(editors note - The Mrs Xmastime List will be up on Monday!)
Between my first girlfriend having a kid the other day and the Mrs. Xmastime list looming, I can not help but start to think of my own "romantic" future. I've always been the first to joke about "dying alone" or whatever. Always seemed funny; of COURSE all of a sudden I'll meet my true love and go a-courting/get married etc. Course, now I'm not a spring chicken anymore - but what's most alarming isn't that I'm still alone, but the sheer comfort absolute loneliness has found with myself. I don't wear my loneliness like a hair-shirt, but more like the 15-year old battered sweatshirt that feels so comfortable and we can't throw away. Not good. It doesn't even occur to me anymore to care about meeting someone. I don't think about dating, or falling in love, I don't even have fantasy crushes anymore. Even the Mrs. Xmastime lists are basically just "chicks I'd like to fuck." Except of course for Claire Huxtable, whom deserves even my respect. No, the most "intimacy" I may allow with a woman will be a late-night drunken hookup. And of course there's no intimacy there, no "maybe we can become something together." It's usually her bitching the next morning that I had fucked her "like in some porno." I don't know if that's cause I did her good and hard like a porn star stud, or because after I spell out my name on her ass with my jizz I let Lenny, the dwarf I've rented to film it, put on a Dairy Queen uniform and dip her titties in chocolate. Chicks. who knows, right?
I've been in love three times in my life, and looking back, it seems like the first time was the only one where I was openly "romantic" and in love etc. You know how it is, all naivite and "we're gonna be together FOREVER!!" etc etc. Silly looking back, but at the time it's the whole world. I was open, vulnerable and would do all those things you do when you're in love for the first time, like staring into each other's eyes and writing over-the-top earnest poems where you think you've invented words of love. Shame it was wasted on youth, but looking back was definitely the only time I've ever been in love/romantic without feeling the need to joke about it. The next time I was in love was college, wherein she worshipped the ground I walked on and seemed to live only to please me. Which, of course led me to kinda ignore her, never take anything seriously and constantly blow her off to hang out with the fellahs. Though her not yet having discovered the power a Lady Schick can have on the Golden Palace of the Himalayas certainly didn't help. And then the last time, a few years ago was just one-sided irrational love that is blind, destructive and, of course, drunken. Maybe I could've been "serious" had I needed to be, but mostly I was just a whining, crying sack of man-tears. Ugh. And even then, the few opportunities that DID present themselves to let me be Mr. Cool Romance Summer Breeze, I kinda blew it off. I mean christ, Gettin Ladies 101: buy her a Valentine's Day gift. Well, and a birthday one. Christ.
Anyways. Will I ever find true love? Doubt it. If I did, could I ever open myself up like when I was 16 and that naive? Hell no. Is Lenny on his way over with our "digital scrapbook"? Definitely.
But you know what? I'm taking a first, daring step this morning. right now. Not a real one, mind you, but I will do an exercise wherein I reach out to a lady friend. As this is only an exercise this lady and I are not nor have been nor never will be romantically involved, but she'll get a kick out of it. And it will give me the thrill, if only for a nano-second, of actually taking a swing in the Big Game. Her song, our song, a funny 'just twixt-us" joke I vaguely remember people who like each other doing with each other. So, you know who you are, here's a long distance dedication:
[Girl]
Oh my god, Becky, look at her butt
It's is so big
She looks like one of those rap guys girlfriends
But, uh, you know, who understands those rap guys
They only talk to her
because she looks like a total prostitute, ok?
I mean her butt
It's just so big
I can't believe it's just so round
It's, like, out there
I mean, gross
Look, she's just so black
[Sir Mix-a-Lot]
I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung
Wanna pull up front
Cuz you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh, baby I wanna get with ya
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that butt you got makes (me so horny)
Ooh, rump of smooth skin
You say you wanna get in my Benz
Well use me, use me, because you ain't that average groupie
I've seen her dancin'
To hell with romancin'
She's sweat, wet, got it goin' like a turbo vet
I'm tired of magazines
saying flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back, so...
Fellas (yeah), fellas (yeah)
Has your girlfriend got the butt (hell yeah)
Tell them to shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it,
shake that healthy butt
Baby got back
(LA face with the Oakland booty)
Baby got back
(LA face with the Oakland booty)
I like 'em round and big
And when I'm throwin' a gig
I just can't help myself
I'm actin like an animal
Now here's my scandal
I wanna get you home
And uh, double that, uh, uh
I ain't talkin' bout Playboy
Because silicone parts are made for toys
I want 'em real thick and juicy
So find that juicy double
Mixalot's in trouble
Beggin' for a piece of that bubble
So I'm lookin' at rock videos
Knock-kneed bimbos walkin' like hoes
You can have them bimbos
I'll keep my women like Flo Jo
A word to the thick soul sistas
I wanna get with ya
I won't cuss or hit ya
But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna uh
Til the break of dawn
Baby got it goin' on
A lot of pimps won't like this song
Because them punks like to hit it and quit it
And I'd rather stay and play
Cuz I'm long and I'm strong
And I'm gonna get the friction on
So ladies (yeah), ladies (yeah)
Do you wanna role in my Mercedes? (yeah)
Then turn around
Stick it out
Even white boys got to shout
Baby got back
(LA face with an Oakland booty)
Baby got back
Yeah baby
When it comes to females
Cosmo ain't got nothin to do with my selection
36-24-36 ha ha
Only if she's 5'3"
So your girlfriend rolls a Honda
Playin' workout tapes by Fonda
But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda
My anaconda don't want none unless you've got buns hun
You can do side bends or sit-ups, but please don't lose that butt
Some brothers wanna play that hard role
and tell you that the butt gotta go
So they toss it and leave it
And I pull up quick to retrieve it
So Cosmo says you're fat
Well I ain't down with that
Cuz your waist is small and your curves are kickin'
And I'm thinkin' bout stickin'
To the beanpole dames in the magazines
You ain't it Miss Thang
Give me a sista I can't resist her
Red beans and rice didn't miss her
Some knucklehead tried to diss
Cuz his girls are on my list
He had game but he chose to hit 'em
And I pull up quick to get with 'em
So ladies if the butt is round
And you want a triple X throw down
Dial 1-900-mixalot and kick them nasty thoughts
Baby got back
(LA face with an Oakland booty)
baby got back
24 comments:
As long as you continue down the masturbatory, adolescent path that fetishizes pop culture and cements your rigid, spoon-fed politics (it's not the politics that is problematic, it is your blinkered, baseline assuredness), you will be lonely. Both are insignia of isolation, and most isolation is self-imposed (our worst cells feel like 15 year old sweatshirts).
Here is some advice. Challenge yourself physically, emotionally and intellectually (i.e., start running, stop watching porn, and start reading things that can widen your reach).
Also, are your working? If not, it's unhealthy. Too much idle time. Get a job (unemployment is at 4.2%, which means the only people who can't get one are cripples, nose-pickers, street artists and you). Get a haircut, and a new shirt too, Billy.
It's all a piece of the same puzzle. You've driven this rut, and rather than get out of it or even question it, you've decorated it.
You say you will not find true love, but again, you have adopted the "cool" cynicism of Heston in "The Omega Man" and he dies with a big spear through him at the end.
You're still hung up on the hipness of your loneliness, which also, coincidentally, serves as support for your continued rut.
Life is Dickens and Capra, not Vivid and E! There's still time.
Sincerely,
Marley
Far be it for me to agree with Jacob Marley, but he makes some solid points.
Also, up your alley, read "Are We Not Men?" by Jon Zobenica in this month's The Atlantic:
www.theatlantic.com/doc/200701/girly-mags
If you can't read it at the link, I'll email it you.
Right on Marley!!
Wait. When did loneliness become hip? I must have missed that one.
"Life is Dickens and Capra"? Really? Is that all there is? I like Dickens and some of Capra's movies, but they hardly encapsulate all that is "life"? I think Dickens should be tempered with Tropic of Cancer and Capra with Buttman's European Vacation II for a broader, less corny, view of life.
Xmastime is unhappy, Mike, a fact that is clear if you look behind his stale adolescence and his "woe to me who is tormented but right" pose.
He doesn't need a facilitator, another giggling fool saying "right on!" to his depressive, self-destructive behaviors. Mince all you like about whether life is Capra and Dickens yet further edified by the Buttman series (the creator of which, by the way, got HIV for his hijinks).
You won't be there to bring Xmastime love, Mike. You can't give him children or broaden him or act as a productive mirror to his worst excesses. You're a Greek chorus of the worst stripe, a snifting chimp determined to keep Xmastime flinging feces at the bars of his cell.
You won't even be there when they find him, "Juggs" in one hand, liquid Dove in the other, with the pump shot from too many cheese-slathered meat products.
He needs some rattling chains and a swift kick in the ass.
Let me do my job, Mike, and you can go about digging your own latrine for comfort. After I save Xmastime, I'll come knocking for you.
Thanks, Marley, but I'll have to decline your offer to be my personal savior. Somehow I get the picture of a bunch of Iron Johns sitting around in a drum circle alternately weeping and pounding their chests. Or maybe something like in Magnolia with you in the Tom Cruise role. Sorry, not my scene, brah.
Back to Xmastime. He's a good friend of mine. He's out of work. Have you ever been out of work? It sucks. He knows he has to get a job. He doesn't need you or I telling him something he already knows. I'm not in a position to personally hire him, but I did have him send a resume to my company and was willing to put in a good word for him. Have you done anything beyond your personal, not particularly accurate, psychological profile?
Listen, I'm not a big fan of his political commentary and think the whole Mrs. Xmastime thing is a juvenile fantasy (sorry, Xmas, there will be no Mrs. Xmastime until you get a decent job). He might also want to consider whether he drinks too much (an incident with a half gallon bottle of vodka certainly gave me pause). But, on a roll, he's also one of the funniest guys I've ever met and I'm grateful he's a friend of mine.
Did it ever occur to you, Marley, that this blog may be a way for Xmastime to vent his frustrations with his life and have a little fun while doing it? That's the way I see it. Of course, I hope things improve for him on the job front. That's the one thing I agree with you on. But as for you becoming his personal guru, I would have to advise against it. Xmastime is certainly capable of dealing with his problems himself and will be all the more empowered by doing so.
Now, if you don't mind, I have to get back to "digging my own latrine." Whatever the hell that means.
One other thing, Marley. Am I a "Greek chorus of the worst stripe" or a "snifting chimp"? Certainly I can't be both at once (at least not within the same sentence). What is a "snifting chimp" anyway? Just curious.
Also, yeah, that was too bad about Buttman. But did you know that he also got married and had a baby without HIV? I know it goes against the black and white world you'd like to live in, but, thankfully, we don't all have to live there with you.
Xmastime does not have to heed my advice. Indeed, the only assistance I can give him is the rattling of chains and promised visitation from specters.
To answer your first question, I have never been out of work. I was always gainfully employed as a partner in Scrooge and Marley. But now, Mankind is my business.
I'm glad you helped Xmastime, but he does not need your help. He does not need you to be grateful for his friendship. He does not need to be "empowered." He does not need a "personal guru." Indeed, now that you have confirmed his lack of a job, I say again - he needs to lift a bale, make a buck, stop watching porn, get off the Zinger-and-olive loaf sammies and get his mind right.
There is nothing "personal" or "guru-ish" about such a course of action. It is simply the only true course for his salvation and it is blessed by being applicable to all good men.
Finally, thank you for the information on John Stagliano and how things have worked out for a pioneer who, as Wikipedia tells us, made his mark on this world as follows:
"Ass-to-mouth shots were a hallmark of his early films with Rocco Siffredi."
Mike, what we are discussing is very black and white. Xmastime can continue to elicit your pity and charity, with the salve of your chortles as recompense (and an occasional "good word") or he can wake up on Christmas morning anew and hector some young poppin' jay to buy the biggest goose in town, because he's a new man, ready to buy you a drink, have you laugh at his good humor as an equal and save Tiny Tim in the balance.
I still think there's something schoolmarmish about your disgust with sex, Marley, but you're certainly entitled to your opinion. I am curious as to what drew you to Xmastime's blog in the first place (aside from the connection with Christmas--Christ, now I'm doing it!) since so much of it seems to offend your delicate sensiblilities, unusual, I would think, in one known for being crotchety (oh Christ, I did it again!).
Identifying the pioneer of the momentous "ass to mouth" novelty in pornography hardly seems prudish. It is quite an achievement. Something to pass to the next generation with pride.
Which dovetails into our discussion of Xmastime's soul. I'm drawn to Xmastime as I was drawn to Scrooge. Only, Scrooge never had a facilitator of his self-destructive ways.
Sadly, Xmastime does, making my job as beacon to to his salvation more interesting.
He does not offend me. He compels me to his service, as all men sick at soul do.
boys, boys boys....
thanks for chiming in for ol Xmas BM, but lets stay focused....what happened to Buttman? ewtf? I missed this!
Buttman went on a self-destructive streak after his girlfriend, Kristi Lynn, was killed when she drove off a cliff (she was probably drunk). He indulged his bisexual tendencies while in Brazil and ended up with HIV.
Was Buttman's introduction of "ass to mouth" during the mourning-induced "self-destructive" period or was that innovation a product of his golden age?
You keep using that word "facilitator," Marley. The last time I heard that word thrown around so often, I was being subjected to some corporate group therapy. You're not one of those people are you?
I am but a prophet of a man's doom and I recognize fellow-travelers.
I don't know, Marley. I can't say I share your fetish with ass to mouth. Google it, I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for.
I believe such an act to be vile, retrograde, humiliating and dangerous. It took you to stand in opposition, offering Buttman as a broadener, and filling us in with pity for his dark period, before the Renaissance of ass-to-mouth.
My work is done. There may be further visitations, but remember, Xmastime, the excuse of modernity is no excuse at all, and the pose of the cynic is the way of the damned.
1) GET A JOB. ANY JOB. WORK. SWEAT. GET A PAYCHECK AND BITCH AT THE TAXMAN.
2) RUN. BE HUSKY, BUT RUN NONETHELESS. THE SOLACE TO YOUR BODY WILL EASE THE TROUBLES OF YOUR MIND.
3) NO MORE PORNOGRAPHY. YOU'VE DEADENED SENSATION, OBJECTIFIED GREATNESS TO THE POINT THAT IT IS MERE MINUTIAE, AND IN THE PROCESS, YOU HAVE ALIENATED YOURSELF FROM GOD'S GREATEST GIFT, THE LOVE OF A GOOD WOMAN.
4) READ EVERYTHING YOU CAN, CHALLENGE YOUR OSSIFIED ASSUMPTIONS, AND LISTEN. ALWAYS LISTEN.
(Mike, I understand you have a blog. I'll be visiting soon)
Thanks for the warning, Marley, or should that be Dale Carnegie?
Also, just for the record, I believe Buttman's true legacy lies in his introduction of gonzo, or wall-to-wall, to the porn genre. By doing so, he helped eliminate the irrevelant plots and idiotic dialogue that tended to drag dirty movies down. Contrary to Marley's research, he earned his name because of his fondness for the posteriors of women (if there's something wrong with that, then there's something wrong with mankind). He also displayed a sense of humor, rare in the porn world.
Does this mean I endorse all porn? Of course not. Most of it is crap. But it does serve a purpose and I don't have a problem with that purpose as long as it is done in private and in moderation, and not in lieu of finding "God's greatest gift."
Hey...nice debate! I like how each share a sincere desire to be supportive towards Xmastime, however each have thier own style and response to his expressed woes and desires. Marley's tough non nonsense direct approach is chilling but refreshing, none the less. It's like a 4 AM wake up call at bootcamp. "GET YER STINKIN ASS OUT OF THAT BED,GIRRRRRLY!" Hey...It's a hard word in a harsh world, but sometimes we need that extra firm slap on the ass. Why not here and why not now? On the other hand, Mike has that certain unassuming and gentle ability to provide the same support and encouragment without sounding an alarm. Mike leads by example, and while he never makes claims to having it all together is one man you'd want on your team. Loyal as they come. If Greg were lookin for advice on women, he could count on...Rrthur. All said, there is a warmth here in the midst of the mud slinging which is remeniscent of the characters from Peanuts. Mike is Charlie Brown on the mound. Marley is Lucy. Rrthur is Schroeder, Xmastime is Snoopy and sometimes maybe even Pigpen (just as far as Marley's discription and not in in any way meant as a dig. Pigpen is cool.) I am Peppermint Patty and I got big butt.
Let Xmastime be Charlie Brown.
Mike is mre of a Linus figure anyway.
Sally loves Charlie Brown. I call Sally.
http://www.snoopy.com/
Sally is Chuck's little gsister. Strike that, Chuck. Patty here.
Labor Day Special. Wah wah wah wah wah....( Teacher will be seeing you to see you after class, Rr.)
The Girl Who can only be Sally.
If 0l' Cal were posting, he would automatically be Franklin, though I am sure he would call Charlie Brown.
Sicksadworld is Woodstock.
The smallest of the Peanuts characters but has a big presence for a little bird. She's a little inept, flying and logic are erratic, but she can type and take shorthand and usually is game for anything Snoopy wants to do. Although she's the butt of many of Snoopy's practical jokes, she's the beagle's closest friend and confidant- and has made attempts at retaliation. Because of her size and the company she keeps, Woodstock is an accident waiting to happen. Being a bird and tiny, she gets a little insecure around Thanksgiving and big moving objects. She's the only baseball player who gets an automatic walk if the ball rolls over him. Woodstock talks birdspeak only, and finds an alphabet made up entirely of exclamation points quite adequate to express such emotions as distress, frustration and a real temper. Her flocking friends are Bill, Harriet, Olivier and Conrad." The Offical Peanuts site.
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