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32 • M • New York, NY
- Last Online
- May 15
- 5′ 8″ (1.73m)
- Body Type
- Strictly other
- Other, and very serious about it
- Scorpio, and it’s fun to think about
- Graduated from masters program
- Relationship Status
- Relationship Type
- Doesn’t have kids
- Has dogs and likes cats
- English (Fluently), Spanish (Fluently), Bengali (Okay)
I only read books based on movies. I'm finishing up "Big Momma's House 2" at the moment, it's quite the page turner.
NEVER as good as the book.
No. Go away.
It is really quite hard to find good music anymore. Especially lyrically. So much drivel out there. Most of it is just 12 year old girl lyrics coming out of 30 year old men's mouths. I'm not saying it's a bad music, you know, or anything like that. All I'm saying is that if you get, I don't know, a broom, say, and dip it in some brake fluid, put the other end up my ass, stick me on a trampoline in a moving elevator, and I would write a better song on the walls. That's all I'm saying.
I think we've been over this. But I'll add that I'm a vegetarian. Well I'm not hardcore because I eat meat, but only because I like the taste, and I hate vegetables on a personal level so I'm not too good. Fruit... it's just God showing off. "Look at all the colors I know!"
There are two types of wine essentially, and everybody knows this. There’s the one where you drink it and go, "Mmmm, well that’s ok, can we get 8 of those please, give us 8 of those." There’s the other one, you know, where you go "Get…bleeh…jesus, WHAT is that?" Very, very occasionally I concede you will hit a subtle one. You know, where you go "Ghh…bhh…ah, actually that’s not that bad, that is. It’s quite nice."
Beer must be made by food companies. It makes you wander the streets at 3 am looking for things to eat. "What's that, is it moving, get it!! It's a nun! FRY HER!! FRY HER!"
Vodka is a very deceptive drink, because you drink it and you think, "What is this? This is pointless! It's - you can't taste it, you can't smell it, it's children's booze. "Why did we waste our money on this, bloody- why are we on a runway?"
It turns you into two people: one of you is very nice, you'll go up to complete strangers and say, "Come in, come in, sit down, for God's sake, have something. Have my bed." And then you'll go up to people you've known and loved all your life and say, "Get the fuck out of my house! Go on, get the hell out of here! And leave a tip!"
It's not even a drink. It's a way for having the cops around without using a phone.
The most dangerous drink is gin. You have to be really, really careful with that. And you also have to be 35, female and sitting on the stairs. Because gin isn't really a drink, it's more a mascara thinner. "Nobody likes my shoes!" "I made... I made fifty... fucking vol-au-vents, and not one of you... not one of you... said 'Thank you.'" And my favorite: "Everybody, shut up. Shut up! This song is all about me."
The phenomenon of how the woman’s side always comes up to their chest, while the man’s side only comes to his waist?
But maybe its just pressing the idea of how very different men and women are. And it hides the woman’s chest. Keeps it PG-13.
Men and women are very different. It’s very true. You cannot over estimate how infantile men are about sex. Men are people that have sex BECAUSE they have a headache... or are on fire, or have been shot in the head, or whatever it is.
I sometimes envy the feminine mind, its very poetic I think. I asked my sister recently if she’d ever eaten pheasant. And she said “Not really”. Isn’t that fantastic? To be able to think like that. I mean, what does that mean? Did somebody slip it in her drink? Did she wake up one morning and a pheasant was touching one foot inside of her mouth. What happened? And women have this wonderful thing that they can pick up on things, you’re very sensitive. Things that, we, men don’t see. You know, dirt, relatives, bargains all that stuff. You know, when women say things like “You know, I knew she was depressed.” “Why?” “Because she didn’t finish her tea.” Men need more. “Ahh, I knew he was a bit off, because his head was on fire.” And of course men get very vain. And that’s not talked about, because it’s supposed to be more of a woman thing. But they do. For a man, you see yourself after a bath or a shower and you look at yourself and you think, “Oh my god, look; I used to be man shaped. Now I’m just a random bag of tits. Hello.” And you go into the room and you see the person you’re with, or in my case it would be a woman and you say:
“What are you doing with me? You’re a beautiful person; you’ve got all this fabulous feminine stuff here; furniture and everything. What are you doing with something like me? What is this a fucking experiment?” They’ll say, “Oh, come on be quiet, you’re wonderful, you’re great and everything. Don’t worry about it, take of your t-shirt and come to bed.” ~ “No! There’s stuff in here you can’t see.” ~ “Come to bed, I love you for what you are.” ~ “What I am? I’m a duvet that smokes and drinks beer, that’s what I am.” ~ “Come on, take off your t-shirt and come to bed. You’re a wonderful lover.”
“Yeah, but am I the best?”
Because men are pathetic, and that’s what they want to know. And women don’t have the competitive thing so they’ll tell you there is no best. Then the man with:
“Ah ha—ha! Who was he? I know, its one of those blue eyed guys with those teeth and hair and skin and all that modern shit. And he always looked as if he was on a boat. And he gave up his job in cyber-genetics to go and plant trees in some fuckin’ place. And he had long lashes and could quote huge chunks of Baudelaire as he stirred his soy latte. And he wrote a whole load of books and never told you and you were doubly impressed because one day you found them in an airport. And he played lead cello in the Bulgarian orchestra and didn’t tell you until you spent an hour twanging around on your ratty fuckin’ guitar looking for the first 2 chords of “Da-Doo-Run-Run”. And he was mysterious and everything. He couldn’t call because he was smuggling Croatian children across the boarder to get them to safety, using his fucking knowledge of missile tactics and his inheritance and everything. And then he got involved in some kind of underground documentary film group and was killed in a really tragic way for sedition. One of those guys haah?! I know your type. Now you hand me that shoe horn over there and I’ll take this shirt of and show you who’s the best around here! I may have spent too long in the toilet, but I’ve almost got some feeling back in one of my legs.”
And that’s how it is, that’s how men and women are different. That and the side of the sheet they get.
I don't want to make any grand generalizations about women, I'm not here to do that, it's — it's vulgar. But all I'll say is that they have no feelings. Because it's actually men, you'll find, who are the far more romantic. Men are the people you will hear say, "I've found somebody. She's amazing. If I don't get to be with this person, I'm ****ed. I can't carry on, no, I mean it, she's totally transformed my life. I have a job, I have a flat, it means nothing. I can't stand it, I have to be with her. Because if I don't, I'm going to end up in some bedsit, I'll be alcoholic, I'll have itchy trousers. I can't — I can't walk the streets any more." That is how women feel about shoes...
But - men look at breasts the way women look at babies. 'Aw, isn't that lovely.'
What do women want? As though it's really mysterious. As though it's a big deal. All that women want is what anybody wants. You know, friendship and companionship and respect and a certain amount of leadership with submission and a kind of cooperation at all times and pre-emptive empathy and you know, general telepathy. It's no big deal, is it?
I apologize for even bringing this up, but it is two thousand and something, whatever it is, and it is still very difficult to have a rational conversation about periods.. to a woman.. when it could be relevant. You see I’m almost instinctively euphemistic about it, I don’t want to get into trouble even here! Because I used to say: "Listen, LISTEN... I agree... with everything... you're carving... on the kitchen table, I do. But do you think maybe this might have something to do with your per-ARGH!". That first high kick to the thorax generally did the trick. Now, I only realized recently I’ve been having the same kind of polite conversation all my life, where you say to somebody: “..Hmm?.. You don’t - you don’t want to go to the restaurant, that we said we’d..? No, me neither. And you don’t want to go to the other place I’m about to suggest- me neither! Or any of the places I can think of, I hate them all as well. But listen, the thing is, when we do find somewhere, and I’m sure we will cause you’re starving, I know that, you’ve said it several times; when we get there, I’m actually not that worried about food myself. Main thing for me is, when we get in there, could you run over some of my flaws? Cause you know, I just can’t keep track! I don’t know what it is, if you weren’t here, really I’d be ****ed, I really would.” I don’t do that sh*tanymore. I just say: “Listen, listen.. Are you having your period? Cause you know what, it’s humiliating to argue with a hormone. And I know you’re crying and everything, but you know what, I quite fancy a cry too, I really do. You’ve kind of stolen the show and the waiter’s coming over now but I really would like to cry as well. By the way, crying isn’t proof of a greater capacity to feel, it’s proof of a greater capacity to cry. And I’m not paying for this, **** you.”
It's a myth that men don't have their own version of PMS, of course they do - every woman knows this. It's a very simple experiment to conduct, all you've got to do is be with a man, wait until he starts doing something and then go up and talk to him. "WHAT?! What is it now?! I'm opening fish fingers can't you see?! You come in here, walking on the floor - breathing the air like it's yours - talking and talking and I'm doing something! Look they've fallen on the floor, are you happy?! Are you happy now?! Every time I try and do something for myself, you carbonize and then sh*t on my dreams... You're just like your whole family! Why do I even dare to think I could dream I could imagine I could hope?!"
When people break up, they always use a bunch of lines on each other, you know, terrible rubbish lies, like "It’s not you, it’s me, it’s me." It’s NEVER you, it’s always them! You should level with these people! Tell them! "You know that strange sound you used to hear when you were going to sleep? That was me CHEWING the bed, out of sheer boredom! OOOOHH, How I HATE you, I hate you so much it gives me energy! I have to get up early in the morning to hate you because there isn’t time enough in the day. Please, GO AWAY!" Or that other BULLSHIT: "I need more space!" People never quantify exactly how much space they really need.. do they? But strangely enough, it always seems to be the exact same height, depth and width as you.
Now, I'm gonna have a nap.
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