The Many Faces of Love

I love you. 

..//^\\..

I want to have sex again with you. 

I'm telling you I love you because I think that's what you want. 

I'm quietly in awe of you.

I'm happy not to be with my ex.

I want your money.

I fear you'll dump me if I don't say I love you.

I really wish I felt like I love you.

I want to marry you.

I want you to want to marry me.

Suck my cock.

I believe you offer the security I desperately want.

I want to fix you.

I admire you.

I wish I were like you.

I better say I love you before you start bitching.

I dream about you. All the time.

I want your babies.

I think you'll do what I want.

I feel better when I'm with you.

I have no idea.

I'm in love with falling in love.

I want to get up every morning and make your day better.

Bottoms Up, Lovestrucks. 

Sex is Awkward

You might think that the natural companion to sex with a new lover is satisfaction, right? That might be partially true, but awkwardness will be an acquaintance for at least part of that journey.

Sex is the natural outflow of physical attraction and desire, like a volcano combines crustal weakness and hot magma. Mmmmmmm, magma. Volcanoes, unlike us, aren't raised to have self-awareness, which means that they don't get embarrassed when they leak molten rock all over the duvet. A spurting volcanic eruption, wide open caldera, full-throated screaming and frantic bubbling are the hallmarks of vociferous volcanology.

Once the pressure is released, so to speak, there exists a gap in time where the passion subsides, and reality returns. My thinking is that the awkwardness we feel in that immediate aftermath of an...eruption is part embarrassment at revealing our unvarnished, animal side, and part wondering whether our new partner thinks we're okay.

Will they think enough of us to come check out our geophysics a second time, or will they just want to toss us a bunch of virgins?



Bottoms Up, Hot Pockets of Love.

No Time

Life is full of instances where time is all.

Take dating, for instance. If I were a woman dating a guy, I wouldn't date him for longer than eighteen months. Unless he committed to marry me, that is. Eighteen months is an important period, because it's about the longest a guy can go and not reveal his underlying personality. Addictions, fears, mental illnesses, unpleasant quirks and other relationship killers are extremely difficult to hide when you see that person consistently for that kind of period.

The commitment to marry, by the way, should be his to make, and yours to accept. The fact that he is willing to provide a ring and a date is but a start. When he does that, you then must consider carefully whether you're willing to accept all of his character traits. For the love of yourself and your possible children, say NO if he has anything you think you can correct.

Take note, ladies: you cannot. Once a guy's over twenty, change is only his to make.

Saying NO is oftentimes the best response if the guy falls short in any way from the best idea you have in mind. Making that choice is probably the most important decision any woman can make. Unfortunately, the notion that love will make things better, or that he'll change, or that you will be able to overlook stuff for a lifetime is widespread. And all the more wrong for being popular. My evidence? All the divorces, broken families and non-existent homes, where one parent, usually the father, is absent.

The expression "pushing on a piece of string" comes to mind as I write this. Like most people, I've had to learn all of the lessons about the wrong people the hard way. Without some kind of guide, it's impossible to do otherwise. The biggest take-away I can offer is that it's always better to be alone than with the wrong person, and that new people are always just around the corner...but often out of sight.

Bottoms Up, Tick-Tock.

Is Love Enough?

All you need is love.

John Lennon in 1967

To love is to find pleasure in the happiness of others.

Gottfried Leibniz in 1696

Love has, over the centuries, become the ultimate utility player in the game of life.

Love began as God's go-to starter in an all-star line-up that includes omnipotence, omnipresence and righteousness. Now there's a team. Throw in a little unchangeability and you're looking at an unbeatable outfit. What are you going to challenge them with? Fallibility? Materiality? Mortality?

Good luck with that. 

Which explains why we've co-opted love for ourselves. Love is the most malleable of all the spiritual descriptors, the most likely to forgive, the one that won't judge. Human love can accept a lot of behaviour we might otherwise consider less than godly:

He cheats; but I still love him.

She verbally abuses me; but we still love each other. 

We're alcoholics; and we can overcome that together because our love is strong. 

It's as if love is a kind of clueless fairy floating above everything, ignoring the dark side of humanity, prescribing pixie dust to fix things. Which is fine if you can likewise float about dishing out magic cures, but somehow I think you are with me down here in real life. Our lives are messy and unpredictable, a mystery in almost every way. I think we've adopted love as a code-word for unjustified optimism, to short-circuit disagreement and facing up to shitty things.

But enough negativity. Here's a list of qualities of which humans are capable that in my opinion are more valuable than love, especially in marriage, not least because - unlike love - they're definable. 

* honesty

* patience

* good humour

* integrity

* thrift

* an ability to look life in the face

* a sense of perspective 

and this one, which I stole: 

* absolutely no agenda or ambition for you beyond that you're happy

Which takes us neatly back to the Leibniz quote. In my thinking, a practical love is one in which you wake up every morning thinking about how you can make your sig oth happy.



Bottoms Up, morning lovers.

Your Fear of Rationality Makes Me Uncomfortable.

Is it possible that we've just gone too far? Have we invested our relationships with so much emotion that we've lost track of the purpose of dating and being with someone? What's going on here?

Like lots o' folks, I don't handle conflict particularly well, especially with the women, and more so when I'm "with" a woman. Painful as they are to face, breakups are moments of high stress, even if we're only a few dates in. However, why should it be a matter of tears or anger or recrimination or harsh words when the truth is spoken?:

Sorry, Lena, this just isn't working for me.

In the moment, I get that some emotion is right and fair. But that's why we date, to discover if there's more to "us" than a shared initial superficial attraction. When it becomes clear to one or the other things aren't working, the right/only/mandatory thing to do is to call "time" and do it in as nice a way as possible.


If you're on the receiving end of this, your job is to look beyond your emotion. When someone's being open and truthful, accept it as an act of real friendship. Only bums and losers continue on in something by pretending to themselves and others. False affection is the ultimate betrayal; another word for people like that is sociopath.

At root, this is about figuring out why we find ourselves in a place were emotion is the centre of all relationships. Look around: in boyfriend/girlfriend situations, in parent/child relationships, even at work, it's how you feel that counts. Of course, emotions are important, but should they supersede logic, intellect, practicality and clear-headedness?

I think not.

Fear, in my opinion, is the driver of all this reliance on the emotional response. We fear not ever finding the right person; we fear that the one we thought was the right person will leave; we fear how we look to the outside world. Of course, this more or less proves my point, because fear itself (in this sphere of thought) is the most irrational emotion, and allowing it to drive anything related to abstracts like relationships is the height of illogicality. We've translated fear of physical harm into fear of emotional harm - trust me, there's no bottom to our emotional pool. If you lose some emotion today, you can always turn on the spigot tomorrow.



Bottoms Up, Calm and Rational Exes.

Friday Fluffer - True Love

In an antidote to the brutal, here's a very sweet article about true love.

Sometimes, in the glare of relationship horror, it's nice to know what we're aiming for.

From the Houston Chronicle.

Safe (and recommended) for work.





Bottoms Up, Harmonizers.

When Do I Talk About My Ex?

When do we fess up about our history?

I wish I knew. It shouldn't be the first thing you talk about on your first date, that's for sure. Alternatively, you could never talk about your exes, which might be a leeettle bit secretive.

My opinion is that this is an entirely individual matter. Some people will want to know about your exes in short order, and others won't. I, for example, won't want to know until ten years after we're married -  I truly don't care.

But let's think about normal people. It seems to me that if you are looking for some information about past dating habits, it's about figuring out where you fit in. Am I of a type, or does she date eclectically? Am I likely to be better or worse - richer, poorer, bigger, smaller? - than the most recent guy/s? Will I measure up?

That last question is the most critical. That's the information we're really after.

Will she see me in a good light and think well of me? What are the comps?

On the other hand, if I don't know about her past interests, there is no comparison to make...

Take me at face value, or don't take me at all.

When people get close, it's natural to want to know about loves left and loves lost. The trick is to be sensitive to the other person's fears and insecurities. Being vague and a little uninterested in talking about exes is a great way to defuse things. Just be aware that even if you don't care about your past, your date might.

In the end, folks want validation that they're okay. I think these are reasonable guidelines:

1. No talk of exes until he/she asks. 


That's it.




Bottoms Up, Sweet Sensitive Ones.

Pillow Talk

If you drew blood after sex and examined it under a microscope, I'm sure we'd find it was full of rainbows, starbursts, heavenly choirs and popping champagne. Researchers should investigate this immediately.

The breathless effects of the sex last a while; awesome. It's a Zone apart from everything. In The Zone comes the pillow talk, which is not to say that PT requires The Zone, only that it's better.

I like the pillow talk. I like it because it's about as intimate as talking can get, meaning that we're both more vulnerable and free of everyday thinking than usual. In a way, it's the opposite of arguing, where one or both sides operate from a bunker of hurt or manipulation. When you're in bed, both in the moment, there are no agendas or power-plays. It's a time for innocence. It's a time to meet.

However. Nobody will ever warn you about the dangers of pillow talk. Because of the mental nudity involved, one might spill stuff, stuff that should probably otherwise stay hidden. Little secrets, small indiscretions, gossip; all the bullshit daily human mud that we normally filter - in the interests of harmony - can slip out.

So beware. Sex is wonderful. Pillow talk is beautiful. Being positive keeps it that way. Best not to drag the outside world in to share the moment. 






Bottoms Up, Happy Horizontal Chatters.

Falling In Love

Being in orbit around the earth is much like being in love.

They're similar in the following ways:


1. you feel weightless.

2. euphoria comes and goes.

3. time passes differently (sunsets and sunrises in quick succession).

4. queasiness could set in for a spell.

5. your appetite for food might disappear.

6. apart from the people with you in space, communication with others feels distant.


We like being in love because the body reacts positively. A closer examination reveals a different reality, ie:


1. you aren't weightless, you're just going too fast to hit the earth.

2. euphoria won't survive the realization you're in a tin can with no flushing toilet.

3. try sleeping with ninety minute nights and days.

4. queasiness = space sickness = vomitus = sympathy chucking.

5. sympathy chucking + blowing chunks in space = distaste for food.

6. after a while you'll kill to talk to a convenience store clerk for variety.


Still, if we ever decide to go to Mars or beyond, we'll need to figure out how to be in outer space AND in love. 



Bottoms Up, Or Down, Whichever.

Getting to Yes

 Cavemen are unfairly maligned. For all we know our pre-historic brothers were deft and sensitive sex partners, their women loved, respected and thoroughly satisfied. Without smartphones, online gaming and recreational drugs, Caveman Colin probably paid more attention to Cavegirl Caitlin than we imagine. Let's face it, sex is about the most fun activity to be had when you and the g/f have no money, no place to go and three days to spare.

Of course our cartoonish view of Colin and Caitlin is that he forced himself upon her, with club in hand and ill intent in mind. Rape, in other words. It's our own arrogance that concocts this stuff because there is no evidence either way. That's why we call it pre-history. I'm positing a different slant, that's all.

However, it does raise a point. The aim of all men interested in sex is more-or-less one thing, and it's not the sex itself - assent is what we look for. Getting to "Yes!" - exclamation point and all - is the universal and lifelong challenge that pretty much all men have in common. Once a woman gives the all clear, the sex will take care of itself. Starting the Sex Snowball (R) rolling is actually our goal, even if recognizing this truth occurs not to the average bloke.

Again, we're kinda blinded by modern media stereotypes (drink advertisements, pharmaceutical salesmen, bloggers) into assessing womanhood by sexuality, rather than her availability...to us, the individual. Pursuit of someone whose interest is marginal can be decent sport, but is mostly frustrating. Much better to be clear about exactly what you're trying to do, and indeed whether the odds are on your side. First, agreement; then sex. That's the way it works.

Note here that when she says "Yes", or "I thought you'd never ask", or "Just DO ME" it's a time-limited permission slip. Each session of sex requires a fresh accord, even in the most heated sexual relationship.  In marriage, too, we must always ensure our lady is on board with giving herself to the sexual muse. Conjugal rights are only an acknowledgment that a standing request is part of the relationship, they're not an Unconditional Surrender.




Bottoms Up, Quest for Yes Compatriots.

Throw Your Arms Around Me

Of all the motivations that keep couples together, I suspect that love - in the sense of romantic love - is the least important. Anyone who has lived through at least one love and falling-out-of-love cycle understands the temporary nature of heart-pounding irrational obsessional love. It's a trick of nature to get us to breed, asap.

So what does keep people together? Despite media hysteria, lots of people find, marry, mate, and stick with one person for many years, if not forever. The secret must partly revolve around choosing the right person in the first place. That choice can naturally be driven by emotion, but relationships so founded require lots o' luck to last longer than their season.

Choosing well means asking difficult questions. All the love in the world won't overcome disagreements over all the other stuff of life, a partial list of which might look like:

~ religion
~ money
~ children
~ politics
~ morality
~ work ethic
~ physical fitness
~ recreation
~ socializing

And so on. No two people will ever agree completely on everything - knowing what are not, and what are deal-breakers is the most important part of all this. That requires clarity on the self-knowledge front, which is quite another field of exploration.

Presuming you choose well and find someone with whom the day-to-day stuff is close to frictionless, there's one more factor that I've learned, and it's this: Happiness and longevity in a relationship occur when folks wake up in the morning and ask themselves how they can make their partner's day better. It might only be making them a morning cup of tea, or sending a chirpy upbeat text for no reason, but the very act of placing someone else's wellbeing ahead of your own creates the right framework.

I think.



Bottoms Up, Huggers.

Crazy Motherfucking Bitch

 Miss W pic credit.

There is no pleasing this woman.* She looks at you and observes potential unfulfilled, possibilities unattained. There's no way around it - she sees you as a compromise, a worthy non-profit cause goofy enough to love, not smart enough to admire. We muddle through, chatting up an acceptance storm, nibbling on settling-brand cheese, drinking best-I-can-get wine. Who cares, it's approximately where everyone else is at, right?

It's a downer scenario. There are plenty around like it; indeed, I've been in at least one affair like this. But I'd like to offer some optimism. There is hope if we recognize the following:

1. Love is waking up every morning wanting nothing more than to make the other person's day better.

The difference between dalliance and to-die-for is motivation. 






*Obviously I am not impugning the fetching Miss W, shown. She's a paragon of selflessness.

Bottoms Up, Upward Managers.

The Marriage Spider: Wombatgram #21

Try as you might, there's no killing the Marriage Spider.

Click on Wombatgram for all the hairy details.

How to choose your wedding limousine service.




Bottoms  Up, Arachnophobes.


For all previous Wombatgrams, try the Wombatgram home page, above. 

Digital Love Analogue

 Stephanie Gateshet.

We're clearly moving from centuries of an analogue world to lives defined digitally. The changes are easy to see - we no longer measure, we count;  infinite shading is now thin slicing; perhaps is either on/off.

If this isn't the revolution of all revolutions, I don't know what is.

But, like, whatever. My interest lies in whether we're changing the nature of love. Is love analogue or digital? Do we look at love like a Caravaggio or a PDF file? Is the answer as obvious as it seems?

Digital love sounds awful. A bunch of ones and zeros on a wafer of silicon won't get anyone's heart racing, let alone inspire them to write a song or pen poetry. However, those ones and zeros are canny things; they understand that they're neither warm nor sexy, so they present us with a more lovable facade. The photo above, for instance. Or blogs. Or iTunes. Somewhere along the line, the digital gods found themselves a first-rate PR firm, and followed its advice.

The problem is that all their solutions are good at describing love but hopeless at actually being it. The look that melts your heart, the feeling of her touch, the invisible communication of minds in synch - I guess a robot will eventually simulate these things, but it will still be reproduction of love, not the core.

So I think we're safe for now. Love will be analogue for a long time, probably until your DNA has sex with an iPad, at which point we're all screwed. Or apped. But at that point it won't matter: we'll all be too busy shopping at Amazon for a lover to notice.




Bottoms Up, Microprocessors.

Separating Wheat from Chaff

Mary-Louise Parker pic credit.

Grain silos are dangerous. Fall into the top of one and you might end up suffocating as you struggle to escape, buried alive. There are trucks itching to run you over. Augers want to rip your hand off. And an empty silo can be full of explosive dust. No smoking, thankyouverymuch.

I'll resist the (strong) temptation to compare love to grain silos. Of course love doesn't physically injur anyone. But it can feel nearly as rotten then things turn bad.

My first grain silo accident happened when I had to move cities for a job. She was a friend turned lover, IMO still the best way to find the someone. She stayed, I left. We corresponded, I was busy. She found someone else, I discovered heartbreak. Only sleep soothed.

The loss wasn't fatal, however, and hope regenerated. Another crop came in. I know now the poor odds of success if you're in a long distance relationship.

Separating wheat from chaff. As long as it doesn't kill you. 




Bottoms Up, Croppers.

Feet of Clay

Helene Fischer photo credit.

Unformed thoughts are the clay surrounding the part-time writer's feet. There is one thought that's gradually making its way out of the earth, coagulating into something vaguely worthwhile, and it's this: the envelope. I think we daters and searchers for the one have an envelope problem.

Aviation types talk about the envelope quite a bit. The envelope is the closed line drawn on a piece of paper that defines the capabilities of an aeroplane - airplane for you North American types. Stay within the line, and you remain within the parameters of what the plane can do. It includes everything from the stresses of speed and g-force to the range on a given amount of fuel. The envelope corrals the machine. Importantly, every machine has its own defining characteristics creating a distinctive-looking envelope.

So the unformed thought is that every individual has a life envelope too. Some parts of life we all know - eating, drinking, breathing - but there are tons of specific experiences that define who we are. Lots of these, along with their combination, go a long way to telling others just who we are. And maybe, just maybe, we should look for someone with a similar envelope.

Perhaps finding someone with a similar envelope is a better way to find someone compatible. That's all.



Bottoms Up, Adventurers.

Wombatgram #20 - Relationship Arcs

Naturally, we're all different. Equally, we're all human too. So patterns will emerge despite our best efforts to be different.





Click on Wombatgram for better viewing.





Bottoms Up, Individualists.

Love, Sex and Intimacy - Wombatgram #13

Click on Wombatgram to enlarge.

Is it possible that the troika of love, sex and intimacy circumscribe our relationship life?

If so, the volume of each element varies with the nature of each relationship, as does the geometry between them.

We'll all be different.




Bottoms Up, Thinkers.

When is she my girlfriend?

We lack for accurate descriptors when it comes to romantic attachments.

A vast yawning chasm exists between meeting and marriage, a vast yawning chasm chock full of emotion, imagination, miscommunication, good communication, veiled motives, expressed desires, hidden agendas, agendas right out in the open, fear, love, hate, texts, phone calls, emails, dinners, breakfasts, appointments, missed appointments, disappointments, misunderstandings, understandings, mistakes, nights, days, sleeps and exhaustion.

Hmmm. I think I just described male/female relationships.

Q: What do we call someone in whom we're interested, after the first signs of mutual interest?

A: My potential lady interest.

Q: How about between first make-out and first formal date?

A: My impending woman.

Q: And in the area between arranged date and assumed date?

A: (Unsure) My putative squeeze.

Q: Okay, between assumed date and home base?

A: (Resoundingly) Now that's when I can call her my girlfriend!

Q: Between first sex and sophomore sex?

A: God, I hope she wants to do it again.




Bottoms Up, New Lovers!




Emilie Autumn photo from here [link]

Friday Fluffer - Spanking

I was reading Library Girl recently, she's fun. Really, quite fun.

Link to Library Girl.

Her kink is that she likes being spanked. I wondered why it is that a woman would so enjoy a bit of a spanking. And here's the best answer I found:

Link to Why would a woman want to be spanked?

Interesting title that: Taken In Hand.





Errr, Bottoms Up, Spankees!