Tag Archives: love

50 Ways To Give The Finger – #10: The Valentine Finger

Screen Shot 2015-02-14 at 12.37.14 PMThe Valentine Finger can be administered on any day of the year, not just the one special day that we set aside each year to exchange Russell Stover’s Creme d’Monstrosities for sex.

What the Valentine Finger communicates to the recipient: Why, yes –I will be enjoying a movie that I want to see at home with a glass of wine and chocolates that I love. And thank you for reminding me how amazing that will be. I do love you, after all.

When to use it: When you are in line behind a bickering couple, when you are standing in front of a hideous Valentine’s Day display, when a bridal bouquet is thrown in your general direction, or when a couple takes their Love-gazey, finger twiddly display out in public.

UP NEXT: #11 – The Delicate Kiss-Off Finger

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A Seemingly Endless Loop of Stupid

melted-popsicleI wanted to write something brilliant and profound this weekend, but the heat and humidity in Boston was prohibitive. On Saturday, my apartment was 90 degrees Fahrenheit with a humidity of Oh-Who-Cares-Anyway? It was one of those days that meteorologist Dick Albert used to refer to as “a case of the muggies.” It’s a slow disaster. You envision tossing your less-than-useless warm-blooded body into the harbor, but that would take effort, so you just eat popsicles and watch the veins in your arms swell like firehoses.

I escaped for a couple of hours to a café to write. The place was packed tight with other heat refugees and their smells. I scored a small table, but was wedged between two couples. The couple on my left did not speak, but smiled into each other’s loving gazes as they entwined and then re-entwined their fingers endlessly. Endlessly. From the edge of my vision, I was witness to a good 45 minutes of finger entwinement. It was the manual equivalent of the “I love you more”/”No, I love you more” argument spun into an infinite, real-time, looping gif that can’t be closed, ever.

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 What do you do with that? There’s no law against being an insufferably adorable couple, apparently.

Well, you could turn and be distracted by the couple to the right. The guy was seated right next to me. I couldn’t catch a glance without being very obvious about it, so I can’t comment on him except to say that he had a tall-guy voice, and that he seemed to let the woman do the talking. And the woman – who was seated across from me, was talking non-stop, seemingly about the guy’s troubled relationship – with someone else.

Again – what can you do? As far as I know, I do not have the right to stand and condemn this blatantly obvious manipulation/seduction/ego-twaddling that was happening within arm’s length. I just know that when she twisted her hair around a finger and said “You know, you can definitely stay at my place for as long as you need to – to… clear your head,” that was my cue to knock back my latte and leg it out of there.

Back into the sweaty, hive-like busy streets of Back Bay. I bought new living room drapes. Then I went home, put the drapes up, took another shower, had a popsicle, watched the drapes drape. Because that’s all I had in me.

Screw Happiness: Why I Love Being Irritable

I’ve made my feelings known the benefits of just saying “Fuck It.” Go ahead and say it. It feels good, right? It touches into something genuine. For just a moment, you let go and allow your inner-asshole to emerge, and it rings a bell. Fuck it. Yessss.

Must. Force. Happy. Now.
If you google “Happiness,” you’ll find endless, sometimes conflicting articles touting the appropriate recipe to “Get happy!” The exclamation point implies a level of excitement and enthusiasm that is hard to achieve in life without the help of drugs and/or massive denial of reality. It also sounds like a demand. Do it. Get happy, goddamn it! You’re not happy! What’s wrong with you?

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 Couldn’t we just be a little cranky? Please?

This pressure to be cheerful is ever-present. We view and post selfies with grins so wide it is hard to discern whether the person in the photo is ecstatic in their surroundings or grimacing in pain. We all do it, if we’re being honest. I am as caught up in this happiness craze as anyone, which is to say that intermittently make myself absolutely miserable by Trying! To BE! Happy!!!

And for the record, I’m ok. It’s not a cry for help. But could we cool it we with the never-ending Joy Olympics and aim for something richer and more sustainable? Maybe we could aim to just be content. Or – when life is handing us multiple lemons – we could be angry or sad or distraught about the lemons for a few minutes before throwing a sheet over it and acting like it didn’t happen? “Move along folks. Everything’s happy here. Nothing to see.”

Let’s hear it. I want to hear about your bad day when you’ve had one. I want to laugh about our shared misery – the absurdity of it all. The happy Happy HAPPINESS is giving me a severe case of the creeps. Please make it stop.

Somebody strike a Match (dot-com)

Online Dating Gives me Agita  Here’s what happens every time I start to fill out an online profile: I get as far as filling out all of the questions, and then I look at the pictures of prospective dates and feel the need to flee the scene. It’s not that there are not any decent men online. There is a mix of good and bad, like everywhere else. It’s not their fault at all, since I’ve never reached the whole “Talk to online stranger” phase of the transaction. It’s just that I feel like a deli item, on display: “Please do partake of my choice cuts of pastrami.” Is it clear now why men are knocking down my door to get to the wonder that is me?

And so, I ask for your help, dear reader. Share with me your wisdom.