Hugs are the superior act of affection.
Most would not agree with me, but as a self-identified hugger, I’d take a great, soul-warming hug over a toe-tingling kiss any day.
You can tell so much about a person based on their hugging style — are they a back-patter or a back-rubber? Do they squeeze you around your neck or around your waist? Are they hug-sluts? Or are hugs reserved for just a select-few?
I present to you, dear reader, the reasons why hugs are superior to any type of kiss.
I have a feeling that this is what is going on lately among our elected officials and pop stars
I know I’m a little late in adding to the commentary of what has been going on in the sexual politics of the world lately, but unlike people better then myself, it takes me a while to get my thoughts together in a coherent manner — and even then, I get so heated that I lose all cohere-esness. So, here it goes .. compartmentalized for ease.
I came across this article on Slate today that I thought was completely baller. Rachel Held Evans, an Evangelical blogger took it upon herself to follow the Bible Rules For Menstruating Ladies (both implied and not implied), and because of this she’s making people feel really uncomfortable about their biblical interpretations.
I was raised as a do-gooder Roman Catholic (as most Latin kids are) and was pretty into my religion. I remember actually telling my parents that I wanted to go to Sunday School. I was all about the rites and passage needed to be recognized as an official Catholic. A good portion of family photos include me in some sort of praying or worship stance. I was well on my way to becoming Hilary Faye — I’m certain of it.
So, my plan for lunch today was to go to the Asian food place and get some nom nom lettuce wraps to eat. But STARING AT MY FUCKING FACE was a sign saying “happy hour special!” — that began right at the time that I showed up to get my lunch.
As anyone that knows me will tell you, if there’s a deal — I’m on it. Buy 2 Economy-Sized boxes of Baking Soda and get a 3rd Free? I’m in! A BOGO on wilting strawberries at Giant? COUNT ME IN! This Happy Hour special involved a delish full meal — with a soup and an entree — and even a soda (I love soda, this is why I don’t have it at the house).
So, I gave in, and got the happy hour special, which included a take-out cup-size portion of Asian chicken noodle soup (lemony and cilantro-y! my faves) and Beef with Brocolli, since it’s the only entree that didn’t have any meat or vegetable deep-fried into delicious oblivion.
I sat at my desk, savoring the noodle soup that ended up burning my tongue — and I have to say, that I’m satisfied in terms of how much food I can fit into my stomach. But sitting next to me, is a delicious, still-warm, helping of Beef and Brocolli just being to be covered in Rooster sauce and put inside my mouth!
The last time I saw my father was for four consecutive days over the Christmas holidays. On that fourth day he waited with me over 12 hours at Logan Airport as I waited for a flight to catch in the midst of a snowstorm. We spent the majority of that time watching Netflix together via shared headphones on his iPhone. My head worked its way to rest against the fleshy area between his chest and his shoulder, and he kissed my forehead as I feel asleep to a Straight-to-DVD Steven Seagal movie.
That’s pretty much how interactions between me and my father go. He’s bit scary sometimes, so having heart-to-hearts about feelings and the future are intimidating. I never know if he’s being supportive or judgmental, if he’s proud or disappointed, if he’s joking or being malicious. So most of the time we spend together is in comfortable silence. It wasn’t always like that though. Continue reading
Us.
Notes Between Friends 