Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<





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Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?


"50 First Dates"






Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.

Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Find Federal Officials
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Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)

Quasar
Hyperbole
Amenable
Taciturn
Ennui
Prophetic
Tawdry
Hubris
Ethereal
Syzygy
Umbrageous
Twerp
Sluice
Omnipotent
Sanctuary
Malevolent
Maelstrom
Luddite
Subterfuge
Akimbo
Hoosegow
Dodecahedron
Visceral
Soupçon
Truculent
Vitriol
Mercurial
Kerfuffle
Sangfroid




























 







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Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue

Slanglish

It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations


Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"


















 
Mail Trillian here





Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)

CellStories

Alliance for the Great Lakes


Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras


The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.



Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.

Shag

Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto

Jotto




Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.





Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"







Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.


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Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains





























Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero

 
Wednesday, December 15, 2010  
Ahhhh, it's the most wonderful time of the year.

Fa la la la whatever.

Have you seen the ad about "being the Santa you want to be" this year? I also saw a jewelry ad coaxing men to get in touch with their inner Santa and buy their women diamonds. The ending fade-out implies that undying love, respect, faithfulness and a lot of sex, even the stuff she doesn't usually like to do, will follow.*

This whole be all the Santa you can be and finding your inner Santa stuff has reminded me about a classmate when I was 6.

He was known as The Jesus Kid. I can sense you rolling your eyes in instant recognition of the person whose memory I just conjured. There was a Jesus Kid in your class, too. I've learned almost everyone had a Jesus kid in their class or school.

I also realize you are surprised to learn my school's Jesus kid wasn't me. Yes, at age 6 I was still a Jesus enthusiast. But I've always been extremely secular. Even in my most fervent and zealous Jesus years it was deeply personal to me. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed about my religion and I don't remember anyone telling me to keep it on the down-low in public. It was just always a very personal "this is between me, God and Jesus" thing for me. Plus being raised old school Methodist/Presbyterian instilled me that humility matters most and anything remotely resembling bragging, boasting or showboating is not only socially boring, it's morally wrong and spiritually offensive. We are mere mortals. Period. Know your place in this life. Mere. Mortal. Humble servant. There's a fine line between proclaiming your creator and self righteous bragging. Going around spouting holier than thou about your relationship with Jesus/God or anyone immortal could backfire on you on judgment day. I erred on the side of caution and kept my thoughts and beliefs on religion between me and the Holy Men lest I cross the line into self righteous bragging. It was just safer.

And when I entered that classroom and discovered that The Jesus Kid was the class butt of jokes and subject of ridicule the lesson was cemented. I soon discovered The Jesus Kid's religious zeal wasn't really the reason why he was the butt of jokes and subject of ridicule. He was fairly good at math but fairly bad at all other subjects. He was still struggling with his alphabet, for crying out loud. Oh. And he smelled funny.

I was momentarily relieved that the class already had a whipping boy. I selfishly thought that finally some of the teasing aimed at me would subside, or could at least be deflected onto The Jesus Kid, or, maybe, just maybe, The Jesus Kid and I could form some sort of alliance.

I was six. I didn't fully understand the intricacies of social justice in the classroom. But I was learning. I'd not yet read Lord of the Flies and did not realize that life was imitating art right there in my classroom. 8 years later, when I did read Lord of the Flies, I struggled to get through it because I couldn't stop crying. The tears wouldn't stop welling in my eyes. It hit home in ways I don't think Golding could have imagined when he penned it.

This is going somewhere, I promise.

The Jesus Kid and I did not form a bullying victim alliance. He turned out to be mean. I suppose all the bullying and his personal struggle with, you know, the alphabet, took a heavy toll on him. I did feel sorry for him and I didn't tease him - I was never a teaser. a) I never wanted to tease anyone, b) it wasn't my style, and c) I never had the opportunity. I was always at the bottom of the classroom social hierarchy and therefore teasing was strictly forbidden.

I wasn't initially aware of the parallels between classroom humility and religious humility, but a few years later (before Lord of the Flies) I made the connection and knew at some point I would have to decide if this was a personality trait, a quirk of my individual DNA, or if it was something I was learning. This realization hit me during my introduction to the concept of nature v. nurture. Gregor Mendel was merely a science lesson about beans to most of the kids, but for me a light bulb of awareness clicked on and after that I started weighing everything on the scales of nature v. nurture. "Is he mean just because that's who he is, or is he mean because that's how he is?"

Right.

The Jesus Kid.

I soon learned why he was known as The Jesus Kid. No, he didn't go around quoting scripture or talking about Jesus. No he didn't condemn the rest of us kids to eternal damnation. He did pray before eating his lunch, but some of the other kids did, too, so that wasn't enough to earn him the mocking moniker. He was tagged The Jesus Kid because he was not allowed to sing Santa Claus songs. He was not allowed to even talk about Santa, even utter Santa's name. He did not believe in Santa. He believed (Believed) in Jesus.

You know, okay. Fine, cool, whatever. But here's the thing. He was so devout and steadfast in his conviction that he refused to even sing the name Santa in songs. (This was in a very, very small town back in the days long before political correctness and zealous litigation.) I later discovered his conviction over Santa was really just a deep, deep fear of being found out and then beaten by his extremely pious parents.

Ours was a religious town, but a very secular one. We said the pledge, every day, one nation, under God, and it was totally okay if we included Jesus in our Christmas/Easter drawings. (yes, Christmas and Easter were talked about in the classroom, primarily because that's when we had vacation during the school year.) But if you wanted to pray or really talk about religion in school you went to the Catholic school. The Jesus Kid's refusal to sing Santa songs was fine with our music teacher and holiday pageant director. He didn't have to participate.

But.

He wanted to participate.

So. He hit upon the idea of replacing Santa with Jesus, and Santa Claus with Jesus Christ. So, "Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus Lane" became "Here comes Jesus Christ, here comes Jesus Christ, right down Jesus Christ Lane."

The Jesus Kid especially loved Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Go ahead, sing Rudolph and replace Santa with Jesus. I'll give you a minute.









Yeah. I know.

The Jesus Kid was an idiot savant.

For me it was akin to learning Dark Side of the Moon syncs with Wizard of Oz. Just a coincidence, but wow, that's kind of weird. It's kind of uncanny. It illustrates Jesus' love of animals and those less fortunate along with lessons of forgiveness, humility, acceptance, His almighty light and salvation found by following said light.

But of course I didn't understand the deeper meaning behind Rudolph when Santa replaces Jesus. That didn't occur to me until much later (probably about the time I was sobbing through Lord of the Flies). The Jesus Kid was just a kid who smelled funny, didn't know the alphabet, didn't believe in Santa Claus and got teased by the other kids.

I foolishly thought we might have some common ground vis a vis the teasing and that we could be, if not friends, at least friendly.

That's when I discovered that The Jesus Kid was mean. When my other classmates mocked, cajoled, tormented, teased and generally picked on me for being tall/smart/a good drawer/whatever they deemed mockworthy that day** The Jesus Kid immediately joined in the mockery. I quickly realized The Jesus Kid was beyond thrilled that a kid other than him was being picked on and consequently seized upon the opportunity to a) bask in the glory of not being teased, and b) be the one throwing out the insults instead of receiving them.What would Jesus do? Well, not that. So much for the Jesus Kid walking in the light of the Lord.

Nonetheless, I extended an olive branch of peace and hope to him in the form of offering to help him with his alphabet and reading. Mindful of his feelings, I tried to make it sound not like charity but instead a partnership. I'd help him with his reading if he'd help me with my subtraction.

The Jesus Kid wouldn't have anything to do with that plan. "Figure out your own subtraction problems. Hey, the new tall girl can't do subtraction!! Ha ha!!" (Could have said, "Et tu, Jesus Kid, et tu? I can to do subtraction, it just takes me a long time to figure it out. And I know my alphabet, even backwards, and I even read chapter books. And I don't smell funny. Like some other kids whose name I won't mention, Jesus Kid." Instead said: Nothing.)

For that reason I held The Jesus Kid in higher contempt than some of the other kids who teased me. He should have had more empathy and compassion for a kid being teased. Stupid, smelly Jesus Kid. I kept my distance from him. Forever.

Except during the holiday pageant season when I had to stand next to him during two songs. So I had to hear him singing Jesus instead of Santa in all our songs.

To this day when I hear a Santa song I chuckle at the irony of replacing Santa with Jesus.

Maybe it's the press the atheist billboards are getting, or the retaliatory "Jesus is the reason for the season" billboards, or the whole "I will say Merry Christmas, dammit" blogging, or maybe it's because I'm unemployed and poor so I notice this year's marketing more. Whatever the reason, the "be the Santa you want to be" and "find your inner Santa," has triggered a lot of memories of The Jesus Kid. I've been mentally swapping Santa with Jesus, "Be the Jesus you want to be," "find your inner Jesus," and the ironies are making me laugh. And opened the floodgates of my personal issues.

Of all people, you'd think a confused, unemployed, single, childless agnostic would be the first to either a) jump on the Scrooge wagon or b) rally against religion-based marketing.

I'm not big on The Holidays. I'm especially not big on the marketing of The Holidays. Regardless of my feelings about Jesus now, it's weird (and for Believers, blasphemous) to use Jesus as a means to a capitalistic end. "It's Christmas! Buy presents! Expensive presents! Prove how much you love/care about your family and friends by spending a lot of money on stuff to wrap up and give as a way to honor Jesus' birth." Even if they leave Jesus out of it, retailers are advertising for Christmas sales, cashing in on religion. Using a religious holiday for commercial profit is a long standing tradition, predates Jesus. But I dunno, I suppose it's the religious humility that was instilled in me, cashing in on religion, using religion, especially Jesus (of all people) to hawk diamonds and cars seems really obtuse.

And since my dad died Christmas has been...difficult. To say the least. My dad loved Christmas. I mean, he loved it. Everything about it. He embraced it with such enthusiasm it was impossible to remain Grinchy around him. His religious humility took a vacation during December. Outdoor lighting displays, indoor lighting displays, there wasn't a room in the house that wasn't decorated for Christmas. And: Presents. Lots and lots and lots of presents. Both my parents got a little nuts with Christmas presents, even my mother. Oh, she tried to keep us humble with gifts of socks and underwear, but, her attempts were feeble and would never stand up in court. "Yes, yes, we see Exhibit A, the socks, but enter Exhibit B, a Barbie Dreamhouse with furniture and a Barbie pool (sold separately, some assembly required)."

To be fair, though, my parents were equally zealous about the Christ part of Christmas. Sure, we had a countdown to Christmas calendar with Santa and reindeer shaped chocolates, but right next to it was an advent wreath with lights for each Sunday in advent and special prayers for each light. Sure, from December 1 to December 26 the hi-fi was loaded with the Chipmunks, Johnny Mathis, Bing Crosby and Rudolph/Santa songs, but there was also Handel, and every version of Silent Night, First Noel and O, Come All Ye Faithful ever recorded. Sure, hundreds of cookies were baked, but huge boxes of food were collected and distributed to needy families and charities. Sure, we had a lavishly adorned Santa in sleigh with reindeer (all of them, Rudolph with his nose so bright, actually lit with a bulb my dad engineered, leading the pack) flying across the wall above the fireplace mantel, but on the mantel was a large, ornately carved and back-lit Creche. There were a lot of presents under the heavily decorated tree, but there were a lot of donations of money and time to charities, too. I'm not saying they got the balance right, or that the mixed messages didn't result in a lot of religious confusion. But. It was the one facet of my childhood that was (I think) normal in comparison to other kids of my demographic.

My parents knew all the stuff of Christmas could go away and we'd still have a celebration. The stuff was just icing on Jesus' birthday cake and as good excuse as any to let themselves go a bit more than usual. Be a little showy, spoil the kids a little. We all knew the exuberance and abundance weren't what the holiday was about, and I never expected to find a bacchanalia of childhood fantasies spread out for me on Christmas morning. I was always truly surprised, every year, that I was given anything other than socks and underwear.

But since my dad died my mother just doesn't have it in her to do all the Christmas stuff. She misses my dad too much. She does the Jesus stuff, church, charities, but the rest of it? Well, let's just say Santa isn't jovially riding across the wall above the fireplace and there's not a lot of music in the house this time of year. And that's fine with me. We're not Scrooge-y or Grinch-y, "all that" holiday stuff is fine for other people. But it just makes my father's absence even more conspicuous and painful. We're "down to basics" as my mother says. So the advertising and marketing of Christmas seems even more glaring in the stark contrast to our "down to basics" Christmases.

Something that always surprised me was that after I parted ways with religion I still liked Christmas. Not the presents, or the marketing or the holiday travel. I could have seized those aspects and held them up as proof of the sham and mockery of religion. But I didn't/don't feel that way. Some may call me a hypocrite because of this, but, I like the "real" aspects of Christmas. I like being with my family (yes, even my sister). I like the ideals of Christmas. Heck, I like the message of Christmas. To be clear, I like the messages of Jesus. I'm down with the emotional, intellectual and spiritual ideals of Jesus. There's a lot of good stuff to be learned from the New Testament regardless of your belief in the messenger. (Messenger?) No matter what was going on with my family, or in the world, Christmas was always the same with my family. I could count on it. In all the zeal and festooning of Christmas, somehow my parents managed to exude an air of calm. Yep. Amidst all that holiday hoopla there was always an overriding sense of peace and calm during the holidays. Busy, bustling, but not frantic or crazed. (Come to think of it, my parents did drink a bit more than usual during the holidays.) I don't know how they did it because December was always packed with non-stop activities and errands and stuff to do, but either they had it down to a science, a well-oiled holiday machine, or, they loved doing it so much that none of it was a burden. They enjoyed it. Enjoyed it, I suppose.

The gaping hole where my dad used to be is unsettling. His presence is still there, though. And that weird sense of calm in all the holiday madness is still there. Not quite as obvious, but it's there. I suppose it's part of his omnipresent presence.

But those commercials. Geeze. They really bug me. A lot. Always have. I do not like holiday marketing. But. This year there seems to be a lot of reference to being Santa in relation to giving gifts procured from high-priced vendors. It bugs me. So I have to thank the mean, smelly Jesus Kid who didn't know the alphabet for a useful coping tool. Swap "Jesus" for Santa where/whenever you see Santa used in marketing. The obvious, glaring wrongness of the message is so offensive and comical that the commercials become even more ridicule-worthy.

Of all the holiday marketing I hate the most, the ilk I find most repugnant are the jewelry ads. These are actually quite complex bits of marketing, not as obvious as they seem. Yes, they're trying to ensnare men into buying expensive jewelry (usually diamonds) for their girlfriends/wives. But, those ads are not made with men in mind. The "plot lines" of those ads are composed solely for women. They are 30 or 60 second Lifetime movies. The ads are made for women. Yep. They are made to encourage and perpetuate the marketing goldmine that is: Women nag men for stuff. Either out and out nagging, or by more "subtle" clue dropping, the jewelry marketers are banking on the emotional/romantic attachment a lot of women have to jewelry, especially jewelry given to them by a man. Bombard women with these commercials, show them the fairy tale scenario of the dream holiday gift exchange over and over and eventually even the most anti-marketing woman will cave into the desire to have her man spend a lot of money on jewelry for her. She'll either out and out tell her man to behave like the guys in those ads, or, more subtly encourage him to emulate what the ads portray. "Here's a lovely sweater, darling, why don't you put it on, and look, I decorated the living room in soft-lit romantic hues, and I have my hair and makeup done perfectly, oh, here, I just opened a bottle of bubbly, gosh, we look like one of those ads on tv..."

If jewelry ads were actually made for men, targeted at men, hoping to get men to pay attention to the ad and spin the product so well men would race out to buy it, they would not be shot in soft focus with a well dressed couple sipping champagne in a nicely decorated home or at a posh restaurant or exotic/quaint/festive locale, and they wouldn't have a plot, or at least a romantic plot. They'd be 15 second spots with a naked chick saying, "Buy your woman expensive jewelry and she'll give you a blow job."

Or they'd look like beer commercials.

The chicks would be naked, or in bikinis, the guys would not look like fit, well-groomed male models and they'd be in jeans in t-shirts and the setting would be a sports bar or cluttered garage with plenty of stuff to lure the men into watching the ad. "Hey, is that a belt sander behind that guy? Ooooo, getta load of that nail gun. A chick in a bikini, awesome. She's waxing his jet-ski, that's the new Wave Runner. Oh, he's giving her a ring and she seems happy about that, she's undoing the zipper of his jeans. Ya know, I think I'll buy my girlfriend a diamond ring." (I know, I don't know why I'm still unemployed, either. Can't figure it out.)

The whole thing is nauseating. It's unsettling. It speaks to an Orwellian level of psychology and social engineering. And I hate myself for getting ensnared by it every year. I know what's going on. I know the psychology and commercial theory behind it. And no, I have never, ever wanted (or expected) a man to give me expensive jewelry, especially for Christmas. I don't buy into the "expensive gifts = love" theory and I hate that it's perpetuated, especially at Christmas. WWJD? Uh, well, I dunno, but I'm pretty sure manipulation, guilt and emotional blackmail aren't His go to plans for love.

What I hate is that those ads make me feel more alone, more of a loser because I don't have a man in my life to turn to and say, "If you even think about giving me a diamond for Christmas I'll leave you so fast you won't even see the blur I make on my way out the door."

But this year's prominent use of Santa in jewelry advertising helps soften the sting. Especially when I use the "replace Santa with Jesus" trick. Thank you, smelly, mean Jesus kid, wherever you are. You teased me and wouldn't help me with math, but that's okay. All is forgiven because you provided me with a coping skill that helps me keep it real during the holidays. A skill that helps me maintain a calm, rational mindset amidst the holiday hype hoopla. And in turn, because of that odd juxtaposition of calm against chaos, I'm able to feel "normal" during the holidays.

Has my heart grown two sizes to big? Am I a born-again Jesus freak? Nope. But I'm not offended by Christmas, either. I like the Jesus ideals. And anything that celebrates love, forgiveness, kindness, tolerance and peace is good. It's the message, not the messenger (Messenger?) Not sure what to get someone for Christmas? Look to the holiday marketing and then spin it. "Be the Santa you want to be" implies giving the biggest/best/priciest/most intoxicating gift you can find. "Be the Jesus you want to be" implies giving something that actually matters, regardless of your religious beliefs.











*I don't personally know any woman who has leveraged a diamond in trade for "the kinky/icky/painful stuff," but then the women I know wouldn't openly admit to being so easily sexually swayed by expensive presents, so, you know, the possibility that my friends are pleasing their men in ways they'd rather not simply because their men bought them expensive jewelry certainly exists. I personally am not swayed, sexually or otherwise, by lavish gifts, especially lavish gifts that end up costing me my pride/dignity/self esteem. Not that I have been showered with a lot of lavish gifts. I have not. But on the few occasions a lavish gift has been presented to me by someone other than my parents there have been a) strings attached and b) a lot of social psychology and posturing behind it. So. I'm generally not in favor of lavish gifts. 

**"Blue mittens? Only kindergartners wear blue mittens on Thursdays. Ha ha ha, you're a kindergartner!!!" You know, that sort of thing. Good times.

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9:17 AM

 
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