“You may find the perfect lover by comparing tastes in ice cream, says Alan Hirsch, M.D., a neurologist and director of the Smell and Taste Treatment and Research Foundation in Chicago. Researchers call this “ice-cream hedonics.” Dr. Hirsch conducted a study of 720 people, ages 24 to 59, in which he correlated personality tests, their favorite ice-cream flavors, their partners’ favorite ice creams, and relationship status. Coffee-ice-cream lovers—found to be dramatic, seductive, flirtatious—are most romantically compatible with strawberry fans. Vanilla gals (emotionally expressive and fond of PDA) melt best with rocky-road guys. And mint-chocolate-chip fans are meant for each other.”
I think I’ll start taking all my dates to Baskin Robbins from now on. Although my three favorite flavors (no kidding) are coffee, strawberry, and mint chocolate chip. So… am I poly-compatible or just, you know... hungry?
E: This year our sponsored event in the fair is a vocal contest of sorts and I am one of the judges. Last night I had to sit through some girl butchering my favorite rocker ballad, Extreme's More Than Words. Its like our family's favorite song and I wanted to throw a mic at her face for ruining it in such a horrible way. GR.
[If only I could rescue you from this life, girl. But it's oh-so-funny sometimes.]
I disregard the proportions, the measures, the tempo of the ordinary world. I refuse to live in the ordinary world as ordinary women. To enter ordinary relationships. I want ecstasy. I am a neurotic — in the sense that I live in my world. I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.
There must be purpose here, 'cause most of us keep waking up. (Don't you think it's pretty here). It's so unexpectedly predictable, so sloppily intentional. Does anyone know the punch-line yet?
There must be rhythm here, 'cause all of us have a heartbeat. (Don't you see the music here). Inside our ribs we tick an average of 60 beats a minute. A-rum-pum-pum-pum-pum... A-rum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum...
There must be forgiveness here 'cause most of us have our weaknesses. (Tell me what are your weaknesses). I don't know myself, and I am afraid of you. I'm happiest on chemicals. The goings come and the comings go. Forgive me I'm just an animal.
There must be healing here, 'cause everybody here has been damaged. And we'll wear it like a tattoo, every scar is a smile. To hell with the going down.
And we'll wear it like a tattoo, every scar is a smile. To hell with the going down.
To hell with the going down.
There must be an afterlife here, 'cause everyone prays for resurrection. You see the end comes quick as a bullet.
Although it is only 6 pm on Sunday, I have managed to accomplish several things the past two days:
- read 4 books. Two by Chelsea Handler, the new David Sedaris, and finally bloody finished Hellenga's Philosophy Made Simple.
- started drinking yesterday at 10 am with a few Irish coffees. By lunch I was a) hammered and b) moving on up to SoCo/oj/lime (surprisingly tasty, a most excellent lake drink).
- I have a sun tan. Complete with sunglasses lines.
- Revived the Saturday night skinny-dipping tradition with E and B.
- Went antique shopping in town. Found some crazy book called 'Hoosier Lyrics,' a collection of early 20th century poetry by someone I'd never heard of... so of course I bought it.
- Laundry? Dishes? Boats covered? Check. Check.... and getting there.
- It's raining and the lake looks like something out of the mind of Melville. So much gray and blue and the shocking electric green of the plants in contrast. It's breathtaking.
- I don't have to work tomorrow and have decided to stay up here an extra day. Hell to the yes.
- Did I mention how much we drank yesterday? Oh. My. God. By noon we'd killed the whiskey and knocked off a pony keg of Heineken. On to the Southern Comfort and then my old friend vodka-and-cranberry-with-lime. Oy vey.
[And then, in true Camp Mitchell of the North fashion, we went fundraising at the annual lake assoc. bbq. We had our own table. We took ridiculous pictures of things up our noses and falling out of our mouths during dinner. It was awesome.]
- We ballroom danced on the pier (sloppily, quite blitzed) to Ella, Billie, Frank, Louie, and Coltrane (of course)... and then stargazed. And went streaking. And managed to put ourselves to bed by midnight. I'm so goddamn impressed I can barely express myself.
Looking over my shoulder to verify if I am, in fact, alone has become an unshakable habit when I wake up in the morning.
Some days I’m not. In fact, I’m reviving the age-old art of the One Night Stand… with a vengeance.
And… I love it.
Is it wrong to feel empowered? To ride the strangely euphoric wave of sexual liberation? To be this charmingly detached? Seductive without apology? Brutally honest and demanding and altogether contrary to my typically blazingly sensitive and polite self?
Is it also wrong that this weekend I woke up and could have sworn I was suddenly transported to my college days, some hybrid of Lolita and Tom Petty’s “Last Dance with Mary Jane?”
Or am I just burying my broken ego underneath the weight of another man?
(Sex is the gateway drug for the broken-hearted, if you ask me. Well, I suppose I still don't know if I'm broken-hearted or not, really. Rejected is probably the simplest description. But it's a hurt, a thorn, a wound nonetheless. Goddamnit, why do I still think about you? Get out of my head!)
Maybe this is what I mean, or what I’m looking for:
The man of your dreams, perhaps not maybe just one of the many that have fallen but for now I am ridiculously happy to be the one who curls himself around you.
- martini Thursday nights, outside under the stars (if we could actually see the stars from downtown) - 'This is my kingdom' - Not bothering to actually engage in the debate as to whether we are friends because we collectively lack moral standards and are thus apathetic friends or if we are in fact friends because of a shared sense of fraternal love, tolerance, and undiluted capacity for forgiveness. - Steak n' Shake, after-hours downtown crowd. We saw the Jonas Brothers. Or, rather, the Indianapolis version if one of them wore a pink sash around his scrappy locks and one was actually a girl. Still, a good sighting. - 'Live Green, Buy Vintage' - 'Baby I'm Shameless' - Tense polling re: grape jelly brands (childhood preference). Results mixed. - 'You tell me about your [insert experimental sexual experience here], I'll tell you about mine.' - Frisco Melt. PLATTER.
I officially love the Amp 'Walk of Shame' commercial. So much so that I typed out the lyrics and forwarded the whole shebang to my brother and best friends with the tagline, 'where the hell was this when we were in college?'
My brother replies with a clip of Ben Folds's 'Late'... aka a heartfelt dirge lamenting the loss of Elliot Smith.
Let's recap: I celebrate a commercial proudly encouraging embarrassing decisions and sexual promiscuity. My brother remembers a great artist remembering another great artist. I am an asshole.
Got me thinking about dichotomy, contradictions...
If I had a dollar for every time someone (ok, a man, men in general) told me I was either 'interesting' or 'fascinating' I would have... a lot of dollars.
So what the hell makes me so interesting, you know? This is what I keep asking myself. I'm 'different' or 'special' or 'one of a kind,' depending on who you ask and how much he or she may have been drinking. I'm 'a study in contrasts.'
Well let's discuss some of those.
I buy organic produce but eat ramen noodles without hesitation. I'm a bit of a ball-buster but hate (hate hate hate) to sleep alone. I make fun of chick flicks but watch Lifetime movies. ('Boyfriend for Christmas' is a personal favorite, btw. That one might have been on the WE channel though). I reject conventional Christianity (especially Catholicism) but feel most spiritually connected in ancient cathedrals. I look like I belong on Wisteria lane but the suburbs give me nightmares. I am the WASP postergirl but pretty much wish I was Jewish. A lot, actually. One of my greatest and most shallow triumphs comes from the fact that I look better than you do and I paid less for my outfit. (I said it was shallow). Even though I'm as domestic as it gets, I don't know if I'll ever have children. (My choice, it's complicated). The word 'marriage' gives me an involuntary physical reaction. Not the good kind. I feel suffocated by my hometown but hate when an outsider criticizes it. I alphabetize my dvds and color-code my closet but my car is a mess. I complain when I feel unappreciated by men but usually ignore and/or push violently away those rare few that do show interest. I survived open heart surgery but still faint when I get an injection... or even think about getting one. I always get seasick, I'm afraid of fish and deep water... but I love to scuba dive. I don't trust people. I own real fur. I drink beer with a straw. I'm a damn good cook but you'd never know it because I buy groceries less often than the moon wanes and only use my kitchen for making tea and storing non-perishables like $3 bottles of wine. I know the lyrics to more showtunes and antiquated Broadway hits than current top 40 songs. Hate: MTV, Fox News, fundamentalism, sexual discrimination, wearing clothes. Love: Golden Girls reruns, gardens, reading books outside, being serenaded, traveling. Think Green, Buy Vintage. I hate insects but will probably make you kill it for me. I'm terrified of being ordinary but might not have a choice. I can quote Jane Austen verbatim... from the books. I work in retail and still like to play dress up. Can anyone say 'theme party?' On those days when I think I might want to be a mother, I cry because I don't think I would survive it. I never want to pass this on to my child. Never. I never cry. Never. I talk too much but don't actually confide very much in anyone. Never been a great dancer, never gonna be a great dancer. Although I do a mean Cuban Shuffle when I've been drinking heavily. I am my mother, no 'turning into' about it. I give the best advice in the world for someone who refuses to have an genuine romantic relationship of her own. I'm solid as oak but flighty as hell. If I love you, then I love you unconditionally. Once you're in the circle, you're in for life. Love being overdressed in dive bars. I make my life harder than it really is with a complex web of theoretical ideas, strobe lit daydreams, and overly-intellectualized analysis of the everyday. I'm lonely often but good luck trying to get close to me. Really, good luck. My family means everything to me even though we're really just one big fucking mess. I've seen a lot of sunrises and don't sleep well. I miss living abroad and hate that my French has gone straight to hell. Love to kiss gay men. Talk during movies. Tend to obsess over one person for months at a time, even if I won't admit it. Years, even. An optimist with an uncanny ability for cynical foresight. Desperately in need of verbal affirmation most of the time.
E: I just had a brilliant idea. I keep getting press releases for Bible Baptist's "PURE LOVE" preachy abstinence teen program this weekend. how awesome would it be to go in true abfab form and act like we thought it was a PURE ROMANCE sex toy party and start demanding vibrators and nipple tassels!
Sent at 8:06 AM on Friday May 2
me: oh. my. god
THAT is AMAZING
E: or prank call....maybe we'll make drew do it tonight
_____________________
I have the greatest friends in the world... we have our own particular brand of sexual anarchy, what can I tell you?
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The State of the Economy
There might be some change on top of the dresser at the back, and we should check the washer and the dryer.Check under the floor mats of the car.The couch cushions.I have some books and CDs I could sell, and there are a couple of big bags of aluminum cans in the basement, only trouble is that there isn’t enough gas in the car to get around the block.I’m expecting a check sometime next week, which, if we are careful, will get us through to payday.In the meantime with your one-dollar rebate check and a few coins we have enough to walk to the store and buy a quart of milk and a newspaper.On second thought, forget the newspaper.
Just read something about people complaining about love not finding them, or the 'right person' not showing up... the very core of the Snow White 'Some Day My Prince Will Come' complex.
Interesting, because I was just speaking of the same thing with friends... this kind of passive role just... doesn't suit. There is nothing wrong with a little Cinderella fantasy, a desire to be swept off one's feet, whisked away on a white horse, etc. Fine. We all indulge in secret romantic daydreams, ain't not shame in admitting it... but there is a distinct difference between these harmless dreams and actually sitting still, waiting for the fantasy to come to life.
There is a world of exciting mistakes and romantic foibles waiting outside this little waiting-by-the-phone-with-a-cat-and-an-astrology/candle-collection cliche bubble. I remember reading somewhere some sort of quote attributed to Jonathan Rhys-Meyers (spelling?) in which he recalls sitting in some Hollywood bar listening to these two young girls bitch about how they'll never find the perfect guy and bemoaning the fact that all the Brad Pitts of the world just didn't seem to be appearing or interested or whatever. His response was my favorite... basically, he turned to the girls and said (I'm paraphrasing), "Well, if you want to land Brad Pitt, you have to look like Angelina Jolie! So until then, get off your arses, hit the gym, and quit complaining!"
Right on, sir. Enough with the entitlement, let's face the fact that a girl's gotta fight for what she wants. As in take an active stance. Make it happen. Carpe Diem. (Or carpe noctum, as the case may be, wink).
Anyway, obviously had a poem in mind (quelle surprise). Here it is, enjoy:
Any prince to any princess
August is coming and the goose, I’m afraid, is getting fat. There have been no golden eggs for some months now. Straw has fallen well below market price despite my frantic spinning and the sedge is, as you rightly point out, withered.
I can’t imagine how the pea got under your mattress.I apologize humbly.The chambermaid has, of course, been sacked.As for the frog footman, I understand that, during my recent fact-finding tour of the GoldenRiver, despite your nightly unavailing efforts, he remained obstinately froggish.
I hope that the Three Wishes granted by the General Assembly will go some way towards redressing this unfortunate sequence of events. The fall in output from the shoe-factory, for example: no one could have foreseen the work-to-rule by the National Union of Elves.Not to mention the fact that the court has been fast asleep for the last six and a half years.
The matter of the poisoned apple has been taken up by the Board of Trade: I think I can assure you the incident will not be repeated.
I can quite understand, in the circumstances, your reluctance to let down your golden tresses.However I feel I must point out that the weather isn’t getting any better and I already have a nasty chill from waiting at the base of the WhiteTower.You must see the absurdity of the situation. Some of the courtiers are beginning to talk, not to mention the humble villagers. It’s been three weeks now, and not even a word.
Princess, a cold, black wind howls through our empty palace. Dead leaves litter the bedchamber; the mirror on the wall hasn’t said a thing since you left.I can only ask, bearing all this in mind, that you think again,
BLB's streak continues this week with a broken dishwasher. Matt and I were putzing around the kitchen yesterday after work, me cleaning, he cooking something... I start the dish cycle and immediately notice that waves of sudsy frothy water are pouring from the door hinge area. You know... pouring out like some ridiculous sitcom episode where the idiot babysitter puts the wrong soap in the laundry machine or something and Haley Mills saves the day or Alice appears with a shake of her head to scold one of the Brady kids.
Pretty awesome.
You know what is awesome? Clean sheets. I'm totally high on fabric softener fumes right now and it is fantastic. Best day of the week.
Stuck going to the dentist tomorrow morning. Normally I am really excited about dental cleanings, for several reasons. Love of oral hygience and a non-sexual crush on my dentist are the main two... plus I get to catch up on my domestic magazine reading, like Midwest Living or Rachel Ray or Good Housekeeping. Plus, I owe my entire knowledge of how-to-cook-salmon-in-the-dishwasher to my dentist as well. Always fascinating what he tells me. Pretty damn good time, especially if they are offering novacaine and/or happy gas. Best. High. Ever.
Anyway, my misfortune comes because I had mistakenly thought that the appointment was not until Thursday morning, thus allowing me tomrorrow to sleep in (desperately needed, esp. before race weekend). But no, I will but up-and-at-'em bright and early tomorrow for speedy trip home, then back for full closing shift until 10. Oy. Bring on the caffeine, vyvanse, and any number of showtunes for the drive to keep me peppy. I'm not kidding, I'ma goin' blast me some serious broadway all the way there and back. ONE. SINGULAR SENSATION. EVERY LITTLE MOVE SHE MAKES.
Expect full-blast Jesus Christ Superstar in the mix too.
It's going to be such a long day.
Watched The Ten tonight (while I ironed, believe it or not). Maybe I'm a horrible person for admitting this, but I really liked it. Yes, the humor was off-color and certainly lacking in the politically-correct department... but it was great. Although I admit it is probably intended for a much much much less sober audience... trust me, it would have been better under the influence of something. I also have a feeling that it gets funnier with repetition. The last segment was my absolute favorite... it involved a gaggle of naked men getting together on the sabbath in secret to celebrate life, nudity, maleness... and Roberta Flack. YES. That is my kind of religious experience.
I'm listening to a recording of my best friend, years since it was originally recorded, and it is the most lovely sound I could imagine for the dark hours of night. I'll admit, it was better when she would sing to me in person, nights when we couldn't sleep in college, long midnights when we were the only two people awake in a house of 140 girls, months when we were absolute disasters and battling demons we couldn't identify and certainly never understood (always worse at night).
It's easy to forget the talents of friends, glance hurriedly over these unique gifts that often drew one to them in the first place.
Oh it sounds so beautiful to listen to her now.
I love when people sing to me. Is there anything more wonderful?
I woke up smiling, content and refreshed from a dream that seemed to resolve all my admittedly insignificant dilemmas that just won't seem to leave my thoughts. One of those nights filled with images of people I love... everyone came together and 'met' for the first time, I actually remember introducing different circles of friends/family/lovers at long last... even my family was involved, the lake, my childhood bed covers, holding someone's hand and sharing a pillow at the cottage.
I don't need Carl Jung to tell me that it was textbook fantasy sequence, that I mentally sculpted a perfect reunion/romance/Hallmark scenario, everything my life in reality is not at the moment.
God, it was a great dream though. A great dream. _________________________________________
A Birthday
Something continues and I don’t know what to call it though the language is full of suggestions in the way of language but they are all anonymous and it’s almost your birthday music next to my bones
these nights we hear the horses running in the rain it stops and the moon comes out and we are still here the leaks in the roof go on dripping after the rain has passed smell of ginger flowers slips through the dark house down near the sea the slow heart of the beacon flashes
the long way to you is still tied to me but it brought me to you I keep wanting to give you what is already yours it is the morning of the mornings together breath of summer oh my found one the sleep in the same current and each waking to you
I have begun a new job with responsibilities that frighten me, newfound authority that secretly thrills me, and the terrifying album of changes that always accompany these things. It's not as easy as I had hoped to keep my optimism and faith in myself. I feel at last as though something is really at risk and don't know if I'll measure up, don't know if I'll let myself down (let everyone down)...
I have been inches away from a musical legend, shaken the hand of a presidential candidate, and VIP'd my way around a political rally... all within four blocks of my place downtown. In the rain no less. No better way to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.
I have partied like it's 1999. I have more digital photos than actual memories of certain nights and several encounters that would make my mother weep in shame.
I have strolled naked through the moonlight and accidentally flashed one of my best friends. Walking in the altogether down a staircase at five in the morning carries such risk, it seems.
I don't regret any of those nights.
I have laughed with best friends, created an entirely new encyclopedia of tongue-in-cheek inside jokes and nicknames, confided secrets and for once not left anything out. Hello world, this is me... I'm still afraid of these confessions, still somehow naturally tend toward the privacy and safety of keeping things locked within... but I said them anyway. I think I'm getting better.
I have said goodbye to two friends, both embarking on extended journeys toward lands far away. I don't think it has entirely become a reality in my mind just how long and far apart we really are now... I don't know what it will feel like when I do face the temporary finality, look at a map and gage the miles between all of us... what a wonderfully miraculous time we inhabit that we still remain connected, still communicate over land and sea, hill and dale, war and peace. It frightens me, the very thought, so much I don't understand...
Tonight...
I have laughed and danced and run through a rainstorm.
I have soberly chanted lyrics to songs I don't really know and brazenly sung those I do. The dance floors at the wee odd hours of the morning would not be the same without Journey's 'Don't Stop Believing,' now would they?
I have doubted myself.
I have been reunited with a man who regaled E and I with tales of seeing Frank Sinatra live in concert. He was wearing a hat. It was magnificent.
I have been somewhat forced to acknowledge that just because I want something doesn't mean it is destined for me...
... and by 'something' I of course mean 'someone.'
Ouch.
Humility amid raindrops and 80's music isn't all it's cracked up to be.
I'm sleeping alone. [Common knowledge: I hate that].
Kissing you was all I could think about.
I don't know where to go from here and am struggling to remember to let life find its own path, let my life take its course as it will. There are days of sunshine ahead, I keep telling myself... Long beautiful sun-kissed days toppling into my lap one after the other like a row of glowing dominoes, promising light and luck and joy and love.
I am loved... and lucky to be loved so unconditionally, so fully, so genuinely...
Something about tonight is so unsettling nevertheless and I still can't find the pulse-point of it all... so disorienting, so out of place... I feel like I'm walking into a silent test and don't have the answer key.
It's a slow fall down the rabbit hole this time.
I cannot let my thoughts veer toward the land of the woulda-coulda-shouldas. I cannot. I cannot. I cannot.
I need guidance... I must remember the power of the everyday miracle, the pleasure in mystery, the ability to wait, the patience to be still, the serenity to listen...
... to whatever may whisper in the night.
_________________________________________
Seeker of Truth
seeker of truth
follow no path all paths lead where truth is here
e.e. cummings
___________________________________________
Did I actually reach out my arms toward it, toward paradise falling, like the fading of the dearest, wildest hope --- the dark heart of the story that is all the reason for its telling?
Mary Oliver
____________________________________________
To go in the dark with a light is to know the light. To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight, and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings, and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings. Wendell Berry
_____________________________________________
The Tree, the Lamp
The tree grows old in the tree, it is summer. The bird leaps beyond birdsong and is gone. The red of the dress illuminates and scatters Away, in the sky, the lading of old sorrow. O fragile country, Like the flame of a lamp carried out-of-doors, Sleep being close in the world’s sap, Simple the beating of the shared soul.
You too love the moment when the light of lamps Fades and dreams into daylight. You know it’s the darkness of your own heart healing, The boat that reaches the shore and falls.
So today I wrote a song for you Cause a day can get so long And I know it's hard to make it through When you say there's something wrong
So I'm trying to put it right Cause I want to love you with my heart All this trying has made me tight And I don't know even where to start
Maybe that's a start
Cause you know it's a simple game That you play filling up your head with rain And you know you are hiding from your pain In the way, in the way you say your name
And I see you Hiding your face in your hands Flying so you won't land You think no one understands No one understands
So you hunch your shoulders and you shake your head And your throat is aching but you swear No one hurts you, nothing could be sad Anyway you're not here enough to care
And you're so tired you don't sleep at night As your heart is trying to mend You keep it quiet but you think you might Disappear before the end
And it's strange that you cannot find Any strength to even try To find a voice to speak your mind When you do, all you wanna do is cry
Well maybe you should cry
And I see you hiding your face in your hands Talking 'bout far-away lands You think no one understands Listen to my hands
And all of this life Moves around you For all that you claim You're standing still You are moving too You are moving too You are moving too I will move you
- Alexi Murdoch
Monday, May 05, 2008
She never was a fighter until he lay beside her, and gently whispered, 'hope.'
Foy Vance
Monday, April 28, 2008
Had definitely already taken a sleeping pill when I wrote that yesterday.
At least the main objective was accomplished - slept for a 12 blissfully uninterrupted hours.
Perhaps it is the changing seasons, the barometric dips in spring's pool, the stars aligning, some pervading air of unrest... have not slept for many days... and apparently I am not alone (for once), but seem to be learning of many friends who share this current nocturnal unrest, this series of waking nights woven with bizarre dreamscapes and the scrolling demiconscious thoughts.
Tonight, however, I will sleep under the protective wing of Night. I crumple weakly and wearily and dazedly into her feathery bosom, sink into her 1000 thread ct embrace, and pray that I dissolve seamlessly into slumbers beneath the ambien veil...
Thus, my favorite poem... a beautiful beautiful beautiful dream of a poem:
Variation On The Word Sleep
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream, from the grief at the center I would like to follow you up the long stairway again & become the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me, and as you enter it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary.
- Margaret Atwood
____________________________________
... and perhaps another vivid glimpse, the images the images the images...
The Top of the World (excerpts) V
I go out. I dream that I am going out into the snowy night. I dream that I am carrying With me, far, outside, there is no turning back, The mirror from the upstairs bedroom, the mirror from Summers past, the boat at whose prow We, simple, pushed forward, questioning, Deep in the sleep of summers that were brief, as life is.
In those days It was through the sky gleaming in the mirror's waters That the magi of our sleep, as they withdrew, Would spread out their treasures in the darkened room.
VI
And in the rustling of the night sky The beauty of the world bent down To see her body reflected in the closed water Of the sleepers, which branches out among the stones. She brought trusting mouth and breath Close to their lightless eyes. She would have wanted Her brighter breast to appear beneath the shoulder In the folds of her still closed robes, Then day was rising around you, Our earth the mirror, and the sunlight Hemmed your bare neck with a red band of mist.
But here I am now Standing outside the house; everything is motionless Since it is only a dream. And so I go on, leaving, It hardly matters where, against a wall, beneath the stars, This mirror, our life. And may night's dew Condense and flow, over the images.
“You may find the perfect lover by comparing tastes in ice cream, says Alan Hirsch, M.D., a neurologist and director of the Smell and Taste Treatment and Research Foundation in Chicago. Researchers call this “ice-cream hedonics.” Dr. Hirsch conducted a study of 720 people, ages 24 to 59, in which he correlated personality tests, their favorite ice-cream flavors, their partners’ favorite ice creams, and relationship status. Coffee-ice-cream lovers—found to be dramatic, seductive, flirtatious—are most romantically compatible with strawberry fans. Vanilla gals (emotionally expressive and fond of PDA) melt best with rocky-road guys. And mint-chocolate-chip fans are meant for each other.”
