he cheated on Victoria with this lady.

This brings to mind the idea of complicities. ONCE AGAIN, we, especially not me, can in no way judge. They are all human after all, if on a global scale. This incident just happened to fit this blog. Was she naïve for forgiving him and taking him back?

Would she not forever wonder where his eye was when she is not around? He seems to have been good, or discreet since. Who knows how these things work.

It’s like the old saying goes, to each their ho, I mean, own.

 

So, like Oprah says, do not ignore the whispers. They become shouts and then you cannot ignore them. Never let it get too far. Also be grateful that you are not a celeb, although if you were, you would have been the subject of a prestigious jawonthefloor mention.

If anything, and if you are going to be obsessed with celebrity, at least draw on the strength, tenacity and humanity that many of them display.

 

<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>

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That Thing Called Sex

I had a conversation with friends regarding this. That. The unspeakable act.

Does it warrant an entire blog post? Let’s see.

My idea is actually about the conflation of love with sex. Why do we mash this carnal act with that thing where we lose our minds and our hearts melt into ooze?

[A previous post on my take on “Love” can be viewed here –http://wp.me/p2cY2A-1l ]

Here’s a useful analogy of my own (it could be a little crude for those with vivid imaginations): I describe it as the ultimate hug. You know when you hug someone? Sure you do! It feels warm and comforting and it’s the best thing ever. You can’t get enough. You also can’t get close enough. You squeeze and squeeze and you embrace until all notions of personal space are destroyed [I’m still talking about hugging here, for those who may have wandered off]

Sex cures this need to get closer as you can’t get closer than that.

Love is similar as you want to be inside of the person in more than a physical way. You want them closer and you never want them to leave, no matter what. Except it is more than just that physical hug. That, combined with the actual sex, is the ultimate sense of what I think love might be.

I also think that there is no one single idea or definition. However, I also think that this is the root of the problem with love and sex. People enter relationships thinking that they would be involved in it in the conventional sense.  They think that this is what they want. You know the kind that parents have on sitcoms and family dramas; the nuclear family that was the result of meeting your soul mate and having kids and settling down.

But let’s not blame the media alone. This is a very appealing picture and I’m sure many people still want it. But that restlessness seems to inevitably kick in and we can’t help but sample more of those ultimate hugs.

That feeling of the ultimate hug is carried over and confused with the oozy love part. Why stick around and do the work when you can just keep getting the hug? So I do see the appeal of hopping from one to the other.  However, let us stop confusing one with the other. Happy experimenting though, but please Floor Jawers, be careful not to hurt anyone in the process.

And my apologies for all the oozing.

<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>

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