I had fabulous lunch with Z the other day (one of the three excellent friends I got out of the divorce (layoff) with The Company Which Shall Not Be Named). Ok, lunch (the food) was mostly just ok, but the company was fabulous, and the conversation was inappropriate (as usual). After all, this is the man who is consistently considered a “nice guy” and assumed to be innocent as well.
Don’t get me wrong, he IS extremely kind: a stellar example of friendship and caring and all that shit. But he’s a sneaky fucker who hides a seriously sick sense of humor and dirty mind under a fedora and an “I’m a nice guy” smile. I mean, the man RULES at Cards Against Humanity. He’s pretty much just awesome. For example: he recently threw the following into an email to all of us: Once again my penis is more trouble than it’s worth. Which is a bummer because in general we get a long pretty well, it’s just sometimes I am very disappointed in him. Then again sometimes I do things that assuredly make my penis be disappointed in me. So I guess we are even.
Luckily, HE remembered what we talked about that day and thus saved this post, because I have the memory of a fucking gnat and needed his help 20 minutes after the conversation to remember.
Anyway, we were discussing 50 Shades (which will not die!) and why it’s so horrid. In true random fashion, I received this as an explanation for his openmindedness. No, that’s not a single word. Yes, I did just write it that way.
I hated hamburgers until I was 14. I don’t know why: I just didn’t like them. Then at drama club I had a McDonald’s hamburger because I was starving and it was the only thing available, and it was awesome. AWESOME. Why the fuck didn’t I like these things??
I learned my lesson: now I’ll try anything once, because what the fuck, I love hamburgers!
Of course, this began a whole discussion on what sorts of things have been tried in our sordid pasts. Z’s is more sordid than mine, believe me, but those are his stories to tell if he wants to. Let’s stick with mine for now:
Weed*: I’ve been a participant at a Renaissance Festival now for over a decade. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to smoke pot, but I have to say: WEED + HAY FEVER = BAD BAD BAD HEADACHE. Fail, people. Fail. I can’t even be around it. Also, I think pot smells like death (I also think lilies reek of death, so don’t take my word for it): like rotting sweet things. Ish.
Alcohol: Yeah. My viking heritage HOSED me on this one, because I really like the taste of a good whiskey or mojito, but my body doesn’t process it well. Sigh. Once (again, during Fest, because it’s a wonderfully bad fucking influence on me!) I polished off a smaller bottle of Captain Morgan myself. This was not long after Husband and I moved in together (not married yet). I spent that night on the bathroom floor, naked, alternating between sleeping with my cheek on the nice cold tile or hugging the toilet like a goddamn lost love. Husband? He checked on me once or twice…and kindly threw a towel over me in case I got cold. He said later it wasn’t worth helping me back into bed because he knew I’d just end up back on the bathroom floor anyway. He was right. But he doesnt’ get hangovers at all so he irks me anyway. I still drink, but the Captain isn’t welcome anymore and I rarely get more than tipsy. Sigh.
Sex: My ancient past is pretty boring, actually. For as much as I write about stuff other people tell me and even things I’ve done, I had the totally normal, boring enough high-school-boyfriend experiences and such until much later. And (SURPRISE!) much of my shocking exposure to alternate relationships (open marriages, polyamorous groups, summer flings) came my first few years working at fest, because it’s generally a pretty nonjudgmental place. After seeing the successes and failures out there in various formats, I’m a firm believer that the best romantic relationships are those where both partners trust enough to let it all hang out, if you will, and experiment. All the different aspects to that would build a blog all by themselves, so let’s just leave this as: the older I get the more open minded I am, which likely is why people tell me all their weird relationship kinks and issues. 🙂
Ultimately, anything can be a mind-opener. Age, experience, mistakes: learning a lesson that opens you to all new possibilities can’t be a bad thing.
Hamburgers and Ren Fest….what’s opened YOUR mind to the possibilities in life?
*I’m a bit of a control freak, therefore no other drugs have ever appealed to me. Call me crazy, but I like being in charge of my actions. Hell, I don’t even get tipsy outside of my house unless I KNOW certain people are around to watch my back. Paranoid? Sure am!
PS: Fail, spellchecker. I beg to differ: Mojito is indeed a word. And a fucking tasty beverage, too.