The following are the nominees for the 2014 Academy Awards (the ones I care about) announced by Cheryl Boone Isaacs, president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, on Thursday. For some strange reason, she was joined by "Hunger Games" actor Chris Hemsworth. Weird. I wonder who he had to screw to get that spot... Anyway, The Academy Awards will air live on ABC on March 2, starting at 7 p.m. ET. Share your picks in the comments.
CNN Coverage | Official Oscar Site
This is the best article I've read in a long time. It's written on a touchy subject: cheating. I don't do it, and I wouldn't be with anyone who did it to me; and I think there is a different dynamic in the gay world. Gay guys are especially promiscuous, so to find one who isn't is like finding the Holy Grail of gay guys, and you hang on to him with a vulture's grasp.
This article is thought-provoking. Is that how you really are, or know your boyfriend to be? You will hope not, certainly, but after a minute, it sets in. The truth. You'll know, mainly by your Spidey senses, that you or your boyfriend fits into one or both of these roles. What's more interesting is if you're the person who identifies with the role of the writer.
Here is the full article, written by Anonymous, from the Thought Catalog website:
I Will Sleep With Your Boyfriend And This Is How It Will Happen
I will meet him somewhere neutral: a coffee shop, a bar, a bookstore.
I will be cute, but in the way that you never are. With a light sundress that grazes the mid-thigh and a smile that says, “It’s okay, you can talk to me, I don’t bite.” Lately, you have been stressed with work and errands and family problems — you have forgotten that layer of sex appeal that you used to lacquer on before your dates together, the way it used to glimmer in the light and catch his attention from across the room.
He is not a bad person, and neither are you. Times are just difficult and everything loses its shine after a while. The first time he will touch me, his hands will burn because they are still used to the temperature of your body.
When he talks to me in the coffee shop, or the bar, or the bookstore, he will have forgotten how to talk to girls. What once used to come naturally to him, a language he felt he had created himself, will now be stilted and uncomfortable. Everything, he thinks, is going to be a giveaway that he already has a girlfriend and that he shouldn’t be doing this. I already know, of course, but that’s part of why I want him. That’s most of why I want him. He will edge around what he really wants to say, and I will brush my hand against his forearm and he will remember that it wasn’t words at all.
When we go back to my apartment, everything will look different to him, and different has replaced actual sex appeal as the most attractive thing in his world. In my apartment, there are no problems. There are no fights. There is no going to bed in some ugly tee shirt and forgetting to touch one another because you have better things to do, such as play around on your phone. Everything in my apartment will be for pleasure and for now. There won’t be any more complicated subtext.
My friends ask me why I always go for men who are in relationships. I tell them that I don’t know, but that there is something about all the sneaking around they have to do which makes me feel special and rare. I know that it means I am a secret that they need to keep hidden, but the more childish part of me still thinks that secrets are special. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I know that it can never work, and I don’t really want it to.
As soon as our fucking becomes like the sporadic encounters he has with you, as soon as it carries with it even the slightest note of drudgery or repetition or obligation, he will leave. He will make up a reason and go back to you, a cleansed man who will probably find someone new to replace the monotony with. He thinks that I thought he would leave you, but I knew he wouldn’t. They never do. You are his mother, in many ways, and will one day be the mother of his children. I am a placeholder in the shape of a vagina. Madonna and whore.
You think that he cheated on you because you weren’t hot enough. That’s not true. He cheated because he was the kind of man who cheats, and I sought him out because I like men like that. They thrill me even in the predictability of their deception. You let your love run cold, yes, but only in the way that humans do. A more decent man would have stayed with you through the tougher times, stayed honest, and worked with you on building something that can create sexiness in its stability. He would have found you both comfortable and exciting, because he would be capable of seeing more than one facet of your humanity.
You would be better off without him.
I will sleep with him by reminding him of everything he can no longer have with you, and I will lose him by showing him that, after the warmth of the first couple of fucks dies down, I am just like you are. I am just another partner who gets colds and looks messy in the morning and snores after drinking and argues with her mother over the phone. I will sleep with him as a pixie, and I will lose him as a human.
I used to watch the Real Housewives of New Jersey every week until Melissa Gorga became one of the Housewives. Her relationship with her husband Joe Gorga is sickening. She's expected to be, and is fine with being a barefoot-in-the-kitchen baby-maker. She is also expected to submit to his demands for sex at any time he initiates it in fear of being verbally abused, which she thinks is normal. I feel so bad for her kids. This is one excerpt of many listed in this article on Jezebel illustrating the fact that Joe Gorga is a chauvinist pig:
"Men, I know you think your woman isn't the type who wants to be taken. But trust me, she is. Every girl wants to get her hair pulled once in a while. If your wife says "no," turn her around, and rip her clothes off. She wants to be dominated. Women don't realize how easy men are. Just give us what we want."
You absolutely have to read this article. You'll be floored. Just PLEASE don't support this behavior by purchasing the book. I'll throw up if this thing ends up on a best-seller list.
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My name is Nicholas Emeigh, but everyone calls me Nick, and I prefer it. I'm usually called Nicholas when I'm in trouble. I'm from the Philadelphia area, work in business, and fancy myself as a freelance graphic designer, writer, and artist. I have a passion for art in all its forms including music, but I restrict my singing to the shower and the car for the good of society. If you'd like to know more, just send me an e-mail. I really appreciate you stopping by.