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| grow gallery, relationships, jack, blogs, referals, whois, andrevan, boyfriend, t shirt hell, for sale, 1930s, nightlife, women, frank sivero, phrases, marijuana, | Mom has perhaps mangled a metaphor, but the astute reader will catch her drift. marthawainwright bloody mother fucking asshole lyrics Love refuses to conform to rhyme or reason. This can be frustrating to the modern woman. We have come to expect our own love stories to follow the logical path of a blockbuster movie. It is now impossible to embark on an episode of one's life without expecting a conflict, crisis and happy ending. marthawainwright bloody mother fucking asshole lyrics The truth is, if you have been paying attention in this column so marthawainwright bloody mother fucking asshole lyrics far, life is messy and love is messy -- and sex is the messiest of all. All you can do is role up your sleeves, endure, cope, explode, break a few commandments, forgive yourself and move on. Having said that, perhaps Mom should explain what the hell all this has to do with you: Mom believes that sex is part of the marriage convenant, with marriage defined as two partners who are committed to one another for the long haul, whether a legal contract exists or not. |
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| He's in his mid-forties and so am nightlife I. Which, of nightlife course means, he is working all the time and nightlife doesn't care about sex, while I am being driven crazy by hormones. What am I supposed to do about it? Just let my ovaries shrivel up and die? -- The Burning Bed in Brooklyn My dear, First of all, Mom urges you to put down the book of matches and step away from the bed. Thank you. Now let's discuss: life was so much more civilized when human beings didn't talk about such things, but simply took care of the problem with a few discreet affairs on the side. But that was then (when kings did it, queens did it, the rich and the poor did it, when people understood that sex was sex and love was an entirely different animal indeed) and this is now. We live in a time in which movies and books feed us stories of instant love served up as quickly as microwavable oatmeal, and presumed to be as lasting as the crust that lands on your microwave walls once the whole sorry mess explodes. |
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