Something I absolutely love about the Obamas is the intensity of their attraction to each other. It’s so obvious. He lights up when he sees her. She totally adores him. But it’s bigger than that.
Probably the best footage I’ve ever seen that represents their relationship was this footage shot behind the scenes while they both were seated on stage during some other talking-head’s speech, and Barack and Michelle were holding hands. But it was different. He had this shy boyish smile, the kind teens will have when they’re ogling someone they’ve got a mad crush on, as he looked down at her hand and kept tracing his thumb over it, outlining her fingers, playing with her ring, and squeezing it here and there. And he just kept having this little shy grin as the moment stretched on and on, totally unaware the camera was on him, just having this seemingly private-yet-public endless moment with his wife in front of thousands of people, while someone else apparently had the camera and the limelight on ’em.
And I just thought, you know, you don’t see that in politics. You don’t see romantic gestures with intimacy and immediacy. There’s a reason so many political marriages are called marriages of convenience, or political unions. Passion doesn’t seem to have been their primary motivation, most of the time.
I mean, it’s awesome to see a 14-year marriage with passion, and in public. They’ve publically admitted they have a great sex life. They still have “date” nights, and regularly, even during the campaign. He’s religious about getting home for family Sundays, even during the heated campaign he’s been waging. Their two kids giggle and laugh, openly admitting that they love it when their parents cuddle and kiss in front of them, and they’re not ashamed at all about their parents’ romantic life.
Michelle Obama said it pretty great when asked if she was worried about fidelity in politics: “I never worry about things I can’t affect, and with fidelity … that is between Barack and me, and if somebody can come between us, we didn’t have much to begin with.” Continue reading
Category Archives: General
The End of An Era: Godspeed, Cool Hand Luke
Paul Newman died overnight at the ripe old age of 83.
When it comes to Hollywood stars, they just didn’t get better than Paul Newman. The best of ’em, he never let it go to his head. Probably more famous for his salad dressing and tomato sauce, the guy was a different kind of idol.
In a vapid, pointless society like Hollywood, where it seems weight and fashion matter more than anything, Newman never subscribed to being ordinary. He had a Porsche 356 engine put into his VW Bug, for god’s sake. He wore a beer bottle opener as a necklace.
He was a bad boy who wasn’t bad. He gave $150 million to charity. He helped kids. But he celebrated antihero and loser roles in his movies, rather than pursuing the roles of perfect goodlooking people (like Tom Cruise often does, for instance). He embraced that side of him and we loved him for it.
If there’s a Hollywood guy I wish could be emulated more often– from the blue eyes and the incredible ass to the heart of gold and the mischievous smile– it’s Paul Newman.
Later, Paul. It’s been real.
Some Pre-Birthday Thoughts on a Busy Friday Morning
After a couple months of everything in life feeling like it was a little harder than it needed to be, and life just throwing one sucker punch after another, it feels like the proverbial clouds have parted and ease is raining down upon me.
My week has been busy, as will the next few days be, too. My mind’s not on sex, not on writing, so I’m just taking a moment to share before the craziness comes down.
Some family’s coming to visit me this weekend, as I secretly suspect my aunt wants to shower a little money on me after having lost 45+ pounds this year. I was laughing on the phone with her last weekend, saying how I’ve suspended my weight-loss campaign (before McCain’s “suspension madness”) because I can’t afford the clothes I need for my new body, let alone a skinnier one, so I’ve pushed the pause button for the last couple months. All of a sudden I get this phone call last night saying they’re coming to town and seeing me for the first time in two years. I can’t help but smell a shopping trip. (Please, Cosmos?)
Monday I turn 35. Wow! The end of an era. The end of being in that coveted 18-34 demographic. I will officially be out of the realm of cool. And I couldn’t care less. Continue reading
Call for Gifts! Call for Gifts!
You people realize you only have four days left to get me a birthday present before I turn 35, right? I mean, SNAP, SNAP, here.
Time to get crack-a-lackin’! I mean, the ripe age of 35? Gifts cushion the blow, I’m told!
If you’re having troubles choosing what to appease my voracious appetite for life with? Books are a great start. Or clothing store certificates. Or booze. We loves the booze. And PayPal is willing to accept your credit cards.
Sure, there are worthy things to contribute your money to… but why would you do that when you can give to me?
Oh, and confidential to Clay Aiken: Wow. I would have never guessed! Except for the fact that you totally epitomized “flaming closet boy” forever. Just saying.
[And if you think this posting is crass or selfish, come on, have a sense of humour. Or just click through to my PayPal account.]
A Little Political Round-Up: Good News!
I definitely get into the politics on this blog but you wouldn’t believe how much I’m often restraining myself.
Lordy, have I got me some opinions.
But tonight I’m going to bed with this odd little thing. It’s there, niggling. Deep, deep down, burrowed in the base of my belly, there it is: Possibility. A little thing called hope.
Here, in one of the darkest political weeks I can recall, like, ever, a niggle of hope. Maybe even a wiggle?
The Washington Post has announced, for the first time since Clinton’s win for the White House, a Democratic candidate has broached the 50% mark in polls in the weeks leading up to the election. Obama has snatched a considerable lead — nine points — over McCain. 52% to 43%. Continue reading
My Bad, Bad Week: More Than You Need To Know
I couldn’t possibly feel more unattractive than I do today. Except maybe if I had an 8-inch goiter growing out of my neck and crumbling teeth or something.
I have an eye infection that has my left eye with this just-throttled-by-Rocky swollen-bloodshot look going on. That’s fun. Really.
Because that wasn’t fun enough, I’ve also come down with a vaginal yeast infection. (I’m so not even thinking about men right now, or sex, or arousal, or orgasms.)
Throw in the fact that I’ve just found out these ARE cockroaches in my apartment — German ones.
(My Twitters upon learning this were: “But it’s official. They were cockroaches. German Cockroaches. SS cockroaches. Brownshirts. Bad! They should have been gassed. Karma!” Followed by, “Snell! Snell! Achtung, roach! Achtung! At least now I know their language. “Ich liebe gas!”)
Continue reading
A Little Reflection in the Morning
A year ago this week, I was hanging on with the grimmest, thinnest of threads, as I completed the last week on a job I probably never should have accepted.
I worked in close quarters with one of the most negative, depressing people I’ve ever known, for six long months. By the end of it, I’d gained 20 pounds and found myself being a constant complainer, just like that toxic person I was working with. I hated who I had become.
My old employers offered me my old job back, which was nice of them since I’d been a bit of a flake in the two years preceding, but I guess I’m more charming than I know.
I promised myself, upon returning to my old job, that I’d take it with the intention of improving every area of my life.*
I’ve done that. Yesterday I was a bit down, thinking how much I’ve blown the last couple of months, fit-wise, and how much more I could have accomplished. This morning I’d been trying to tell myself that, sure, I could have accomplished more, but what I have accomplished is pretty darned good.
But remembering this week last year, that really put a grin on my face. The closer I got to my last day on the job, the more and more I realized how much I was doing the right thing. I just up and realized how much I hated being around that toxicity, and how much I loathed feeling like my life was owned by work. My entire life had become devoured by my job.
In fact, that was true even to the point that they had found out about my blog, and not once but twice said, “Well, we know you blog about sex. This isn’t good. We’re not sure what we think yet. Don’t ever write about work. And be careful what you write about.” Continue reading
And Then It Was Monday
Hi, kids. We haven’t had a catch-up chat for a while, have we?
I’d love to have something brilliant to write for you today. Really. I got nothing. So you can leave now if it’s profundity you seek. For you, good lasses and sirs, I offer a serving of vapidity.
See, I spent my whole weekend huffing Lysol, questing to kill bugs, and doing one of the deepest apartment cleans ever (but there’s still more work to do — the storage unit, cleaning the oven… does it ever end?). Mental faculties? Not so much.
I do, however, have a faint eau de sterilized green apple Lysol-ly scent wafting off me this morning. I’m fresh AND germ-free! And I think I still hear braincells popping off to their chemically-induced deaths in the back of my cerebellum. “No, Lenny! Don’t jump! The air’s clearing, really!”
Curse you, bugs, for the damage thou hath wrought upon me!
And despite wanting to turtle naked and lazily under my blankie as the warm sun beats down on me in bed as the should-be ease of this day washes over me, the reality is, I’m pretty close to hopping on my bike to suffer another 45 minutes of labour as I moan and groan my way up the steep-ass hills of this town on my way in to what will finally be some PAID work. For seven hours. Followed by more cycling.
Today could well be the last hot day of the year. Hopefully not. But it’d be wrong to let it pass by without sucking the marrow from it and enjoying every last bead of sweat I can muster out of this late-season gift .
My “kicking ass and taking names” summer became derailed after July 17th, when I came down with bad bronchitis that kept me from cardio for nearly a month. I had one valiant week then where I cycled four times in mid-August, but then I got insomnia, where I had 40 hours sleep in about 15 nights, followed by a week at work with overtime. Needless to say, I haven’t found my rhythm in weeks.
I did get a good cycling week in last week but had aimed for four days of it, but saw Mr. Cockroach on Thursday night and resolved to do the Molly Maid/Rambo thing this weekend instead. Again, derailed. Three’s good, though, and I can make this week a second in a row.
It’s Monday now, a whole new week, and no matter how much it kills me, it’s on, baby. Music’s recharging, cycle bag’s packed, sun’s stoking the fire. It’s a great day for it.
I found myself thinking a lot about when I did a cleaning frenzy like this in March, though, when I totally gutted and cleaned my place, and resolved to spend the next six months being very active. I did a pretty good job of it — the cleaning and the six months. So I found myself perceiving my weekend as a setting of the stage upon which the next six months of life will unfold.
It’s a pretty great way to get perspective on blowing away one of the nicest sunny September weekends I ever recall in Vancouver.
Vancouver, for those who don’t know, vacillates between a sunshiney Eden and the downpours of the most urban rainforest in the world. Surrounded by impressive mountains yielding insane snowboarding within 10 minutes of downtown, the local geography hems in any rainclouds — the weather amassed from the long journey over the Pacific, usually up from Hawaii, falls down on this often-soggy urban jewel before the clouds weaken and leave the for the Prairies, which will be left arid, on their travels eastward. “September” is often something not to be banked upon in this town — make sure your travel agent knows. Summer ostensibly ends August 25th because the rain can come early and hard, and stay for months. If you think that’s writerly hyperbole, then go look up the definition of “temperate rainforest”, by which should be a picture of southwest British Columbia.
Today? Sunny and 24/80 degrees. Tomorrow, a little cooler. By Thursday, rain. Will sun return? A Vancouverite never knows. Hope, however, we collectively practice.
So, today I ride. Carpe diem.
I’m consciously getting my game back on over the next couple weeks. My 35th birthday’s on the 29th. You should donate a birthday gift to my PayPal account so I can buy some wine and panties. Priorities being what they are and all. 🙂
Love your blogger! Feed her! Get her drunk! One reader claims to be sending me BDSM toys. I say, bring it on!
I do digress! Anyhow. Dating: I actually have more men in the wings these days, about four or five, and with this great late September weather, I’m not interested in dating at all. I want to get my mojo back, feel like I’m back on my path to fitness. But the question is, can I string ’em along? Should I? Dare I? Usually doesn’t work well. But perhaps I’m not the only one not wanting to squander these last days of summer.
It’s a shame I’ve forsaken such a blissful 48 hours in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But I feel like this place I’m in this morning, this verge I’m on with what seems to be another exciting chapter of life about to unfold, is a place I’d have gladly paid money to get to. Instead, admission was a fevered weekend of cleaning. C’est la vie.
And if you’re wondering where I’m at with weight? No clue. I don’t care. Once I’m back on path, I’ll check it out. I don’t feel like I’ve gained or lost. I think I’m in limbo. Considering all the chorizo and goat’s cheese I enjoyed on the weekend, “limbo” has been working for me. 🙂
Happy Monday, y’all. Why don’t you, too, try to suck the marrow out of your day in some way? Take five to do something you deserve. Life’s too fucking short. Even on Mondays.
PS: Unfortunately, people really are THIS stupid.
Hi, I'm Steff, I'll be Your Blogger. Some Ideas I'm Considering… & Sugasm
So, I suck. I’m totally behind the times with Sugasm, and it would seem I was the top pick in week 144. Cool. To anyone who voted, thanks so much. 🙂
We’ll get back to that later.
I’m kind of in this whirlwind with a mental list of a thousands things to write about and I just can’t pick which one to run with.
In the next while, though, some of the things you can expect to see from me are a little more on my recent efforts in pursuing men. Like, why, after a veritable Sahara desert of dating for the last two years I suddenly decide I’m interested in dating, and I land 10 first dates in a month? I mean, is there something to the old wisdom of our ability to project our needs when we’re ready to really go there? What’s the deal? Why now, why so easily? Why? Not that I’m complaining.
Well, okay, I’m complaining: I still haven’t had good sex. I could’ve probably shagged, easily, half the dates I had, but why would I? None of them really smacked of being my type. So do I have the right to complain about not getting laid if I’m the one who’s opting out of charity fucks when they’re there for the taking? Continue reading
A Quickie Hello
I spent my Saturday slacking off but tidying, then launched into the mother of all cooking nights*.
Now’s a cycling and visiting-people day, for which I’ve got to rush.
Tune in tomorrow when I’ll be reviewing a couple sex toys. Tuesday I’ll be running a little something that ponders how rough I liked to play as a kid and maybe how that influences who I am today. Bondage, anyone?
Meanwhile, hope everyone’s weekend finishes fab. We’ve got a late-season burst of beautiful sun and warm temperatures, and I’m fucking thrilled a bike figures into my day’s plan.
*I made my highly sought-after sundried tomato-basil-garlic butter that I do every August and give to close friends and family, who all gobble greedily. I roasted a bohemoth of a kosher chicken that’ll be the basis of everything I eat this week. And I grilled a dozen sweet-tooth red peppers for a nice bruschetta of the peppers, garlic, and good olive oil for appies when I visit some goodly folk today. Wanna make my butter with the end-of-season harvest? Approximately a pound of sundried tomatoes in olive oil [oil drained] with a pound of butter and a half head garlic, as well as a couple cups of fresh basil, for which you can use the stalks too. Good salt. Pureed. 🙂 Keeps for months in a cold fridge, about three months or so. I doubled the batch to split between three people for the season.