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storyunrelated · 8 years

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Colder Harder Hugs #1_Ever Onwards

The continuing misadventures of my nameless, featureless protagonist and his oblivious stumblings through events he has neither the capacity nor interest to fully understand.

While the previous wodge of nonsense was fully meandering, this has more of a thrust behind it. Or I like to think so. It isn't finished yet, and ideas swirl in my mind for the bit that'll come after this second part. The final part! Coldest, Hardest Hugs!

Not a joke.

Why is that, like, my longest contiguous story is one that started from a dumb thing I wrote for my own edification about a guy hugging a robot? And isn't really about ANYTHING?

What does that say about ME?

Relentless positivity. That’s what I’m going with these days. The world is a beautiful place even if you often have to work a little hard to see it that way. That’s why you have to be positive. Relentlessly positive. You might start to feel the creeping fingers of despair tip-toeing (can fingers tip-toe? Tip-finger?) up your spine but you just stamp on those fingers and you smile and you laugh and you laugh because the world is great and you just have to remember that.

Or something along those lines. It’s not especially refined yet. It needs time. Not a lot of time has passed yet, so it’s still a bit rough. I’ll sit down and think it out sometime. Have a proper big think about it. Maybe compose some kind of epoch-defining philosophical treatise. Hell, I have more free time now, why not? Time to spare.

Oh yeah, why this new attitude at all. That would be an idea.

All of that other stuff? The stuff with the punching and the hugging and the cake and the holidays to America? Months ago. Two months, if I want to be specific. And rather naturally a fair few things have changed in such a long, long period of time. The first, my embrace of relentless positive (obviously). The second? Uh, I am single again. For whatever difference that makes in practical terms. More spare time, I guess. I did mention that.

Tillie did not have a dalliance with Johnny while stateside. This I know because this she told me and I trust her unquestionably. Rather, she merely came to agree with her dear friend Skaffen’s attitude and position that our whole relationship was one doomed to eventual, spectacular failure and that nixing it sooner rather than later would be better for all involved. If that was her opinion I respected it, even if I didn’t fully understand it. Or like it. Or enjoy hearing about it. Or feel good thinking about it. Or remembering that it was a thing and that I was single again because of it. But whatever. Relentless positivity.

I had spent most of that week she’d been away - ostensibly reading week - not reading, but staring at my phone instead. I stared at it waiting for Tillie to contact me (she didn’t) or waiting to decide whether contacting Michelle would be a good thing to do (I didn’t). So by the time the week was over the phone had not actually been used. Just stared at lots. In retrospect this was probably the worst thing I could have done, short of ringing up and insulting them both.

Could a point be made for my inaction being insulting in and of itself? Possibly, but I’m not clever enough to go into that sort of thing. I just know I had a poor week and probably would have done things differently if given the chance again. What things? Ah, now that’s the tricky bit.

All moot now though, all moot. I cannot time-travel. Yet.

For her part Michelle had apparently had a lovely time back in her home town! Even met a guy, from what I heard. A guy who went to our very uni at that! Small world and no mistake. They were a thing now. Friend of a friend introducing them back home, hitting it off and all that. Small world, small world. And so fast! Not that I’m surprised, Michelle being the lovely girl she is after all. Good on her, I say. And good on him, whoever he is. I guess?

But that had just been that one week (hence my amazement about the speed of it all!). Why the yawning gulf of two months? Why am I even thinking about it as a yawning gulf? Wasn’t I aware of it the whole time? Hmm, strange.

Then again, to be fair, it was incredibly dull after that week was over. It was basically just regular uni life and work again, only with fewer hugs, more awkward passing of myself and Tillie in the house and, uh, that was about it, really. Like life with the volume turned down. But you know, one must be positive, relentlessly. Beer helped, obviously, though Tillie disapproved of me having any before twelve as I found out. And especially before nine. Probably should have guessed about that one, really. My bad!

She’d found some manner of living-machine social club in town - which you’d think she’d know about already, wouldn’t you? I think it was a recent thing, recently organised - so was out a lot more than she used to be, which was a damn fine thing in my book. It made me happy to know that she was enjoying herself and she said she was so that was good enough for me. Did leave me at even more of a loose end than I had already been at of course but I was a big boy and I could deal with that. Beer helped, obviously. Again.

Friends also helped, not that I had an abundance. Actually, I barely had any. I’d kind of invested most of my friend infrastructure in Tillie. All eggs, one basket. But that’s fine. The ones I had were plenty. I ran into Simon one time and we got coffee, it was pretty neat. I’d have preferred we went into a pub but it was about eleven in the morning and that was apparently ‘not the done thing’. I’m sure I could survive. Until I got the DT’s. Ha. Ha. Ha.

The DT’s aren’t funny.

Given Simon and myself hadn’t seen one another for a little while he was rather demanding in his desire to catch up. Though as I related all that had happened between then and now (‘now’ being another ‘then’ since it has passed - isn’t time odd?) his expression got more and more drawn. He seemed to be taking it all worse than I was. Poor chap.

“So yeah. All that happened,” I said, after summing it up. He just shook his head and sipped his frothy, overly sweetened drink. Simon’s coffee tastes were not mine. Mine tended towards the bitter. Hey-oh! Wait, what? Forget about that, that was silly. I’m not a huge coffee drinker anyway but I’ll be damned if I pay what they’re asking for a cup of tea given that I know what a cup of tea actually involves. Robber barons the lot of them. Once simon finished sipping he set his cup back down and looked set to say something profound.

“Nice guys finish last,” he said, as though this meant something. Profound this was not. Helpful this was not either. He clearly meant it in a supportive way, which I appreciated in principle, but his choice of words rankled.

This was something I’d heard before, and it was something I took some level of issue with.

Firstly and most obviously, what kind of race was this? Was the prize the right to have a relationship with the girl, or the privilege? Or what? Most races I know of don’t have a trophy with agency or self-determination. It just seems a bit weird. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I’m not.

Mostly though, it’s just wrong. I’ve seen nice guys doing fine and dicks also doing fine. The ratio seemed pretty evenly split to me. I just figure that people notice the dicks more because dicks make a point of being noticeable because, well, dicks.

It’s like the same way the news only ever reports horrible things happening - people are not interested in a narrative where no-one is creating conflict, except in passing to just say ‘aww isn’t that sweet’ and then move onto to gawping in horror at what the bastard with the poor, beleaguered partner is doing.

You know?

As an aside, why is the non-dick person - boy, guy, it’s always a boy or a guy - in this situation called the quote-unquote ‘nice guy’? What they tend to do that sets them apart from the dicksh person (also almost always a boy or a guy) is not particularly impressive or remarkable. It’s not very hard at all to not be a dick. Thus they should just be called ‘the guy’. You don’t earn ‘nice’ without doing something a little above and beyond what’s expected of you as a normal, decent human being, you know?

Maybe I do think about this too much.

Fuck! I keep repeating myself! You know? Maybe. Overthinking. Fuck. Fuck! It’s like an echo chamber inside my head, driving me bloody insane. I’d hate to be a passenger in here I tell you what. That’d be pretty awful having to see all of this laid out in black and white.

Ugh. Not nice to think about at all. Ugh.

Not that any of that applies to me anyway, as I’m not nice in the first place. Wouldn’t go so far as saying dick, but not much better. I am in the position of neither coming last nor winning, as I never even entered the race to begin with. Because why would I? I’d only come last and someone would accuse me of being nice, and that just wouldn’t do. It had just happened, sort of, and see how bad it was? Terrible. What a palava.

“I don’t think I agree with that,” I said. I wouldn’t bother going through that whole thing I just thought about. I doubted he’d even ask for an explanation. Most people did not think like I did. I assumed? Maybe they did.

He just shrugged.

“Fair enough,” he said. Called it. A thought then occurred to me.

“Does that mean you’re not a nice guy?” I asked, curious. He furrowed his brow. I continued:

“I mean, you’re still going out with, uh, Daryn, right?”

“Daryl. And yes, I am,” he said, a touch coolly. I grimaced. Great. Good work, me. Names, I tell you - names’ll get you eventually. It’s why I’m not really that concerned with mine. People can call me whatever they like. Most do. One seminar leader up at uni knows my name from the register but calls me the wrong one anytime I raise my hand. It’s why I stopped bothering to say anything. Well, one of the reasons. The others being not having anything worth saying.

“Ugh, well I’m a shitty person. He’s a lovely chap, too, I had to fuck up that one letter. But, uh, point I was making: you guys are still making a go of it so that does mean you two aren’t nice guys? I beg to differ!”

This seemed to stymie Simon, whose mouth opened but produced no words. He stared at his drink. For a moment he appeared to have found an answer there as he rised to meet my gaze again but faltered.

“Well I’d hardly say I was nice…” he grumbled, taking a sip.

“You’re not exactly the bad-boy type though either. So I’d say we’re at an impasse.”

“I was just trying to have your back. It’s a bit shit what they did to you.”

“Ah it’s not so bad. These things happen, life goes on. No-one’s hurt. ” I said. Even I, with my great and repeatedly demonstrated inability to read what a look on someone’s face meant, could tell that Simon did not believe me in the slightest. More fool him, because I was telling the truth. I wasn’t hurt. I was a rock, I was an island. I was a rolling stone and I was gathering no moss. I was relentlessly positive.

“Whatever you say,” he said, sipping again, somewhat more quietly than before.

“At least no-one has told me that they’re hurt,” I said, for clarification. I saw Simon roll his eyes. Mightily roll them, too. No mere sideways tilt for him.

“Yeah well, how else would you be expected to know?” He asked, with what I assumed was dripping sarcasm. “And how about you, anyway?”

“What about me? I’m solid. Solid as a rock,” I said, affronted. I slurped my coffee angrily but it was still far too hot for me (being a pansy) and so the impact of this was lessened. Simon was unaffected anyway, leaning back and looking past me through the window to the world beyond. Apparently I was too easily distracted to be allowed to face the window. Meanie Simon.

“I don’t believe you, but I doubt you’ll tell me otherwise. Still, a lot of guys in your position might, you know, try to fight for the girl,” he said. I frowned. Again with this cliche nonsense.

“Fight indeed. It was an amicably reached, mutual decision. I’m not going to try and grind her into submission because it was a decision I didn’t much like,” I said. Simon grinned in what looked like triumph and sat forward, jabbing a finger at me.

“Ah! So you don’t like it!” He said. I wasn’t sure this constituted a ‘gotcha’ moment. Perhaps I’d blinked and missed an important step somewhere. Pretty sure I hadn’t though.

“This much was obvious. I don’t like lots of things, doesn’t mean I can’t accept them,” I said.

Simon stared me hard in the face a moment or two before sighing and slumping back once more. Clearly he had decided further pressing of the point would get him nowhere. This was a reason why I liked Simon. He knew when to quit and had yet somehow still not got sick of me. Or was too polite to say he had.

“I guess your situation isn’t exactly like a lot of peoples…” he said, ruminating on his now-empty cup. I’d barely touched mine. Coffee was always a mistake, when was I going to remember this? It’s why beer is the obvious and superior alternative. Or tea. Why do not simply have tea and small beer piped directly into every home? Oh yes. Prohibitive infrastructure costs. And scalded, inebriated children. Forget I said anything.

Anyway. What had Simon just said. Oh yes. My situation wasn’t like a lot of peoples. Odd thing to say. Mysterious. Ominious!

“Why’s that?” I asked. Then I twigged it, cutting in before Simon could answer for himself:

“Oh, right. Living-machine thing again, right?” I asked. He nodded. I made my best deep-in-the-throat growling sound of complete consternation. I could not fathom how this was such a persistent issue for people. More to the point, why did they care in the first place?

“I don’t want to, you know, keep coming back to that but it is still pretty unusual,” he said. I sunk into my seat, arms folded, face a mask of grumpiness. I hoped. I had very little control over my expression, I found. I probably just looked constipated.

“It’s not that unusual,” I said, mostly into my chest. I saw Simon shrugging from the corner of my eye.

“Well you’re the first and only person I’ve ever heard of doing it.”

Simon was not the be-all-and-end-all of worldly knowledge nor was he a nexus of gossip but he was certainly more informed than I was and if anyone else had entered into an arrangement like myself and Tillie - here or at anywhere with friends of Simon’s in attendance - he would have heard about it. He was just like that. Many fingers, many pies. He seemed to enjoy it. But yes. If such a man as he had heard nothing that did make me pause.

“That can’t be true…”

“Well maybe. I don’t know everything. I just haven’t heard anything about it anywhere, and you’d think people would talk. People do like to talk.”

“That they do. But it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. It happened, it ended, it’s done. Boom.”

“Yeah, but you’re obvious cut up about it and just in denial, so it’s still relevant.”

“What’s denial? A river in Africa?” I asked, making the ‘finger-guns’. Simon looked at me, mouth agape. He was utterly appalled.

“Who am I talking to, my dad? Jesus Christ.”

“Now that’d be something…”

“No, please, don’t say that. Look, just listen for a second,” he said. Clearly (and correctly) anticipating that I was going to say something smart-arsey in response to the command to ‘look’ when I was meant to be ‘listening’ he wagged a finger at me to preemptively shut me up. I knew when I’d been out-maneuvered.

“Listening?” He asked, I nodded. He took a breath. “You’re allowed to be unhappy about this. You should be, actually. You should be unhappy about this because it’d be healthier for you. Assuming you could find something good to put the negativity towards. Uh, you actually have hobbies, right?”

My conversations with Simon were typically lopsided in favour of him, his life and his interests and I had apparently been so good at keeping this up that he’d only just realised he knew next to nothing about what I enjoyed. It was okay. I didn’t know what I enjoyed either. You’d think it would be obvious, wouldn’t you? You would be wrong. It is a mystery.

I think I used to know, but these days the things I liked back when I was younger didn’t seem as fun anymore. Or were they as fun as they always had been but I was doing them wrong? Or had they never been fun? I don’t know. I can’t remember. Hardly matters anyway.

“Drinking,” I said, for the sake of flippancy. My coffee was now cold. It had somehow bypassed any intermediate temperature between searing hot and icy. Maybe I’d blinked. What a waste.

“That’s a terrible answer and you did that on purpose. No, not that. Ugh, pick something, find something. You need to work through this,” Simon said and I could sort of tell he was starting to lose his temper with me a little bit. I was good at this sometimes. Not something to be proud of.

“But I’m fine,” I said.

“You’re obviously not. You’re saying you are and you’re probably sort of believing you are, but you’re not. You shouldn’t be, at least. If you were totally fine then I’d be worried. Then you’d be some kind of...soulless void of a human being devoid of feeling and without a reason to continue,” he said. I blinked. That had come out of left field. He made a good point though.

“Maybe I am,” I said, tapping a finger on my chin and giving it genuine consideration. Why was I alive again, exactly? Mostly because I was fully aware there were some people in the world who would be unhappy if I wasn’t. For whatever reason. Tillie was probably one of these people. I didn’t need Simon to tell me that this was not a good way of looking at my life.

“No, you’re not. You’re just in a bad place right now. But you have me at least, you know? Anytime you need me. Don’t think you don’t, alright?”

“You’re a pal,” I said and meant it.

“I try. And you’re trying.”

“Everyone’s good at something,” I said, raising my cup to him and risking a taste of the coffee. It was rancid. Had it been any better when it hadn’t been cold? Unlikely. A lost cause now. I did not try again.

From there the conversation went more towards university and was therefore fairly tedious and mostly full of grumbling. As is to be expected. Still, very cathartic it was too - I left the coffee place feeling much refreshed and invigorated, waving goodbye to Simon as he meandered off in the opposite direction to myself.

Did I mention I didn’t have many friends? I think I did. Seeing Simon disappearing off into the distance really did bring it back through. I did not have many friends. Or any, really. One, Simon, walking away. The other, Tillie, who I didn’t want to think about too much for reasons I also did not want to think about too much. Did Michelle count as a friend, or as an acquaintance? I hadn’t spoken to her in a while. Is that normal for friends? If you have to ask, the answer is probably no.

I mean, that would also extend for those friends I carried over from school. Well, the few I had anyway. A handful, you might say. Fine fellows all (and exclusively fellows, now that I think about it) but none of whom I had spoken to in, oh, months. Or had they not spoken to me? Probably a bit of both. Either way the result is the same: deafening silence.

So yes. There I am.

Should probably diversify. If I were to aggravate or drive off Simon somehow - by consistently getting his boyfriend’s name wrong, for example - that would leave me completely and utterly alone. Deservedly, to be fair, but no-less alone. And that would be bad. I think? I’m given the impression it’d be bad because society told me so. And I suppose I go a bit funny on my own, too. All in all, I’d prefer not to.

So yes. Try to make new friends maybe. Can’t be that hard, right? It’s not as if -

Hey, hang on a second.

Who’s that guy?

I spied with my little eye what looked an awful lot like a grown-ass man with a grown-ass camera taking my picture. But that would just be madness. I have nothing about me worth taking a picture about. Or for. Or of. You know?

But it’s obviously a man with camera though and it’s obviously pointing in my direction. Clearly then I must be standing in front of something he wanted to get a clear shot of. Mea culpa. With this reasoning did I quickly dart to the side, thinking it was what he would have wanted.

It was not. My lunge sideways seemed to be interpreted by him as some kind of threatening gesture as he - locking eyes with me for but a moment - scarpered. It was really quite surreal. I look behind me and saw only a shop Maybe it was a shop he liked a lot? I hope me being in the frame didn’t ruin the shot too much for him.

Probably nothing to worry about.

#Cold hard Hugs #Colder Harder Hugs #Writing #Amwriting #Writblr #Writeblr #Writer on tumblr

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pressography-blog1 · 8 years

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The Handiest Style Blogger That Likes Trump's Ties

New Post has been published on https://pressography.org/the-handiest-style-blogger-that-likes-trumps-ties/

The Handiest Style Blogger That Likes Trump's Ties

Even as the nuances of favor are subjective, the broad strokes, as a minimum when it comes to menswear, are pretty a lot nailed down. Tie lengths have to hit the center of your belt, shirt cuffs have to amplify a quarter to a half of an inch out of your jacket, and fit pants shouldn’t pool at your ankles. So while a person defends the Fashion alternatives of Donald Trump—a man who commits more than his proportion of menswear sins—you have to probable be a bit suspicious. And have to that person additionally occur to have a Style weblog? Run away, buddy. Run away and in no way appearance returned.

Style Blogger

If you’re wondering whether or not simply this kind of man exists, the solution is yes, he does. And his call is Roger Stone. A Republican political representative who’s worked for anybody from Nixon to Trump, Stone also fancies himself some thing of a dandy, serving as guys’ style editor for the conservative political website The Every day Caller (sure, you examine that proper) and jogging a style blog known as Stone on Style.

Which, first-rate, Truman Capote-meets-1920s-banker is a Style. And we are now not ones to judge non-public aesthetics, so long as you put on them properly. But you then begin to lose credibility while you say such things as, “guys over 30 who wear artificial fabric need to get the dying penalty.” So basically, guys, in case you’re over 30 and also you own any non-cotton exercising wear, prepare for your deadly injection (which clearly sounds quite Trumpian).

Stone has also criticized Tucker Carlson for ditching his bow tie in the desire of an instantly tie. He stated it price him his mojo. Did it, although? Because bow tie or not, Carlson still looks like a ’80s university movie villain. (That is what he became going for, right?)

Of direction, it is no surprise that Stone, a Republican, likes the whole Younger Republican blue blazer vibe. This is a man, in the end, who has a Richard Nixon tattoo on his lower back. (No, genuinely.) And he reputedly would not like all sartorial choice that skews proletarian, like when men roll up their shirt sleeves.

And ultimately, we have the 2 maximum egregious examples of his quote-unquote Style critiques. First, he thinks Milo is cool. And 2d, he considers his former boss Donald Trump a trendsetter inside the necktie department. “He is a guy who described the purple energy tie. He made the purple strength tie inside the ’70s. His Fashion works for him.”

His Fashion?! What Style? The man wears suits that don’t healthy and he Scotch-tapes his ties together. That’s no longer Fashion. It’s no longer a few jaunty, devil-may additionally-care rule-breaking. That’s just a guy who would not know how to dress. So whilst Stone, Mr. I am The Style Peacock of Washington, praises him, he pretty a good deal gets rid of his last shred of fashion credibility Wide Info.

What Have A part of Your non-public Style you ever Struggled most With Through the years?

1. Body Types ARE Difficult!

Pear or hourglass? People inform me I’m hourglass (and my genuine measurements exhibit that I’m) But I sense like my bottom is huge, and not proportionate to my top half. So for me, my belief of being a pear Body kind is my truth! proper?

I trust many women have confusion with Body Sorts. some books out demonstrate 5 “common” Frame Kinds: pear, hourglass, triangle, inverted triangle and immediately (no curves), in which as others map out 48 – without a doubt 48 Frame Types….Come on that is just an excessive amount of to technique. My philosophy is ladies need to think about how their Body is formed and in which they keep weight. If you’re bigger on the lowest then you want to streamline that region, In case your larger thru the center you want to decrease it, and so forth. Virtually positioned, it’s miles less approximately “a kind” and greater about the Frame shape. So back to my thighs — for me, it’s my lumpy thighs. I’ve discovered that in shape and cloth are the vital portions to minimizing and flattering my problem area. I no longer will recall linen pants. They’re horrible for me Because the cloth is thin, unforgiving and stretches out making me look lumpier and bumpier than I surely am. My other ah ha is to intensify my higher Body, which I really like – oh and by way of the manner This is the Part of my Frame that makes me feel sexy and exquisite! My shoulders, palms, and neck are my belongings and anytime I’m able to open up my neckline I do. A number of my preferred necklines are halter, v-neck, boat, and stale the shoulder.

2. Self-belief – Why can not I simply wear that xxx xx?

I purchase ‘um However have a tough time wearin’ ‘um! it’s the ones of the instant trends…the ones clearly a laugh pieces….the ones items that clearly make a lady elegant! Why do I have this kind of tough time wearing them. Take hats as an example. Yeah I’m able to put on a baseball hat or army Style effortlessly….However berets or fedoras, that takes a touch more Self-assurance. For crying out loud – I’m an Photograph representative….A stylish…..A Fashion blogger….If everybody is going to put on that fashion-forward piece IT ought to BE ME, proper? To triumph over this Style expression hiccup I have followed a ‘simply placed it on and walk out the door’ philosophy. So these days, I placed on my grey felt fedora and walk out the door…carrying Self belief, mindset and Fashion as my coordinating accessories. Now that may be a StylishShe!

Tricia is is an Photo consultant, Fashion guru, marketer, blogger and Fashion addict. via her Photograph Consulting offerings Tricia enables women of all shapes, sizes and a long time with all their Photograph and Fashion desires. As a marketer and creator Tricia puts her thoughts, suggestions, thoughts, knowledge and knowledge to suitable use and stocks that along with her customer and fans via the StylishShe website and blog, Fb, twitter, Style articles, and soon…Her book.

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