Something borrowed from Jess and Russ.

Because one of our many good ideas is Google Sex, a search engine function that filters out all the porn and instead focus on the educative, healthy and pleasurable sides of love making. Although we do like the versatile spelling of e-mails saying: "Find sexual partners o-nline! Ho-o-kup fo-r sex no-w!". We sent this suggestion to the Googleplex a few months ago, and seeing no signs of a Thank you-note or the actual service we doubt they saw the value in it. Another idea is something we like to called Monki fiction, where we suggested that the fashion brand make their customer magazine somewhat more worthy of a read by including shorter stories on e.g. romantic topics. We attached a story with the title “Listen to the sea lions” but have had no sign of interests from these editors either. We do love the whole concept of feedback, like if we feel that you are one of the kindest, most decent, softest and sexy moustached man we’ve come across, with a great attitude and an excellent lover, we would want you to know it.

The conclusion at last appears. I guess that, I over-reacted.
But, no. In our world, the term is: lover-reacted.

It is fascinating how an inadequate language still manages to explain a lot of things with a single tap on the key board.

Because we love men, and when they don't respond to our telecom-based text messages, we send them poems via regular mail instead. And because we believe that the digital world sometime lack the mental clarity and pureness of heart that comes with analog communication.

Valentine's Day is coming up and we are compiling a long list of boys who ought to recieve letters of admiration. But V-day is also about the wonderful non-romantic loves of your life who are out there. The girls who find a million treasures on the internet while staying indoors, who incorporate dreams in reality when going outside and who knows that 2011 is all about slow romance, or slomance as we like to call it.

Ladies also seem to have a thing for advice that men lack, and one of the more thoughtful consultation comes from the Dear Sugar, The Rumpus Advice column;

Dear Seeking Wisdom,

You are not a terrible person for wanting to break up with someone you love. You don’t need a reason to leave. Wanting to leave is enough. Leaving doesn’t mean you’re incapable of real love or that you’ll never love anyone else again. It doesn’t mean you’re morally bankrupt or psychologically demented or a nymphomaniac. It means you wish to change the terms of one particular relationship. That’s all. Be brave enough to break your own heart. /.../

Don’t lament so much about how your career is going to turn out. You don’t have a career. You have a life. Do the work. Keep the faith. Be true blue.

You cannot convince people to love you. This is an absolute rule. No one will ever give you love because you want him or her to give it. Real love moves freely in both directions. Don’t waste your time on anything else. /.../

When you meet a man in the doorway of a Mexican restaurant who later kisses you while explaining that this kiss doesn’t “mean anything” because, much as he likes you, he is not interested in having a relationship with you or anyone right now, just laugh and kiss him back. Your daughter will have his sense of humor. Your son will have his eyes. /.../

Yours,
Sugar

Burton, the great seducer, appeared to ignore her at first, then he edged over to her and said fatuously, "Has anybody ever told you that you're a very pretty girl?"As recounted in her 1965 memoir, Elizabeth Taylor, she couldn't believe the lameness of that gambit. "Here's the great lover, the great wit, the great intellectual of Wales, and he comes out with a line like that.

Having discovered one of the great love affairs of the past century in a lay around number of Vanity Fair, we are even more convinced of the catastrophe that faces mankind if the art of writing love letters should become extinct. Richard Burton's correspondence with his lady, Liz, simply makes us wish that more men would surrender to love totally.

Well, first of all, you must realize that I worship you. Second of all, at the expense of seeming repetitive, I love you. Thirdly, and here I go again with my enormous command of language, I can't live without you. Thirdly, I mean fourthly, you have an enormous responsibility because if you leave me I shall have to kill myself. There is no life without you, I'm afraid. And I am afraid. Afeared. In terms of my life, scared. Lost. Alone. Dull . Dumb. (That will be the day.) And fifthly , and I hope I will never repeat myself, I fancy you. I bet that you would be alright if you loved me and stuff like that.
---

I love you, lovely woman. If anybody hurts you, just send me a line saying something like "Need" or 'Necessary" or just the magic word "Elizabeth," and I will be there somewhat faster than sound. You must know, of course, how much I love you. You must know, of course, how badly I treat you. But the fundamental and most vicious, swinish, murderous, and unchangeable fact is that we totally misunderstand each other... we operate on alien wavelenghts. You are as distant as Venus - planet, I mean - and I am tone-deaf to the music of the spheres.
---

...so why don't you come down and visit me? I'll show you a good time... I love you. Very very very odd curious strange bizarre unattractive without you. Millions of kisses and hugs. The bed is huge!

All excerpts from A Love Too Big To Last by Sam Kashner and Nancy Schoenberger, Vanity Fair, July 2010.

Because you look like the Russian penpal we always dreamed of.

Dear make out gals,

There are several parallels between a make out session and a cooking session. They're both highly seasoned acts involving plenty of steaming, sizzling and roasting elements.
Sometimes a high level of expertise is required, sometimes improvising is the key. In any case, you're in for a passionate, relaxing and blissful experience. Plus it's my firm conviction that once you master the kitchen, the bedroom's a piece of cake.

To make-outs and brussel sprouts!

Love,
Popculture cooking

Saturday eve,
Aug 14th, 1978

Allan-
Washington, D.C. is a city that should be visited frequently
or for an extended period of time. It's vibrant, alive, quick paced and pretty. I wanted to walk and walk, shop, stop, eat, look, rest, inspect, carouse - I will come back - I will go to New York, Paris, London, Chicago - someday - maybe.
I went to Bretano's book store - wonderful!
Have been locked inside Anaïs Nin + Henry Miller.
There is no place for me to crawl off and be alone (except in my books) but nonetheless the vacation is restful and interesting. Going to Virgina Beach in the morning.
I have so much to say but, alas, no way.

Judy

RIP - "The Russian" Callahan

Feb 22nd or 23rd, Brooklyn 2009

"Yesterday we went to Union Pool. Dance and Pabst and a Russian who thought I was "beautiful".

As the were closing, we wanted to go to an after party and Ellen spotted this guy wearing a fur hat and said 'He looks like he is having a party'. Then you came up to me as I was dancing and we started talking at the same time. Yes, you were having an party. And yes, you only wanted beautiful people like me there. I took your number but somehow didn't save it in the phone, although I did manage to save your address.

March 7th, 2009

"I met 'The Russsian' today again. Thomas. I find him extremely attractive. I just want to do him. I need too. Our paths will cross again. He said 'Are you Jewish?' I said 'No, I'm Swedish. But at least they both end with an ish.' He is hot."

Postcard sent from Stockholm, March 18th, 2009

"Dear Thomas,
Stockholm is a fair city without any of the excitement, dirt and passion New York serves up so gallantly. I remember your address, although you still have not lived up to your after party invitations. I also remeber you being a very handsome and attractive gentleman. Look forward to seeing you soon.
Love, xxxx"

June 14th, Brooklyn 2009

"I long for days of less intensity, alcohol and dancing. The big thing that has happen since last time though is what I've been waiting for - namely that I should meet the Russian.
Rightly so, on Friday when Ann and I are walking towards Enid's a man is coming towards us and at first I think he is drunk because he is staring a me. Then he goes like 'You don't recognize me?' and I'm like 'Yeah, it's you!'. You take me to the side and we exchange numbers for real. Apparently, he broke his collarbone after the last time we met. We're talking and he goes 'I'm not supposed to say this but you are giving me a hard on right now'. (I love that stuff!) We make out then and there and it is maybe 9 pm."

I end up spending the night at your place (an interior writer would probably describe it as noveau American, combining classic style with things found on the street). The apartment is beautiful, we have the same shower curtain. You smell great. I don't sleep at all. In the morning we drink som apple-beet juice that you made yourself. As I leave, I say "See you later" and actually believe it.

Then I send you an anonymous letter of admiration, but you should know it's from me because it contains cinnamon gum and condoms. When I text you, you do not reply leading up to "Sorry dude. I don't play hard to get. What part of 'a Swedish girl with no patience wants you to do her' don't you get? I thought you were intelligent, Thomas".

Message sent on July 12th, 2009

"So, this is the last medium I'll use to get to you before I'll reclaim my pride. I've tried to be patient but haven't seen you around and not being used to the universe not working in my favor, I turn to facebook. I don't have a huge crush on you and I do not suffer from a obsessive-compulsive-whatever disorder BUT you are just so damn attractive and you give me goosebumps and I would like to spend more time with you. I am most certain it would be fun.

xoxo "

July 20-something, The Hamptons, 2009

"The Russian biked past me on Bedford as I was walking to work Thursday. I waved first and he waved back. Then I started to laugh and smiled a bit embarssed but still amused by it all and he made something of a smirk. It feels good to know that he is alive, even if he apparently isn't into me. It is quite possible that I wouldn't have cared if he had kept in touch, but there is something about the way we have met and the turquoise shorts he was wearing that makes me believe that we would be a good team."

I text you a bunch of silly stuff when I'm drunk in the category of "Seriously dude, does this happen to you a lot? Well, of course it does. I just want to be with you. Kiss you at least once more before I leave the country." And then the whole "I wanna make out with you all the time"-debacle, which makes my day, but breaks my heart since I've apparently qualified for a position where I'm the only person on earth you could not send that joke to. I take making out seriously, and you know it.

I want to send you "Live a little", but as I'm busy playing pool with two Mexicans at 5 pm I decide not to. The last thing you get is something in the style of "You should be flattered". I hope you are.

But I guess it just ain't gonna work out.

What the hell.

August 11th, Stockholm, 2006

Hej Fredrik,

Jag tänkte att vi kunde bli brevvänner.
Neej, jag skojar bara. Jag ska sluta besvära dig men med risk för att framstå som en total idiot vill jag ändå hålla postväsendet levande och skriva detta brev.
Jag har aldrig varit så kär i någon som i dig.
Det är något med dina fantastiskt vackra ögon och underbara kramar som jag har väldigt svårt att motstå.
Och din förmåga att dyka upp i mitt liv när jag minst anar det gör att jag gärna vill tro att ödet vill se oss tillsammans.
Så är dock inte fallet. Uppenbarligen har inte jag tillräckligt med charm eller skönhet för att fånga ditt intresse.
Dessutom har jag insett att det är bäst att sluta försöka få dig att inse hur mycket kärlek du går miste om och lägga ner det här innan jag blir alltför sårad.
Jag hoppas att du träffar, eller redan har träffat någon som fyller ditt liv med lycka och kärlek.
Jag önskar dig allt gott och avundas den lyckliga flicka som vinner ditt lotteri.

xxxx