Roland Burris, Senator? Maybe, or Maybe Not.

Hey,

So, I was on my couch, taking a break from writing, and I happened to turn on CNN. Now, I'd read the news that Gov. Blago planned on appointing someone to the Senate seat, but I did not read about who the person was, simply because I wanted to be surprised to find out what idiot had actually accepted the man's phone call, much less agreed to be photographed or seen in public with him.

Enter Former Illinois Atty General Roland Burris, 71.

No one can deny that Mr. Burris has had a long history in Illinois politics, that he has been known for his ability to keep on trucking despite three gubernatorial losses, as well as being the first African-American politician to serve in a state-wide Illinois position. 

However, some who know Burris say that he also speaks of himself in the third person, is career-motivated and serves as spokesman for the Help Roland Burris Make Money and Be Powerful campaign. I had an encounter with Burris when I was a child, and I did not like him. I just had one of those "lights are on but no one is home" moments with him. My mother met him also, independent of my experience, and not only was he condescending, she said he just seemed lemming-ish. Now, we all know lemmings are not leaders. They follow. And Barack Obama as a Senator might have been many things, but lemming-ish was not one of them. 

The drama begins...

It's like a bad made for TV movie. I can just picture it, "Close but Yet So Far: The Roland Burris Story" on Lifetime Movie Network. Rod Blago would be played by Eric Roberts. The press conference alone was a circus. First, Blago says that he's been loving the attention he's been getting, then Burris starts giving shoutouts at the podium, which led to Congressman Bobby Rush (who looked terrible...like he might be sick or something) coming up on the stage and basically telling the media that anyone who did not support Burris as a Senator from Illinois is racist. 

Meanwhile, Harry Reid, leader of the Democratic Caucus said before Blago announced Burris as his pick that whoever Blago picked would not be confirmed by Senate Democrats. Due to the fact that I was bored at home, I looked up cases to see if what Senator Reid was saying is legit. According to US Supreme Court ruling on a case of Powell v. McCormack in 1969, if Illinois Congress approved the appointment of Burris to the US Senate, then Reid and the other Democrats would have to let him take the seat, and then convene a special vote, which would require a 2/3 vote in favor of expelling the new Senator. Honestly, they aren't going to go through all of that, it's too much effort to get a vote together, and there are more important things Given the poor attendance record of most Senators, that might prove more difficult then thought. Also due to Bobby Rush making the case for race, many senators may not even want to vote in such an election, just so they didn't have to even deal with the 'appearance' of being racist. Imagine Jesse Jackson and PUSH marching in front of Senators offices all along Capitol Hill carrying signs saying "Racist Senator works here".

Right on his heels, Illinois Secretary of State Jesse White has said that as far as he is concerned, Burris will not get through the appointment process. However, as the Secretary of State, he has a duty to basically approve and put the official seal on documents that the Governor issues, as well as carry out directives issued by the Governor. It is simply his job to "check the person out" not make a determination of whether or not they are morally qualified to hold such a position. 

However, since it appears the no one, including Blago's lawyer, wanted him to make this appointment, people will now be on a mission to somehow find a way to either make Burris' life hell, tie him in some way to Blago, or create some kind of loophole allowing them to give Burris the boot. What a terrible way to end his career, because from this fiasco, there is no escape.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

New Year's Eve (aka The Annual Drunkfest)

Hey,

So there are few holidays that I get excited about. New Year's Eve is not one of them. Something about getting older, more time passing, people acting like complete idiots just because a new year is on the horizon...I don't get it.

Every year I decide to go out and do something "fun" for New Years. Everytime, however, I am disappointed. One year, I did the countdown in a car ALONE. One year, I was arrested. One year, I was in the hospital. Another, I ended up in the bathroom with food poisoning. Once, I was molested. This year, I'm getting some good food in me and then sleeping through it. I swear, it'll be the best New Years ever.

So in an attempt to be more interactive, I ask you, my readers...what was your worst New Years Eve memory? I'll share mine in the next post...mainly because it will take me a while to decide (so many were terrible!)

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Friday Five: Five MisAdventures of My Childhood

Hey,

I've decided to try to do a weekly post called the Friday Five. I know bloggers do them often, where they make occasional lists about things that are on their mind or randomly find themselves the subject of whatever they've been influenced by.

The first time I ever posted something about how I grew up, or even about my family, it rang as something that people could relate to, and seemed to connect with the readers of this blog. As a result, I've decided that my misadventures of my youth are just as interesting as the ones of my adulthood. So, here we go, my Five MisAdventures of My Childhood.

5- Climbing into bed with my mom when I was afraid of the thunderstorms. 

Ever since I was a child, I was always frightened of thunderstorms. I would climb into bed with my mom, and she would tell me a story to occupy my mind, usually about something mythical, and these stories would involve kings, wicked dragons, princesses...but as I got older, they became tales of secret agents, star-crossed lovers, dynasties and government upheavals. All fabricated from spur of the moment ideas, and all fantastic. I lived for those stories, and began to slowly like thunderstorms because of them.

4- Cooking with my father.

My friends will tell you that my least favorite place to be is in the kitchen, but I can remember preparing dinner with my father, who made cooking fun. Watching him create his "Secret Spicy 'Maican Sauce" was always something I loved, not just because of the music he'd hum while cooking, but also the smells. He would tell me about my great-grandmother and how the recipe for the 'Maican Sauce was passed down from generation to generation, and one day, if I was lucky enough, I'd learn how to make it. The 'Maican Sauce, as I call it, can be used to make authentic Jamaican Jerk shrimp, chicken, beef, etc...

3- Sharing Ice Cream with my dog, Freddie

In the summers where I'd visit with my dad in New York, I would be allowed to buy an ice cream cone whenever the ice cream man came. Sometimes, I'd splurge and buy a milkshake, but usually I would buy a chocolate cone with sprinkles and sit on the steps of my house and eat it, slowly enough that it would melt on my hand. Freddie, my cocker spaniel that I had since birth and who was joined to my right hip, had to be restrained in order to not climb all over me and eat it, but became my personal paper towel, as he would lick my hand clean and then look at me as if he wanted more. As a result, I started buying him a vanilla cone of his own. My dad started to wonder why I asked for double the amount of money, and later would tell me he assumed I was buying ice cream for one of my local friends. When he discovered that the extra cone was for Freddie, he would begin to join us on the porch, eating ice cream. No matter what he did, for two summers, everyday at 5:15 or so, all three of us sat on those steps eating ice cream. Even if we were mad at each other or not speaking, it became a silent ritual.

2- Tree Climbing with Kevin

When we climbed trees, we suddenly became the masters of the world. We would climb one tree in particular, and stay in it for hours. Conversations that happened in the tree stayed there, and we experienced a lot of emotions in that tree. Sadness, regret, joy, love, sorrow and pain...they were all emotions that the tree held for us. We would often climb the tree when hiding from the world, and when our parents would call the other in search for their child, we would brave the outside to go to the tree, and usually find the other nearby, if not in its branches. Kevin told me about his cancer in that tree, while he was on the phone with me as I sat in DC, he was safely in its branches talking to me and telling all about the battle ahead. We used to picnic in that tree, and every single time that I pass it, I think of him. He carved our initials into its side as a monument to our memories one day, and recently, I saw a boy and a girl, who looked eerily like us sitting in it, giggling. It made me think of us, and I'm sure that as long as we are able, we'll find solace in its branches.

1- Walking around my neighborhood 

In my New York neighborhood and my Chicago neighborhood, two different worlds existed. In Queens, people were much more diverse, friendly and interactive. I often spent hours just walking around, usually taking my cocker spaniel, Freddie, with me, and I would find stores, friends and hideouts. It was not strange that a young child, a preteen and then a teenager would be ambling around the streets. I often thought about what life would be like if I'd grown up there in the summers I visited, and I would walk around, creating memories as if I had, and laugh at myself for doing it. Chicago, was also its own world, people seemed less open, less willing to understand my exploration and people often would ask me where my parents were. I'd often go for walks and my mom understood this, so she'd let me go...and as a result, she often had to explain to my neighbors that she knew where I was and that it was really okay. The neighborhood was divided, but still held a certain mystique to me, a flavor that I could not find in the streets of Queens. I loved the comparison, and when I tried to explain it to my mom or my dad, they would both look at me completely confused, simply because they'd never taken that journey with me. I felt like those walks were my own secret, one that only I knew about and understood. Because of that, they were a million times more special.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

So Long, Mr. Wonderful (Falling Out Part III: The Conclusion)

Hey,

First, I say Happy Holidays grudingly, simply because I am no fan of the holidays at all. While I do wish that everyone enjoys their Christmas, New Years, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, etc., I don't particularly like the holidays. Probably won't until I've either gotten over my own issues with the holidays or have children that force me to be into it. Even then, part of me hopes that I can just drop them off with either my mother or the family of their father so I can be left in peace. Long story short, bad things seem to happen around the holidays....to me, to my family, to those I care about....so I'm biased. I treat this Thursday just like any other, well...not any other, because I'd probably be able to go get a decent drink but can't because the bars are closed. I really need one, and the drink I made isn't doing much to stop me from feeling like absolute sh**.

Why do I feel like sh** and need a drink, you ask?

So, I probably had the worst conversation that I've had in my entire life. I told my ex-boyfriend in the most direct and straightforward way possible, feelings being damned, that there was no way possible that we'd end up together. He came by my house to drop off a Christmas gift for my mother last night, and I asked him if we could talk. I'd been dreading this conversation for awhile, and as soon as I realized that it HAD to happen, I was loathing the fact that the cycle would be ended, and by me. Part of me waited for him to tell me that he'd fallen for someone else, that the picture of the two of us in a loving embrace on his nightstand had been replaced by one just as intimate with someone else...anything that did not make me the villian in this conversation. I remember it more vividly than I probably should, him standing in front of me slightly slouching down so I didn't feel quite so small, his eyes fixated on me in a lovingly manner but then looking away just as soon as he felt my eyes on him. It was weird seeing him like that, for the first time vulnerable, unassuming and not confident. He looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders and it was up to me to release him from the burden.

I spoke, softly and calmly. "Look, you and I both know that we go through this cycle with each other. We can't decide whether we love each other or hate each other. It ends up with one of us hurt, one jealous or angry and both of us confused." He swallowed as he looked at the ground and shifted his weight, silently agreeing with my statement. I looked at him, and without his permission, continued. "We've been going through this cycle for years, and I'm just tired. I can't keep doing this with you anymore. I can't keep putting myself out there, waiting for you to figure out what it is you want, only for you to hurt me somehow. It's not healthy and I don't have the strength to keep doing it. And I don't want to." I paused, only because he looked me directly in my face, and it shocked me.

He looked at me, and his eyes were heavy. I'd never noticed that his attitude was patient, something that I'd least expect from him, given from the situation. He cleared his throat as if he was going to speak, but hesitated. I looked at him, and he slid to the ground, almost as if his knees buckled from under him. Instinctively, I went to reach out to him, to comfort him, to touch his face and try to undo the hurt I'd just caused him. But, I realized in an instant that I'd never be free of this cycle so, I just folded my hands and looked at him. If he'd looked up at me in that moment, he'd have had me under his spell...but he didn't. Instead, he spoke two words as if they were the last words I'd ever hear him say, and when he spoke, his voice was strangely unfamiliar because it was wavering and soft, as if he were about to cry. "You're right."

I looked at him, and realized that he was sad. Not just sad, but devastated because he knew the true meaning of my words. He looked up at me and tried to find some level on which to connect with me, but I couldn't look him in the eye. He said, "I know that I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I believe that you deserve better than me. I've just allowed my jealousy and insecurity and doubt of us ruin any potential of something real. And I'm sorry. I'll never forgive myself, even if you do." I slid down on the ground next to him, and in the barely lit living room, my hands found his face. I spoke, being sure to not sound like I was yielding in my stance, and the words formed even before I knew I felt that way. "I already have. But we both deserve not to be in so much pain. Love shouldn't be painful, it should be effortless." He looked at me, finding my eyes this time. "So what we had wasn't love? Is that what you're saying?" I curled my legs under me, watching my lower half move, and I said, "No, what we had was love. It just wasn't the kind of love that could be forever. I want my forever." He kissed my forehead and hugged me close to him. "And I want you to be happy."

Losing myself for a moment in the warm, robust smell of his collar that had been my drug for so long, almost too long, I realized that I do want to be happy. But in that same moment I wondered that if my happiness only lies with him...if all my love would forever belong to him. If my life was simply meant to be an extension of his. I thought back on all the memories I had with him, all the time, counseling, all the time I'd believed that this man, whom I was consoling, was the love of my life. I saw everything, him placing a ring on that all-important finger, us running down a hill hand in hand after our wedding, me looking at him for support as I gave birth to our child, watching him sing that baby a lullaby, laughing at private jokes that we shared, growing old. I even saw the sadness in his eyes as I sighed my final breath, the tears coming from him naturally, and then the tears of our children as he passed on to join me in the afterlife. I saw it all, as he embraced me, and it seemed so intoxicating. But it was not real, it was my idealized vision of how I saw life with him, and it was not true. So, we sat there for a while, quiet and not-moving, and it went without saying that I'd been the stronger of the two of us, even though I'd never known it. It also went without saying that I'd officially let him go.

The rest of the conversation was pretty intense. And pretty personal...so I hope you won't mind if I don't share it. But let's just say that after some discussion, the chapter of Mr. Wonderful is closed. Maybe someday we will be friends, but for now, it's closed.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Falling Out (part II)

Hey,

So to continue my previous post, there are many reasons why I cannot let Mr. Wonderful out of my life.

Our relationship was tumultuous, to say the least. It was full of extremes, extreme love, anger, pain, detest, passion, arguments, making up and complacency. But if it is nothing, it is familiar, and I love that about it. I love the moments where I don't have to think with him, and the fact that no matter what the emotion that he and I are experiencing, I can always go to him and curl up in his arms and stay there for as long as I want. He's never, ever pushed me away. That's not the way he is, though, but that's how he is with me, and despite all the potential drama, I don't want to let that walk away out of my life, because overall, there is history there and at the end of the day, I value his friendship, respect his opinion and always will look for his encouragement.

Another thing about our relationship is that although it's full of extremes, it reminds me of the relationship that my parents had. Volatile to the extreme, they fought like dogs. Some days they were fighting, even to the point of physical blows...but then, hours or up to a day later they'd be laughing together or all over each other. It was kind of gross because it was my parents, but at the same time, interesting. When I found my ideal mate, I promised myself that I'd have some of that passion in my relationship with them. With Mr. Wonderful, I found out that extreme existed and it was with him. It was easy to fall back into the cycle, and now more than ever, I find myself standing on a precipice, not sure how to behave because being without him is unfamiliar.

We often go weeks without talking to each other. It's normal, and usually means that one or both of us is pursuing something with someone else. After seeing him out Christmas shopping around the end of November with a girl who obviously was into him on that level, I decided to move on. Seeing him with her didn't upset me as much as I thought it would, and it snapped me out of my whole "waiting for him" stage. So, I decided to go on a date. And it was nice. More than nice, it was drama-free. So, I found myself feeling things that were relatively foreign to me, and while I enjoyed those feelings, I found myself feeling strange because they weren't feelings for Mr. Wonderful. I found myself wanting to explore them, but also wanting to dissect them. I decided to ignore my head and just go with the flow. 

It is difficult when you have loved someone for so long and then you realize that they have either forgotten you or moved on. It is agonizing to admit your love for them in the first place, and just as agonizing to not know what they are thinking when you do admit it. In my case, I've loved three people in my life, one died when I was young, the second loved someone else more and Mr. Wonderful was the third. My love for him probably was the deepest, because he helped me get over a lot of different things. So, when I was faced with the decision of having to let him go so I could move on, I choked.

It goes on even more....

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin

Falling Out (part I)

Hey,

So the current MisAdventure seems to be the cycle that I've managed to fall into with my ex-boyfriend. The one that I'm always mooning over, the one that one of my best friends, Kelsey, is convinced that I will marry... Mr. Wonderful. 

He and I, we seem to live in this cycle where we love each other, get bored with each other, do things to hurt each other, fall out of love with each other, make up, become friends with each other and then fall in love all over again. It seems, in order for us to complete an entire cycle takes anywhere from 6-10 months. We've done it maybe 3 times. The cycle has existed through other relationships, through dating other people, through our own decisions to stay away from each other and through our own emotional issues. 

Essentially, I'm not strong enough to be hurt over and over...and he's not able enough to recognize that he hurts me. In my effort to rebel against him hurting me, I do things to hurt him and end up feeling guilty about them, but what I don't realize is that my behavior does hurt him and only makes him less likely to change. It's an emotionally draining thing to be involved in, and if I was able to realize it was happening in real time, I'd stop and talk to him about it...but even when I've had the inkling to, I can't.

The thing is, I love him. Even thinking about him now, I smile. But then, the smile gets lost somewhere in the memory of all the drama, late night arguing, tears, pain and feelings of loneliness....but even with all that, I can't imagine my life without him. He's become a part of me, and the longer this goes on I begin to realize that I have a decision on my shoulders. Either I deal with the issues that I have with him head-on, if that means relationship counseling, if that means being uncharacteristically honest with him about how I really feel....or, (and I shudder at the very thought of it) I let him go. I end the cycle right now, in this moment, and I learn to live my life without him. I don't really know how to do that, but I imagine it would be the same as any other loss, moving on and simply taking things one day at a time...one step at a time.

I had my epiphany about this whole situation today, as I was driving around getting some errands done. A song came on my radio via my iPod nano, called "Falling Out" by Keyshia Cole. It pretty much explains how I feel when I'm in the "doing things to hurt him/falling out of love" stage...all the pain, the sorrow, the abandonment, and the loneliness that I feel...it's summed up with her words. In the end of the song, she lets him go...I just hesitate on making that same decision...

I'll talk about my hesitations when I post tomorrow...

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

I Always Knew that One Day, They'd Try to Bring Me Down

Hey,

So today, I am getting over being sick as a dog. My nose is red from sneezing too much, my head hurts and my throat aches and I'm exhausted from not really sleeping well. Anyway, I have found out that, yet again, I have a hater. I am never against having haters, simply because they motivate me to keep on my everyday hustle, but it always shocks me to find out who is doing the hating. This time, it is one of the people who I never thought would be so against me.

I'm not about to put them on blast, because that's trifling, especially when I have yet to figure out if or how I'd even let them know about themselves, BUT, I write about them because I need to address a trait in myself. I'm loyal. To my friends, my family as well as the people I care about. It's rare for me to go against someone, even if I hear they talk about me like I have a tail. (And that's pretty bad, to me.) BUT, if you talk ish about my mom, I will pretty much call my relationship with you dead and stinking. That's what this person did. They talked ish about my mom AND my dad, which kinda hurts. It stings something terrible since my dad's relationship with me is so complex.

I don't really talk about my dad much. Not to anyone, mainly because my relationship with my dad is so crazy that I barely understand it. First, he's gonna be 80 years old in January. Second, he's suffering from an aggressive form of rheumatoid arthritis, but more importantly, degenerative disease that affects his memory of the long and short term. He will eventually lose the battle with it, and not remember me, my mother or even the events that have occurred in his own life. Add in the fact that he and I are alike in that we are both stubborn, strong-willed and hard to read, as well as not the most tactful or considerate people and we make a pair. However, with my father's condition, and (assuming) the fact that he is aware of the issues that come with it, he has become softer. He has good days and bad, (more good than bad, for now) and his good ones are filled with love, with pride and with genuine kindness. His bad days are when he's the most disapproving, critical and judgmental. He is probably the one person, because he and I are alike in many ways, who can say the exact thing to make me upset. He knows it too, so when he is sad and hurting and wants me to feel the same way, he hurts me with his words. Despite all that, I can say that I do not doubt that my father loves me. In his own way, his occasional disdain for my life is also his silent approval. He has laughed with me, cried with me, and let me sit in his lap, even at 20 years of age.

My father is a sore subject for me, in relation to this person who is talking ish, mainly because they have not met him. They would not even know my father if he walked past them in the street...and yet, they are alluding that my father is the reason I have gotten certain things in my life. My father, who has had very little to do with the choices that I make, who has had his own health problems and other illnesses to deal with, and if he had any influence over me, would have chosen an entirely different set of rules, is now being accused by this person, this stranger, to have been behind a lot of my successes. Oh, how I wish I could say that. Unfortunately, being his child meant that I'd have to walk my own path, without his help or assistance...and yes, he could have assisted a lot. With money, with phone calls, with an email or two, my father could have shaped a different life for me as if it were no big deal. However, I walk my own path.

I realize now that some "friends" aren't friends at all. And if they certain that they truly are in life for good reasons, they are only pretending and may be pretending to themselves as well. Which is even sicker, in my opinion, and is a solid case for psychiatric treatment. I used to say in high school that true friends stab you in the front. A girl I know, who I was close to once and am not anymore, corrected me and said, "True friends don't stab you at all."

She's right.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin 

Music Sucks, so it follows that the Grammys would suck too...

Hey,

I never watch the Grammys. I stopped watching when I was much younger, simply because Will Smith was nominated for "Gettin Jiggy With It". Sorry, but that's not rap to me. I was so offended by that alone that I decided I'd never watch a Grammy show again. Due to the fact that I had (and still have) a passion for music, my mom questioned me about it, just yesterday. "If you love music like you do, why WOULDN'T you watch it?" Well, I answered her question by saying something like this, "If they call Will Smith records rap, whereas groups like Talib Kweli, Common, Wu-Tang, etc.. get no love at all...I'm done with it."

Overall the state of music today, sucks. We got Kanye going crazy with the autotune (or just going crazy in general, he seemed completely nuts on SNL and even before then, telling a fan to "Eat shit and die" was a bit extreme despite him throwing a penny at Ye), the emergence of a female wailing about her "Um-berr-ella-ella-ella" and T-Pain, who while adding the autotuner/vocoder craze, also inspired a bunch of drunken anthems. So, watching a show that celebrates the best of crap seems like the last thing I'd want to do. I need good music to be inspired by, and the music industry is okay with giving me garbage. So, I conclude that music needs to be revived. No more "remaking" the oldies, or sampling, but just original ideas. If Bob Marley can make a song comparing revolution to getting ganja from people in the neighborhood, surely someone can come up with an original song idea that appeals to the masses enough that I don't have to search iTunes and other lesser-known sites for it.

I've been listening to a lot of abstract stuff as of late, some French rap (je parle en petit francais) (and yes, I can understand about 65% of it, more as I learn about French slang) and old school stuff. If you have any suggestions about good music, let me know.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Dating...I'm Just going to sit this one out...

Hey,

So it's the holidays and I'm kinda missing my ex-boyfriend. Not because of the need to have someone there to look at across the table, to have that person around to deal with crazy relatives, but just because he was an awesome kind of guy. 

I look back on the times of my life when I was attached, and while I enjoyed it, for the most part, I felt that I had to work at the relationship. I would get bored so easily, and either get sick of the person OR they'd get sick of me. Either way, my track record with the male gender sucks. I always manage to feel like crap about it, simply for one reason..and that reason is:

I SEE UGLY WOMEN WITH BOYFRIENDS.

(now my mom said that I shouldn't assume they are great boyfriends or that I'd even want these guys, but I say screw that...if the 400lb lady on the bus can find a tenderoni love, why can't I? I'm a size six, with curves, a NY accent, a penchant for books and thrillseeking and a love for lemonade. I also read books really well, can cook my ass off and I don't eat pork. Who wouldn't want to date me?)

There, I said it. Yeah, yeah, I know it's wrong to see people as ugly and whatnot, but damn! I see physically and emotionally ugly women with boyfriends. I usually think to myself, "Well, if her ugly ass can get a dude, I KNOW there is one out there for me." But then I never find him. I hold out for a particular type, a guy who is smart, funny, kind, strong, ambitious, somewhat nerdy and somewhat good-looking. There are other things I'm looking for, but I don't want to get too specific. Bottom line, that guy is not the guy I end up dating. The guys I end up dating, for the best and worst case of the word, are assholes. Some are good assholes and some are bad, but yeah, these guys are good-looking, arrogant assholes. It's something about a confident guy that just does it for me. I don't know why.

So I end up dating a guy who is the opposite of what I want in some ways, and wouldn't you know it...I end up super unhappy and end up breaking up with them maybe a few months into the situation. It's obvious what the problem is...I either don't know what I'm looking for OR I am intentionally punishing myself by pushing away potential guys that fit my criteria. Either way, my love life is pretty shot. So, unlike the people out here who say to just keep looking, or don't look at all...I'm done. Why? Because the idea of dating just disgusts me.

The ritual of dating or courting began centuries ago when rich people wanted to marry other rich people, and met in settings prearranged by other rich people. In these settings, the future couple would never be allowed to be alone, and would fall in love with one another via letter, not email. Sometimes these couples would not even HOLD HANDS until their wedding day. And while many may balk at the idea of not getting some s-e-x (or at the least, a smooch), marriages in those days rarely ended in divorce. Yeah, you could say that they just stuck it out to stick it out, but they knew (unlike now) that marriage as well as divorce was not something taken lightly. 

Modern conventions of dating are much different. People tend to look for opportunities to be alone, letter writing is d-e-a-d on arrival, unless you count texting. LOL, what a riot. Anyway, it's a game of storytelling. You tell a person the story of your life, they tell you theirs and if they don't sound too crazy, self-absorbed or just don't click with you, they move onto the next level. Then, if they keep it up, eventually physical interactions get involved. Then, it gets dicey because love comes into the mix, either too much love or not enough love, and you either break up, fall in love or fall into a pattern of routine. 

Honestly, I want to be wooed. I don't need the settings of centuries ago, but a line better than "Hey, baby, what yo name is?" would work. Until I meet someone who I think I can deliver on what I want, I'm removing myself from the dating scene. I'm just gonna...sit on the sidelines and watch the ugly women with their boyfriends and continue to be confused.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

A Love Song for My Male Best Friend

Hey,

So, I read a bunch of blogs randomly.  Most of the blogs I read always are talking about sex, the people who have it and those who don't, the need for it, as well as how to get some more of it in your life. In my reading, I seem to find that a lot of folks are under the impression that men and women cannot be friends. Either it's because one secretly wants the other, they both want the other and don't know how to work it out, or they are doomed to eventually try out a sexual relationship and have it go completely bust. 

However, my male best friend and I do not fit any of those three. Not only have we known each other so long it's not even funny, but there's no sexual tension there. Oddly enough, we set up to be a couple by two friends. It worked and we were involved romantically. But given that we were young, it didn't mean as much if we were together now. I think about those times and laugh, because he was a sweet boyfriend, but it was more or less going through the motions. No real "Love Connection" there. 

So, we ended the attempts in trying to please others and just started hanging out. We'd watch TV together, eat dinner with my mom, go for long walks and just talk about things. We'd huddle together on a park bench in the winter and drink hot chocolate, and in the autumn, we'd rake leaves and burn them (even though it was illegal, we loved the smell) as we cooked s'mores and drank spiked iced tea. We planned to take over the world, and we laughed at almost everyone. Eventually, our relationship became that of best friends, and while it was weird in that we never really discussed its evolution, we started to rely on each other in ways that a lover could not meet.

In high school, we ditched classes to hang out together, we walked around downtown and sometimes went shopping, and we made sure that we caught the first show at the movie theatre on Thursdays when admission was $2.00. Those were the good old days. We've done a lot, and our relationship has a lot of battle scars, but we've settled into a groove that proves that males and females can co-exist in relationships that do not require sex. There's no sexual tension between us, and trust me, we've seen ALL of each other that there is to see. I love him, he loves me, but that love is not sexual. So, to all the bloggers, men and women can be best friends without feeling like they must have sex. My relationship with Kevin is proof of that.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*