Earlier this week I ordered an XBox One, which came today - I got Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag for it, and played it for a while today as it finished downloading. Then I put it away, because it’s a housewarming gift for myself, which means I have to wait until we’re in the new house to really play it. If you want to look for me on there, my gamertag is NinjaComixx.
We also bought a couple thousand $ worth of household appliances today: Fridge, stove, and washer/dryer. Tax refunds are awesome.
A week from today, we will be all moved in to the new house! We get the keys Tuesday, appliances get delivered Thursday, and our movers will be here 9 AM Saturday.
Excited and nervous, and SO ready.
why women’s clothes, made of flimsier material, and generally less of it, costs so much more than men’s…
just another disparity between the genders.
There’s a mindset that a certain subset of celebrities is adopting these days that I really appreciate. They seem to genuinely love their fans, and go out of their way to produce things for their fan base above and beyond what the usual fame machine template calls for. In particular, I’m talking about Nathan Fillion, Wil Wheaton, Matt Smith, John Barrowman, Neil Patrick Harris, Patrick Stewart, and others, who seem to turn the usual star attitude on it’s head and be fans of their fans. It makes me like them and want to support their endeavors even more.
Get Vaccinated! Vaccinate your kids!!
"Between the man and the woman a child had hollowed himself out a place and fallen asleep. He turned in his slumber, and in the dim lamplight I saw his face. What an adorable face! A golden fruit had been born of these two peasants….. This is a musician’s face, I told myself. This is the child Mozart. This is a life full of beautiful promise. Little princes in legends are not different from this. Protected, sheltered, cultivated, what could not this child become? When by mutation a new rose is born in a garden, all gardeners rejoice. They isolate the rose, tend it, foster it. But there is no gardener for men. This little Mozart will be shaped like the rest by the common stamping machine…. This little Mozart is condemned."
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
I’ve been a massage therapist for many years, now. I know what people look like. People have been undressing for me for a long time. I know what you look like: a glance at you, and I can picture pretty well what you’d look like on my table.
Let’s start here with what nobody looks like: nobody looks like the people in magazines or movies. Not even models. Nobody. Lean people have a kind of rawboned, unfinished look about them that is very appealing. But they don’t have plump round breasts and plump round asses. You have plump round breasts and a plump round ass, you have a plump round belly and plump round thighs as well. That’s how it works. And that’s very appealing too.
Woman have cellulite. All of them. It’s dimply and cute. It’s not a defect. It’s not a health problem. It’s the natural consequence of not consisting of photoshopped pixels, and not having emerged from an airbrush.
Men have silly buttocks. Well, if most of your clients are women, anyway. You come to male buttocks and you say — what, this is it? They’re kind of scrawny and the tissue is jumpy because it’s unpadded; you have to dial back the pressure, or they’ll yelp.
Adults sag. It doesn’t matter how fit they are. Every decade, an adult sags a little more. All of the tissue hangs a little looser. They wrinkle, too. I don’t know who put about the rumor that just old people wrinkle. You start wrinkling when you start sagging, as soon as you’re all grown up, and the process goes its merry way as long as you live. Which is hopefully a long, long time, right?
Everybody on a massage table is beautiful. There are really no exceptions to this rule. At that first long sigh, at that first thought that “I can stop hanging on now, I’m safe” – a luminosity, a glow, begins. Within a few minutes the whole body is radiant with it. It suffuses the room: it suffuses the massage therapist too. People talk about massage therapists being caretakers, and I suppose we are: we like to look after people, and we’re easily moved to tenderness. But to let you in on a secret: I’m in it for the glow.
I’ll tell you what people look like, really: they look like flames. Or like the stars, on a clear night in the wilderness.
Think about who you are beneath the skin.
In the most fundamental space you occupy, who are you? Write it down.
We all need to be reminded that who we are is a fluid constancy, divorced from the form we are in.