Little evils

I think I figured out why I used to hate being hugged. Yes, used to, because after a long hiatus I suddenly found myself not minding it all that much. That doesn’t mean you are allowed to hug-attack me though, mind you. Keep it to yourself if you don’t want to lose it.

Risking the chance of sounding very tacky, I think it’s because I am better attuned to the purpose of a hug. Before you start making faces, allow me to elaborate: I used to put my hands on my ex for one purpose only, and that was sex. Whether it was just to tease, to publicly claim, or both and more, it always had a sexual undertone. She quickly got a reputation as a nympho, but I was responsible for that as much, if not more, as she was.

Back when things were difficult at home (not that that has changed but at least I’m not there anymore), my sister and myself had to often stick up for each other, and often approached each other for venting alone. We didn’t get along all that well either, but at least we were in the same shit and had each other to talk to.
However, we never figured out how to hug each other. I only remember two instances, one of which she kissed me on the cheek as if I were some good friend of hers and another, when circumstances looked particularly bleak, where a hug was simply what she really needed.
And here’s the funny part: Not even four seconds after I put my arms around her, I caught my hand descending towards he ass. I caught it before she noticed, obviously, but it confused the fuck out of me. It was just a reflex! Here she was, pouring her heart out, while I was doing my best to both listen and not grope her. My goddamn sister. That’s how deep it went.

Fending off hugs soon became a habit. If I was caught off guard by a particularly social person, they wouldn’t get away without a cynical remark and the friendly though urgent hint to let go after a brief touch. They all soon learned to avoid me in their little cuddle spree. I had a girlfriend, and I was –very- strictly monogamous, emotions like that weren’t welcome. It’s just a little something that appears to have gotten hardwired in my head throughout the years.

So yeah, lately I’ve been getting hugged again here and there and though it was weird at first, I learned to go through the motions. Where to put arms, how not to press my thigh between theirs (I actually had that happen with a guy, I hope he didn’t notice) and so on. However, one thing that has hardly faded is that… spark, that is triggered. Perhaps that’s the point to begin with? If you’d look up through the process, you would see that little devil still there, grinning on my shoulder while colorfully describing to me what my arms are missing. I suppose it will fade in due time, but please, not too soon. I am allowed to have my personal pleasures, no?
Besides, I’m not the one insisting on a freaking hug. Live with it.

 

Just years ago I swore I would shoot myself if I ever owned more than 1 pair of shoes. Today I broke that promise once again by buying a third pair. And they’re wicked cool. They’re fucking black, and they’re fucking massive. I could walk into a bar wearing nothing but these and still look hardcore. I’m saving up, actually. I’m going to have an attachment built on the outside of my second floor to use as a walk-in closet for the pairs I’ll have, one for each outfit and/or crew shirt.

Seriously though: Steel-tipped work shoes, worn “all-round” shoes and brand new hiking boots that cost me a fucking million and some change. My old ones didn’t cut it anymore, as my four minute tumble down “the horseshoe” in west-Ireland proved to me. Dead shame though, they fit like a glove and they withstood a damn lot of mistreatment. Technically they’re still under warranty but I lost the ticket and in all honesty… I destroyed them. I wore them at work, and there’s no quicker way to demolish shoes than kick at rubber mats, floor boards, iron screws sticking out that won’t! fucking! break! and near squashing your toes in them, twice.

So I’m walking in my new pair right now, something that I didn’t have to do with my old ones; those just fit me like a glove. Despite an hour of pain, I must say these are pretty nicely adjusted, as well. It’s something I noticed with my newly acquired rucksack, as well: technologies and design has changed so much in little more than a year, it’s as if we’re talking about different products entirely.

This is what I love so much about such things, built for practically use in mind. It shows perfectly how, when a team of designers in the know put their heads together, they can come up with utterly amazing feats that appear so simple that you have to wonder why they haven’t thought of it before. Subtle changes in the grip layer of the shoes, for example. The inside literally molds to your foot in the first 5 minutes you wear them, and then fix in place. Or the fact that you can open my rucksack from the front. You can actually take the top off and make it into a day pack.

If only this equipment knew who they’re dealing with. They would weep if they could.

 

We all have our pet peeves, and most often they come and go without us noticing. That’s because we are who we are and tend not to overthink ourselves too much.
Heh yeah. So here’s one of mine:

Arrogance. To me, it’s like a thorn on a rose; a tiny protrusion in each personality that defines the persona itself. It comes in little faults in human reasoning, and in most cases (haven’t found any exceptions yet) it comes down to the confusing of luck with justice. People born with a silver spoon up their ass, who look down on those who didn’t. Those with good looks, who think that earns them anything more than beauty.

Not unlike the thorns on a rose, arrogance triggers a certain attraction. It adds that edge to an otherwise plain personality, because it suggests towards something… more, than can be perceived. It assumes that its own existence has a valid reason and the visible beauty, wealth or luck is merely an effect of so much more underlying.
The fallacy of this reasoning is that, in fact, there isn’t. Luck is luck and no matter how much wishful thinking you manage to bloat up underneath it, it’s a bubble that’s so easily burst. Since there is no proof of it, a single remark can reveal its true nature. The only thing you need to do is that their assumptions are based on arrogance and their exterior superiority is non-existent. They will have nothing rational to say to that. Another way is simply prove its lack of it, by trial. Danger for the graceful, challenge for the loud.

Which brings us to one final, small category: justified arrogance. There is one person that I know of that falls under this description, and I have to admit, I didn’t like him in the least when I first knew him. He is a true macho type, overconfident, loud, egocentric. But then I got to work with him, and saw each and every unspoken claim towards superiority come true. He would do anything you could ask, he did it well, fast and with a smug grin on the face. I found that working with him had an inspiring effect, and together (in all honesty, with me imitating him half of the time) we got shit done in record time.
It didn’t’ last long before he got bored (!) and moved on, and I look up to him ever since. Not in particular because he was arrogant, but because he was what he promised himself to be.

So all in all, I don’t mind arrogance itself. But the lack of character to support it, all the more.

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