And the 200th entry. I had something much more … meaningful to put there — but I just started thinking way too hard about it. And then it wasn’t fun to write anymore.
Me: i be cookin da beefs
Boyfriend: Dang yo.
Me: saltin da beefs yo
Boyfriend: Just got home yo
Me: Homie’s homey yo?
Boyfriend: Yeah yo!
Me: Yo, yo. That’s a lot of yo’s. Yo
Boyfriend: Yo I new ud say dat yo. I play with yo-yos yo.
Me: I can’t top that yo.
Boyfriend: Yeah yo
When at a party, it’s typical for my family and I to consume obscene amounts of food. We become gluttons, and embrace our penchant for gluttony. We clear our refrigerators, stores of food, food that isn’t even party food. Our menu almost never changes either. We use the grill year round.
Enter boyfriend. Tagging along is boyfriend’s appetite. It’s very cute and tiny. He consumes a ‘normal’ amount with those predetermined and suggested ‘normal sized portions’ that my family seems to have never heard of before. At a recent get-together, we observed that the amount he puts away in one party day is the amount I or one of my cousins puts away in about 15 minutes. Portion of meat equals the size of a deck of cards? Give us an economy sized crate of card decks! One cup of fruit? Give us 10. We will eat till out pants no longer button. We will eat till we pass out.
Boyfriend doesn’t do that. So, we accept that the 6 foot 4 guy will consume roughly less than half of what his 5 foot 5 girlfriend eats.
Given the industry that I work in (Internet/Interactive), I probably spend much more time perusing my ‘blog stats’ more than the average WordPress user.
I’ve noticed the blatantly obvious fact that if you include a series entitled ‘Sex’ somewhere in the blog — it’s going to get you noticed. Especially if you have some sort of thought-provoking or laughter-inducing posts like my suggestive advertising ones. For some time, I was on the first page for Google for the search term (keyword, for all those in the know) ’suggestive advertising’ and ’sex sells’.
So, sex sells for working a highly searched term into one’s blog in order to get traffic… Obviously my angle for this blog has been altered slightly, and instead of talking about sex … I’m talking relationships. Like every other post. I’m getting a bit sick of it… but nevertheless, here’s my newest question.
Physical attraction. Usually what starts a relationship, right? You kind of have to want to kiss the person you start a relationship with. Thus delineating the borders between friends and friends with benefits. Or fuckbuddy and acquaintance. Okay, so maybe kissing wasn’t a good example. What about wanting to be sans clothing with this other person?
So then, what defines moving from a friendship to a relationship? Personally, there was the proof of the guy wanting to protect me. Even when it’s something so banal as seemingly protecting me from his over-friendly yellow Lab (hey, it worked. Neither of us are complaining).
What sold you onto a relationship?
Yes, this is another post talking about the relationship. I commented that I seem to do everything backwards yesterday. Finding the physical comfort before the mental/emotional. I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t fall for him until two months later (it took me approximately a week, in a cute story that involves his over-friendly (and I’ll also say posessing a penchant for mauling) dog). But it just seems I’m more content with just being around him… while he does such mundane things as eating breakfast, dressing, or gargling with mouthwash. I’m more content doing that… than I am with the intimate relations. Now.
Not to say that the physical stuff isn’t grand… but I guess this is a part of growing up that it seems MOST of the population encounters in their adolescent years — and I just figured out… a few months shy of turning 25. But at least I got to experience it.
Oh yes… 2 months. And yes, there has been farting. But he’s too polite to. 
‘A day is a day, alone or apart. You have my heart…
…
did you just fart?’
I want to kill the original poster (meaning the guy who wrote the blog post). But here are the rest of the reddit comments.
Some choice excerpts:
Pickup artists are absolutely clueless. About relationships. They’ve perfected the player aspect, but nothing else. These ‘men’ are just little boys who love to play games and who need to learn to grow up.
Kitten, kitty… okay. Small and cute.
Baby, honey, babe… okay. Endearing. Generically endearing.
Introducing Pengie. Like penguin. Not as cute. Not as endearing sounding. But it works for me.
At least he didn’t stick with “dolphin”. As intelligent as the animal may be, I didn’t exactly take too well to him saying “you look just like a dolphin”.
I’m not sure if this is something universally felt, or if it’s just something particular to me right now. I’m not sure what, or if I can blame anything specifically.
Sure, there’s some aura of uncertainty after college. But, what if, when presented with the question ‘what do you like?’ or more importantly — ‘what are you good at?’ — what if you don’t know how to answer?
And then you really start thinking about the things you can do. And whether or not you can do it exceptionally well as compared to other people who may also be good at the tasks you’ve mentally listed. I’m not going to be given any medals for being able to do the things I do — that’s for sure.
you need to get a fire under your pants
you’re too smart
nothing is easy
you’re always better than u think
Nice statements… but how come I don’t feel smart? I don’t think this is a by-product of Only Child Syndrome — othewise I would think I’m awesome at everything. I do remember a time when I was the golden standard for everything. How come I’m not anymore? I understand that things change, so standards change in turn… But I didn’t think I was spectacular at anything back then either.
I was that kid who kicked instead of swam during swimming classes. I managed to squeak by NYSSMA for piano. What I didn’t have in an awesome voice, I seem to have made up for in sheer volume and the ability to parrot (to sing). I’m a tech-savvy girl — but I don’t do any of that fancy programming stuff.
Am I good at just picking things up quickly — but not really doing anything with it? Everything’s so mixed up and contradictory.
Maybe that’s just the nature of self-doubt. Yuck.
I had a much longer post. No, scratch that. I could have had a much longer post. But seeing as more than 10 years of bitter singleness and general disdain of an overcommercialized holiday has jaded me — I’ll just break it down easy for you.
Wait. But it’s February. I guess this time thing is moving faster than I can keep up with it. I’m a very slow runner, which makes me wonder how I ever survived playing rugby. But that’s a completely different thought.
My anachronism aside… there’s also the other part of this title to consider. Ice Cream. I totally scream for it. But what’s so amazing about it in the middle of winter?
Let’s see… ice cream in the summer. It’s more socially acceptable to get your hands and face sticky with melty sweet stuff. I haven’t looked like that eating ice cream for at least two decades. I was a mess and germophobe back then, although I doubt you could tell from the state of my room lately. Ice cream offers a sweet and cool respite from the summer heat. If you’re like me, and have an August birthday – you know how brutal those summer dog days can be. Ironic, I’m a Leo… and I’m born in the year of the Dog. Sweet irony. No wonder I’m under mental stress so often. One side of my brain is constantly chasing after the other.
But I digress. I just wanted to post about the fact that the guy and I went out on an errand, and in the midst of errands, we ended up in front of a Carvel and had ice cream cones.
It was cool refreshment in the baking heat of my car and the bright sunlight – if you close your eyes, you can certainly imagine it’s summer, except I’m wearing far more layers.
He had the sticky chocolately mustache – not I.
