The Ballad of Jax Teller (and other loyal, but not always faithful dudes)

Jan 26 2012

[WARNING: IF YOU'RE GETTING CAUGHT UP ON OLD SEASONS OF SONS OF ANARCHY, THIS POST CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS.]

Monday night, a debate about a faithfulness versus loyalty exploded onto my timeline. I’m sure this debate was inspired by one of the many Real Lives of Silly Ass Women shows that come on VH1, and while I could have done my due diligence as a writer and researched the plotline that ignited the discussion, I decided against it. For one, I have no desire to know what’s going on, on these shows. For two, I have no desire to give an analysis of said shows in my blog space. Just… No.

The comments regarding faithfulness versus loyalty, however, intrigued me. There seem to be two schools of thought on the issue: One school believes that a man, who is unfaithful, is disloyal. Point blank. The other school believes that a man who occasionally dips in some side sauces, can still be considered loyal.

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Act Like a Lady, Drink Like a Man?

Jan 24 2012

Like most epiphanies that occur in the life of SBG, this one started with drinks. It was December and I was out having “Thank God the Semester Is Over” drinks with my fiction workshop classmates. We sat around the table at a watering hole near campus and I listened as the older, MFA program vets spilled their thoughts on everything to the validity of the degree to writing styles to which contemporary authors were douchebags and bitches. Somehow the conversation got around to alcohol and I did a quick mental sweep of the drinks on the table. I counted one beer, one glass of wine, one gin and tonic, one vodka with light cranberry, and then there was my drink: a tequila sunrise. Something didn’t belong at this table.

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Skinny Bits – 1.20.12

Jan 20 2012

Happy Friday, folks!

The second semester of school is officially underway. I’m taking two literature classes: one that focuses on authors who write both fiction and non-fiction; and a critical approach to literature. The former excites me to end, as my concentration is non-fiction, but I have a strong interest in fiction. The latter looks to be the bain of my existence for the next fifteen weeks. As someone who likes to “keep it simple,” my being rejects the very nature of literary theory and critique. My professor even stated: “Literary theory is like philosophy in that it takes things that appear simple and make them complicated.” Ugh. What’s going to get me through the semester is my stubborn pride. When my favorite rapper is famous for the phrase “I will not lose,” I can’t go around letting some old, pretentious literary critics kick my ass.

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The Lonely Red Couch

Jan 18 2012

So I have this red couch, right?

Copping this couch was a big deal for me. Though I’d lived on my own twice before settling at my residence on Cleveland’s West Side, I never owned a couch. Sans a television and television stand, my former apartments never had furniture outside of my bedroom. When I purchased a couch and a dining room table for my new place, this move felt more adult. More permanent. Like I was finally creating a home space where I could settle for a few years.

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Dance

Jan 16 2012

I loved to dance for him. It was when I went from Plain Jane girlfriend to tantalizing seductress. All it took was the careful shedding of my typical jeans and T-shirts fare. Hair slightly tossed. Red-painted toes exposed in a pair of heels he eagerly purchased after asking for an impromptu strut in the shoe store. And lace. Black or red. Found at Target, but rocked with a confidence that made it look like La Perla against my skin.

He’d watch my show with a twinkle in his eyes, eyes that turned light brown under the right light. His full lips curled in appreciation. Anxiety in his hands, hands that impatiently rubbed his thighs, hands that begged to touch me. But no, not yet.

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