You are 88% Sketchy |
Would you survive a horror movie? Find out @ She's Crafty
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
when women are pigs
What is the deal with women pissing on toilet seats? Can someone please tell me why this is?
I understand that some women do not want to sit on a public toilet seat. Fine. Understandable. So they hover over it and pee like that. Fine. Great. But some of them seem to have not mastered this art and instead manage to pee all over the seat and floor in the process and then LEAVE IT LIKE THAT! What in the bloody hell is wrong with people? The stupid thing is, they'll flush the toilet. Why bother? You left your urine all over the toilet seat and floor, do you think it's more acceptable to flush what you managed to get IN the toilet? Does that make you somehow LESS revolting?
The part that makes me truly insane is this: they find the toilet seat too disgusting to sit on, but THEY THEMSELVES are the reason it is gross.
Jackass. All of them.
I understand that some women do not want to sit on a public toilet seat. Fine. Understandable. So they hover over it and pee like that. Fine. Great. But some of them seem to have not mastered this art and instead manage to pee all over the seat and floor in the process and then LEAVE IT LIKE THAT! What in the bloody hell is wrong with people? The stupid thing is, they'll flush the toilet. Why bother? You left your urine all over the toilet seat and floor, do you think it's more acceptable to flush what you managed to get IN the toilet? Does that make you somehow LESS revolting?
The part that makes me truly insane is this: they find the toilet seat too disgusting to sit on, but THEY THEMSELVES are the reason it is gross.
Jackass. All of them.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
happy landing
Talking about sex is fun. I mean REALLY fun. I was worried about my new site (which is 99.99999999% sex) being difficult to write for and all, but once I decided to just leap and do it it's been crazy. What else have I ever WANTED to write about, I wonder? I jest, I jest. I know this bottling of thoughts regarding the subject are leading to an outpouring that will eventually lessen...but not yet (grins madly). MWAA HAA HAA
booty power!
Oh my. I'm pretty sure I'm trying to damage me or something. I need to quit working out so much. But I've come to the conclusion that nothing improves my mood and general sense of self esteem and well being than exercise (other than, you know, sex but that's not always possible, and it doesn't make my butt look this amazing either.) When you've gained weight and your miserable about it, it's really hard to stay on a diet, 'cause you're already depressed! What makes me feel better when I'm depressed? EATING!
>insert very loud "D'oh!!!" here<
Well, I figured if I just busted ass for awhile I could see some results faster and results will keep me motivated. So that's what I've done.
And I gotta tell you, I put on those snazzy black pants I have and went to the store yesterday, the ones that hug my butt like a dream come true, and I shopped. I shopped and noticed that men had a rather heightened appreciation for my hieney, and I felt no shame. Why? BECAUSE NOTHING JIGGLED WHEN I WALKED! Oh yah!
That, my friends, was worth all this work.
A firm ass is a sense of empowerment. Don't know why, and I don't care.
>insert very loud "D'oh!!!" here<
Well, I figured if I just busted ass for awhile I could see some results faster and results will keep me motivated. So that's what I've done.
And I gotta tell you, I put on those snazzy black pants I have and went to the store yesterday, the ones that hug my butt like a dream come true, and I shopped. I shopped and noticed that men had a rather heightened appreciation for my hieney, and I felt no shame. Why? BECAUSE NOTHING JIGGLED WHEN I WALKED! Oh yah!
That, my friends, was worth all this work.
A firm ass is a sense of empowerment. Don't know why, and I don't care.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Friday, May 20, 2005
moving on up
I've decided to leap.
For months I have been debating starting a new site. A braver site. A This-Is-Introspectre-Take-Me-As-I-Am site.
You see, my dear reader, for years I have censored myself. My fears and paranoias and general queasiness at being exposed have kept me from saying all that I wanted to say. You know, the sex stuff...the stuff I have always been hesitant about talking about in here.
But I realized one day that I am only hurting myself. By censoring myself I am sending myself the message that I am unacceptable. If people find the Whole Me shocking, well, so be it. I am who I am.
The fact is, I have incredible respect for the people who bravely show their true face. Not the prettied up socially acceptable face, but the whole deal, the personality in the raw. Those people are so incredibly brave and I have spent many hours trying to learn how to become the woman I want to be.
My conclusion? Just jump.
And so I will.
For now, the new site is still being put together and formatted, that sort of thing. And in the future, the majority of my writing will occur there. I will come back here now and then and have my say. But mostly my say will occur there.
Should you care to come visit the uncensored me, I tell you this: there will be serious raunch.
For years I have been trying to inch my way up to this: writing about sex. But it's hard with all the issues and fear. I am proud and downright elated to announce I've come far enough in my own evolution to take the plunge (ha, pun) and talk about ALL the things that interest me.
Which, some days, is mostly sex.
It's strange to me how excited and nervous I am. I mean, I'm still afraid. I'm afraid people will come in and leave me nasty comments or judge me. (shrug) As if their opinions matter. But they do, because they have the ability to hurt me.
Although I've come a long way in dealing with my sexual traumas, the fact is I am still very delicate and fragile about it all. I hope for encouragement and understanding. I may not get it. But, when one leaps there is always the possibility of falling...
For months I have been debating starting a new site. A braver site. A This-Is-Introspectre-Take-Me-As-I-Am site.
You see, my dear reader, for years I have censored myself. My fears and paranoias and general queasiness at being exposed have kept me from saying all that I wanted to say. You know, the sex stuff...the stuff I have always been hesitant about talking about in here.
But I realized one day that I am only hurting myself. By censoring myself I am sending myself the message that I am unacceptable. If people find the Whole Me shocking, well, so be it. I am who I am.
The fact is, I have incredible respect for the people who bravely show their true face. Not the prettied up socially acceptable face, but the whole deal, the personality in the raw. Those people are so incredibly brave and I have spent many hours trying to learn how to become the woman I want to be.
My conclusion? Just jump.
And so I will.
For now, the new site is still being put together and formatted, that sort of thing. And in the future, the majority of my writing will occur there. I will come back here now and then and have my say. But mostly my say will occur there.
Should you care to come visit the uncensored me, I tell you this: there will be serious raunch.
For years I have been trying to inch my way up to this: writing about sex. But it's hard with all the issues and fear. I am proud and downright elated to announce I've come far enough in my own evolution to take the plunge (ha, pun) and talk about ALL the things that interest me.
Which, some days, is mostly sex.
It's strange to me how excited and nervous I am. I mean, I'm still afraid. I'm afraid people will come in and leave me nasty comments or judge me. (shrug) As if their opinions matter. But they do, because they have the ability to hurt me.
Although I've come a long way in dealing with my sexual traumas, the fact is I am still very delicate and fragile about it all. I hope for encouragement and understanding. I may not get it. But, when one leaps there is always the possibility of falling...
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
nice, dude.
Minty Frikkin' Mullet Lip Balm
When your beaver pelt's flyin' proud, it's not cool to have a dry, cracked beer-hole. "Minty Frikkin' Mullet Lip Balm keeps the rims on that bastard moist and tasty. Tastes and smells just like Peppermint Schnapps! Appropriate for dudes with all types of mullets. Even o.k. for chicks.
Size: 0.15 oz
price: $5.95
Sluts are A-Ok
I've been reading sex blogs this morning. Man oh man, how I LOVE to read those sex blogs. I suppose it could be compared to guys watching porn except that these are real people talking about real sex, not a bunch of paid actresses PRETENDING they are enjoying the obnoxious retard shoving his cock in her. (I'm in a MOOD today, can you tell?)
Anywho, I noticed in one of my recent blogs I was ranting about the sluts in the bar. And I thought I should clarify something:
I am very pro-slut.
However, this only applies to sluts with morals. I know, some of you don't understand. Aren't all sluts immoral? No. There is a huge difference between the kind of girl that will fuck your boyfriend just to try to vainly improve her total lack of self esteem and the kind of woman who lets loose with her partner and unleashes her inner whore, much to the delight of them both.
Women are trained to be prudes. Then once we're in a relationship and should be enjoying the hell out of some sex, we have great difficulty letting go. We're self concious about our asses, our boobs, our whatever. Our man might want us to act all crazy in bed but then what if we do and he judges us? What if he asks where we learned that? What if he tells us we're disgusting for such things?
It happens to a lot of women, I've learned while reading. Especially the ones that are branching out into some kinkier things. Sometimes their husbands flip out. Hey, change is frequently scary and it's more of a hot button when it's about sex, for sure.
(mind wanders.....)
What was I talking about?
Oh yes. Sluts. Whores. And how I call some women (mostly stupid girls) these names as if they were an insult. But there are times when we can claim these words for ourselves, as an act of empowerment and a celebratory claim of our blossoming sexuality.
Just, ah, work on being a whore with morals, ok? I'd have to call you a slut and mean it in the derogatory way.
Anywho, I noticed in one of my recent blogs I was ranting about the sluts in the bar. And I thought I should clarify something:
I am very pro-slut.
However, this only applies to sluts with morals. I know, some of you don't understand. Aren't all sluts immoral? No. There is a huge difference between the kind of girl that will fuck your boyfriend just to try to vainly improve her total lack of self esteem and the kind of woman who lets loose with her partner and unleashes her inner whore, much to the delight of them both.
Women are trained to be prudes. Then once we're in a relationship and should be enjoying the hell out of some sex, we have great difficulty letting go. We're self concious about our asses, our boobs, our whatever. Our man might want us to act all crazy in bed but then what if we do and he judges us? What if he asks where we learned that? What if he tells us we're disgusting for such things?
It happens to a lot of women, I've learned while reading. Especially the ones that are branching out into some kinkier things. Sometimes their husbands flip out. Hey, change is frequently scary and it's more of a hot button when it's about sex, for sure.
(mind wanders.....)
What was I talking about?
Oh yes. Sluts. Whores. And how I call some women (mostly stupid girls) these names as if they were an insult. But there are times when we can claim these words for ourselves, as an act of empowerment and a celebratory claim of our blossoming sexuality.
Just, ah, work on being a whore with morals, ok? I'd have to call you a slut and mean it in the derogatory way.
more quiz crap
Your Brain is 66.67% Female, 33.33% Male |
Your brain leans female You think with your heart, not your head Sweet and considerate, you are a giver But you're tough enough not to let anyone take advantage of you! |
reverberating sarcasm
In case any of you were wondering let me clarify this right now:
People who play their stereos so loud that the bass vibrates shit in your house are REALLY FUCKING COOL.
No, they are. You just didn't know, I know, it's ok I didn't either. I thought they were obnoxious assholes that have a terribly bloated sense of self worth but no, it turns out they really are super cool muthahfuckahs. Yah. All those times I saw those guys drive by in their cars and their stereos altered my heartbeat from across the intersection, I thought they were having delusions of grandeur to try to compensate for their ridiculously small penises. But apparently they are so cool my poor pitiful brain just couldn't possibly comprehend.
Who knew?
People who play their stereos so loud that the bass vibrates shit in your house are REALLY FUCKING COOL.
No, they are. You just didn't know, I know, it's ok I didn't either. I thought they were obnoxious assholes that have a terribly bloated sense of self worth but no, it turns out they really are super cool muthahfuckahs. Yah. All those times I saw those guys drive by in their cars and their stereos altered my heartbeat from across the intersection, I thought they were having delusions of grandeur to try to compensate for their ridiculously small penises. But apparently they are so cool my poor pitiful brain just couldn't possibly comprehend.
Who knew?
Monday, May 16, 2005
crankatronic update
Aw yah.
Nothing that 4.5 miles on an elliptical can't set right.
Ooooooh yaaaaaaah!
Nothing that 4.5 miles on an elliptical can't set right.
Ooooooh yaaaaaaah!
Yet another reason why my kid is super awesome, by Introspectre
Yesterday my son walks into the kitchen and picks up a jar of spaghetti sauce. He raises it over his head with both hands and starts it on the Tusken Raiders battle cry (the Sand People in Star Wars for those of you not in the know) which sounds strangely like, "OOOOORK OOOOORK OOOORK!!!"
Then he sets it down and brightly announces, "I'm a Tusken Tomater!"
We fell out.
A frustrating morning.
I don't know what my freaking problem is. I am cranky. I am a cranky monster. A crankgoblin. A crankasaurous.
Just wanna kick rocks and pout a lot.
Not terribly productive, as you may guess.
I'm feeling artisticly constipated. My website isn't going the way I want and I'm frustrated. Worse than frustrated, I'm feeling uninspired.
So my usual stoic method for dealing with such things is to sit here and plod through regardless but I'm taking a wild guesseroo here and thinking maybe, just maybe, that might not be the best plan after all.
So instead I'm trying to work up the energy to work out. It would undoubtedly make me feel better.
Mr. Wonderful and I are working out a whole new format to the site. The way I've got it set up now is boring me. I've been trying to write things in a way that implies I have no opinion and SHIT ON A TOASTER that is nearly impossible for me to do. So often I have great ideas for subjects but I'm trying to write about them in an unbiased manner and I just sit here staring at the screen trying to figure out how in the world I can possible sound as if I have no opinion.
Mr Wonderful points out that this may be a waste of my writing talents, to try to seperate my writing from my personality.
I agree, although I'm not sure if I see the logic in his statement or I'm just tired of trying to do something that doesn't come naturally.
He points out that I should do what I love.
I think he has a good point. Darn tootin'.
And these damn JETS! Screaming over my house, ARGH! Driving me crazy! Completely bat shit! One day I'm gonna show up at Oceana pushing my shopping cart full of strange objects I pulled off the sidewalk and out of peoples front lawns and I'm going to be babbling about how I've discovered the WHEEL and it sounds like silence, would they like some silent wheel? I'll ask, while holding up what looks like a piece of tinfoil attached to a garden gnomes foot with a French fry container glued to his head in a jaunty manner. And it will be their fault, for flying their damn jets over my damn house and driving me to MADNESS! MADNESS I SAY!
Fuck it. I'm going to the gym.
I don't know what my freaking problem is. I am cranky. I am a cranky monster. A crankgoblin. A crankasaurous.
Just wanna kick rocks and pout a lot.
Not terribly productive, as you may guess.
I'm feeling artisticly constipated. My website isn't going the way I want and I'm frustrated. Worse than frustrated, I'm feeling uninspired.
So my usual stoic method for dealing with such things is to sit here and plod through regardless but I'm taking a wild guesseroo here and thinking maybe, just maybe, that might not be the best plan after all.
So instead I'm trying to work up the energy to work out. It would undoubtedly make me feel better.
Mr. Wonderful and I are working out a whole new format to the site. The way I've got it set up now is boring me. I've been trying to write things in a way that implies I have no opinion and SHIT ON A TOASTER that is nearly impossible for me to do. So often I have great ideas for subjects but I'm trying to write about them in an unbiased manner and I just sit here staring at the screen trying to figure out how in the world I can possible sound as if I have no opinion.
Mr Wonderful points out that this may be a waste of my writing talents, to try to seperate my writing from my personality.
I agree, although I'm not sure if I see the logic in his statement or I'm just tired of trying to do something that doesn't come naturally.
He points out that I should do what I love.
I think he has a good point. Darn tootin'.
And these damn JETS! Screaming over my house, ARGH! Driving me crazy! Completely bat shit! One day I'm gonna show up at Oceana pushing my shopping cart full of strange objects I pulled off the sidewalk and out of peoples front lawns and I'm going to be babbling about how I've discovered the WHEEL and it sounds like silence, would they like some silent wheel? I'll ask, while holding up what looks like a piece of tinfoil attached to a garden gnomes foot with a French fry container glued to his head in a jaunty manner. And it will be their fault, for flying their damn jets over my damn house and driving me to MADNESS! MADNESS I SAY!
Fuck it. I'm going to the gym.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Friday, May 13, 2005
..................................ow
Oh sweet misery and torture.
My neck is screwed up. I mean really seriously f-ed up. Stress, no doubt, and maybe that crazy exercise thing I was trying to do. Bad plan there. Now all the muscles surrounding my shoulders, upper back, neck, and head are a screaming throbbing mess of agony. I don't mean like, "Wow, my neck is sore." No. This is like, "The weight of holding up my own head makes me want to vomit, as does light, noise, pressure, and thought." It might even be oxygen I'm reacting to at this point. I wouldn't know; it's difficult to think with all this pain crushing my cognitive processes into brain-crap-stew.
So I am taking painkillers. Good old Motrin can't hold a candle to this. Hell, the Darvocet? What is this crap?...I'm taking can barely hold it at bay. It's enough to give me some lucid moments and then it comes crashing back in.
I was feeling a little better. So I decided to vacuum the house.
I'm a moron.
What a bad bad idea.
Now my head and neck are back up to a full strength howling screech again and I'm an idiot.
That is all.
My neck is screwed up. I mean really seriously f-ed up. Stress, no doubt, and maybe that crazy exercise thing I was trying to do. Bad plan there. Now all the muscles surrounding my shoulders, upper back, neck, and head are a screaming throbbing mess of agony. I don't mean like, "Wow, my neck is sore." No. This is like, "The weight of holding up my own head makes me want to vomit, as does light, noise, pressure, and thought." It might even be oxygen I'm reacting to at this point. I wouldn't know; it's difficult to think with all this pain crushing my cognitive processes into brain-crap-stew.
So I am taking painkillers. Good old Motrin can't hold a candle to this. Hell, the Darvocet? What is this crap?...I'm taking can barely hold it at bay. It's enough to give me some lucid moments and then it comes crashing back in.
I was feeling a little better. So I decided to vacuum the house.
I'm a moron.
What a bad bad idea.
Now my head and neck are back up to a full strength howling screech again and I'm an idiot.
That is all.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
various items of twat stuffing
Last night one of my best friends calls up to tell me her boyfriend is buying a bar/sex shop. Well, he bought this building, and wants to turn it into a martini lounge with a sex shop attached. You know, swanky drunk sex toy shopping. Righteous! And she says he wants "us" to set the place up. I'm like, "Us?" She says, "YAH! You and me!" and I'm all "whoaaaaaaaa", brain awash with the possibilites. I ask why me and she says, "He asked, 'Well, you and your friend are all into that, right?'" and I laugh. I am way into sex, oh yes. But I've been in a sex toy store 3 whole times in my entire life (but compulsively bought something every time...) I am too prudish to go in to one by MYSELF for Gods sake. Ok, I look at that stuff sometimes online. 'Cause, you know, there's no leering men in my living room looking over my shoulder to see what I pick up while they decide which movie they're going to wack it to that night... (eewwwwie) Not that I have a problem with men and and their masturbatory habits but I do have a problem with STRANGE men and therefore their penises are in my brain filed under "Hideously Frightening Things I Should Not Ever Contemplate".
Strange little factoid about myself: I do not masturbate and fastasize about other men. I will on a rare occasion but it almost always makes me feel disgusted and freaked out. (What? I have issues? Holy crap, no way!!!) Fantasizing about women doesn't freak me out but I don't find I'm ever attracted to them in real life, so that's interesting. Introspectre= Odd Creature. Indeed.
Anyhooooo...we're supposed to set up this store. She tells me there's going to be a "dungeon room" for all the s&m and D/s stuff. I'm all, "Hey, that's my department!" and laugh and she says, "Yah, you know about that stuff I don't" in a very serious tone and I realize this is no joke. She actually expects me to decide what this store will carry in the line of personal restraints and random things to "torture" your mate with. My eyes glaze over in lewd thoughtfulness. This could be very interesing, methinks.
She then states she plans to buy at least 3 of everything: One for the store, one for her, one for me. I tell her we'll have an awful lot of toys, and she laughs maniacly and says, "YAH! I'm gonna have a whole ROOM full of stuff! It'll be awesome!"
And I think it's funny, two women talking on the phone, discussing the various things they will buy so that they themselves and the other women of this town can shove all the various items being discussed up their collective twats.
Fucking funny.
Literally.
Strange little factoid about myself: I do not masturbate and fastasize about other men. I will on a rare occasion but it almost always makes me feel disgusted and freaked out. (What? I have issues? Holy crap, no way!!!) Fantasizing about women doesn't freak me out but I don't find I'm ever attracted to them in real life, so that's interesting. Introspectre= Odd Creature. Indeed.
Anyhooooo...we're supposed to set up this store. She tells me there's going to be a "dungeon room" for all the s&m and D/s stuff. I'm all, "Hey, that's my department!" and laugh and she says, "Yah, you know about that stuff I don't" in a very serious tone and I realize this is no joke. She actually expects me to decide what this store will carry in the line of personal restraints and random things to "torture" your mate with. My eyes glaze over in lewd thoughtfulness. This could be very interesing, methinks.
She then states she plans to buy at least 3 of everything: One for the store, one for her, one for me. I tell her we'll have an awful lot of toys, and she laughs maniacly and says, "YAH! I'm gonna have a whole ROOM full of stuff! It'll be awesome!"
And I think it's funny, two women talking on the phone, discussing the various things they will buy so that they themselves and the other women of this town can shove all the various items being discussed up their collective twats.
Fucking funny.
Literally.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
"AT&T sells SEX FAVORS???"
"MCI has hard core child pornography?!?!"
"ARE THEY MAD FUTURE ROBOTS?!?!?"
"ARE THEY MAD FUTURE ROBOTS?!?!?"
all the fucking awesomeness
I was out of town, did you miss me?
What kind of stupid question is that when it's in a blog?
Oh well, whatever. And that sums up my general attitude right now.
I'm so fucking sick of insomnia.
>walks off to grab coffee as sleep is obviously pointless<
Not ready yet. Dammit.
Here's whats going on:
Spent the weekend at Mr. Wonderfuls moms house. Mr. Wonderful wanted to go visit his old buddies. I wasn't particularly happy about this plan seeing as how his old pals are drunk whores, the lot of them. He was too when he used to hang out with them. It is a point of contention, let me say. To be blunt, his past makes me want to vomit sometimes but I try to deal. I have a past. You know. I should be a bit more... understanding of things. That's not always the easiest thing to do however. Meaning, being understanding is not something I succeed at, but I make a valiant attempt.
Whatever.
(I can hear the alarm going off in the bedroom...for quite a while....there. Anyway...)
So we go to his moms and that was stressful. His sister is in the throes of puberty, his mom in the throes of menopause. Between the two of them the house may as well have been drenched in flammable estrogen. One got the impression that playing with matches or even sparks of things was a dangerous idea and it was best to be as placating as possible.
Little old me is in the throes of PMS and placating is never my forte while wallowing around in the murky mire of my own hormones but I tried to pull my head out of my own ass for the extent of the weekend.
Then, we go visit his ..... friends. (Had to resist urge to put that in qoutes.)
On the way there I am completely overtaken by a raging panic attack. I didn't want to go at all, but worse would have been him going without me and me wondering what was going on for the hours and hours he was gone. THAT would have made me totally homicidal. I've heard plenty of stories from Mr. Wonderful himself. I was hopeful that most of them were drunkenly inflated tales told with a male perspective. I mean, there can't possibly be an entire town full of drunken whores, right? College town or not, the girls can't be THAT easy anywhere, right? Right?
Wrong. This town is so full of skanks I was just flabbergasted. I wouldn't have been surprised if the girls just laid down on the sidewalk and waited till guys laid on top of them. Seriously. I was half surprised drunk college girls weren't coming up to the car at a light and offering blow jobs for free.
What shocked me most is that I really thought, I really did, that most women at least act coy...but these women were aggressive about getting laid, as if it were a difficult thing to accomplish in a town full of drunk college guys.
As soon as we walked in this club I wandered off to find the bathroom. I don't see it, and turn around. Already there is some girl hugging Mr. Wonderful and she's smiling hugely. I think, ok, must be someone he knows. I walk up behind her and stand there casually waiting for him to notice me. It takes longer than I want, I note with mild distaste. At any rate, he notices me and says, "Oh hey, this is my fiancee!" and I feel a bit better. The girl reaches out to shake my hand but is giving me this ice dagger expression and then shakes my hand with disgust as if I've just announced I eat my own feces. She coldly says, "Congratulations" in a flat tone that left me no doubt I should avoid her in the bathroom and dark alleys. Even semi dark alleys.
Needless to say, I did not find this comforting. She wanders away and Mr. Wonderful informs me she came up to him and announce she just graduated, would he like to kiss her?
>pause<
She hasn't seen him in a year, doesn't ask how he's doing, if he has a girlfriend, hey, where've you been? No. Just Hi Let's Lock Lips.
Fucking gross dude.
I told him she really didn't need an excuse like that and that I thought anything would have been a good excuse for her.
"I had Fruit Loops for breakfast, let's make out!"
"I'm wearing clean underwear, let's get it on!"
"I remembered to floss last week, how 'bout swapping spit?"
Fucking nasty.
This was, I might point out, EARLY. We JUST got to the club. Within 2 minutes of us walking in the door! It wasn't crowded yet. And some girl is already crawling on him....
Fucking awesome.
Must I add that my anxiety went immediately through the roof? No? Ok.
Need I tell you that instead of vomiting my anxiety chose to come out the other end? Repeatedly? No? Ok.
Must I explain how awesome it is to be in a club with a bunch of drunk ho bags trying to fuck your man and all you can do is run to the bathroom to shit? No? Oh, good.
Cause I would hate to have to get into all that.
And the club starts filling up and Mr. Wonderful is having a great time seeing old friends and is drinking like a fish. A happy oh-look-there's-so-and-so fish and people are slapping him on the back and looking all crazy glad to see him again and he's even SMOKING. He quit a while back. Cause it's... mmm... what's the word I'm looking for?...oh yes, RETARDED. Super fucking retarded. So he's drinking and smoking and my anxiety is rising like a great tide of I-wish-I-could-stop-crapping-and-maybe-start-puking-intead that is going to swallow me up. I am claustrophobic, and the people piling in there are not helping. The loud music is causing anyone I do speak to to smash themselves into my personal space and yell in my ear and the place is getting smokier by the second. I want to puke, but it only comes out the other end. Awesome. But the waves of nasuea leave me even more frightened that I might just hurl on someone cause there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to shove my way through this crowd to get to the bathroom in time.
In the meantime, I'm checking people out. I'm watching the drunk sluts on the dance floor with most of their tits hanging out, a cigarette in one hand, a drink in the other, retardedly girate to some imaginary beat that had nothing to do with the one actually playing. Their lack of rythym made me want to put bags over their heads for the shame of all white people everywhere. I wanted to get out there and show them how to really dance (people, I can bust a fucking move, let me tell you...) but I'm too busy with my non compliant bodily functions.
And OOOOOOOOOOH (steam pouring out of ears) there are few things that annoy the fucking crap outta me more than dumb ass drunk bitches taking up a dance floor. Worse? The drink and the smoke in either hand. Not only are they taking up space that someone with an ounce of rhythym could use, but they're spilling their fucking drinks all over everybody and burning peoples clothes and flesh all over the place with that fucking cigarrette. Is it possible to be any more annoying? Possibly. But not by much. Maybe if they were loudly screaming the lyrics to "Achey Breaky Heart" or something, maybe. Maybe. I don't know.
And besides all of this, only one of Mr. Wonderfuls friends is actually speaking to me. The rest don't seem to give a fucking crap about me, and I fairly quickly decide they are impolite assholes. There was two other nice guys in the bunch but they seem to be really shy and when I talk to them they look like they would rather run away. (Judging from the Whore Level I was guessing they might be afraid that I was Yet Another Whore, so I quit trying to talk to them.) Mr. Wonderful keeps wandering off and back again, and thankfully the one nice friend he has stuck pretty close to me. I decided I loved him. I'm not sure if he's really as cool as I think or if he just seemed like a beacon of comforting light compared to all the drunken fuckwads that were in this club. (shrugs) I don't know.
But every girl that Mr. Wonderful introduces me to shakes my hand and looks oddly frightened. Smiles, but looks totally freaked out. I can't decide if the news of my vomitous ass has reached every girl in the club yet or if it's just that I'm 6 feet tall in heels and obviously posess a brain that they found intimidating. Who knows.
I tell Mr. Wonderful that I'm sick and that I know he's having a good time and I'm going to try to hang on as long as I can because this is important to him. He hasn't seen these people in a year. I personally feel they aren't worth seeing ever again but I also realize I am insanely uncomfortable and it's easier for me to judge them then it is to deal with my concerns of inadequecy. And so, I judge.
They all fail my judgement, except for the one nice friend, who also mentions he is a freak in this town because not only does he HAVE a girlfriend, but they are MONOGAMOUS.
(rolls eyes) Un huh. I was guessing that was an oddity, yah. (sigh)
Another issue I'm having great difficulty with is seeing Mr. Wonderful drink. I've seen him drink maybe 3 times since we've been together, and it's a beer with his mom or mimosas at him birthday party, but nothing serious. THIS, now THIS was serious. He was pounding em down, and smoking! WTF?!?! And instead of my usual Us Against Them feeling that I find so comforting, I was looking at him like Do I Know You? You look like the guy that I'm in love with and trust with my very life itself, but I'll be damned if you don't fit in with these drunken losers just a little too well... (squints at him) Hmmm.....
Not comforting.
Finally I tell him that's enough, I just can't bear it any more. We leave. He's content, thanks me for hanging out as long as I did. We walk back to the car. I feel a bajillion times better once I am breathing oxygen again (the place was FULL of smoke by the time we left) and we walk holding hands and talking, laughing. All is well with the world. I have left The Place of Stupid.
We get in the car and I drive (duh) and within 5 minutes he's ready to hurl and talking about how maybe it all wasn't such a good idea. I am, I must confess, totally overjoyed at this. He drank WAY too much, way TOO fast, and I'm pretty fucking relieved he's getting sick. If he didn't get sick from all that I would be seriously concerned and the red flags I'd been noticing all night might stay up forever. ~sigh~
But he's ill, and I mean ill. He's ill for basically the next 3 days. Good. Serves him right. Stupid boy with his stupid drinking and his stupid smoking and his stupid friends of debauchery. Hmmph!
I tell him yesterday that I'm sorry I don't like his friends and that I don't even think they are his friends. He tries to explain how some alcoholics can be good friends, that they aren't ALL bad, but I disagree. I tell him alcoholics want alcoholic company. That is their priority. Your alcoholic friends don't want whats best for you; they could give a shit less. As long as you're hanging out with them and getting drunk then everything is cool. Otherwise they don't really want much to do with you now do they? If there isn't alcohol involved in the plan they don't want any part of it. And God forbid you should decide you don't want to drink with them. I assume most of you have known at least one drunk in your life times to guess how well that goes over.
All in all I was totally dissapointed. I had agreed to go with him because I was hoping I could get over my paranoia about these people but if anything they managed to not only confirm my worst fears but magnify them by another million or so.
In retrospect it was the whores that did that, though.
I told Mr. Wonderful that and he said not to worry, that he is my protector and would not hurt me nor cause me to get in harms way. I said, "Good. Then don't ever take me back there again."
I meant it.
But I'm sure we'll be back at some point. Curiosity is a bitch like that. Because soon I just won't even believe that one town could be so full of alcoholic sluts. And I'll have to go back to see it again. Fucking amazing.
(No, I'm not blogging where this town is. I don't want the alcoholic whores of that shithole to flame me. If you're a drunken whore looking for your own kind, write to me and I'll tell you.)
Even just retelling this story made me poop. I told it to my friend Anne yesterday and had to poop twice. Somebody needs to call Ripleys. I must be The Shittiest Women Ever or something. If not, they could at least give me a consolation plaque that says in huge bronze letters "Dude This Girl Can Shit" and in smaller letters beneath "Seriously. It's Fucking Crazy. We've never seen anything like it!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of drunken whores (and shit), my sons dad is back in town. Yes, apparently he needed another excuse for a vacation and decided to use his sons birthday as an excuse. So he drove 500 miles to come here, and managed to hang out with his son for a whole hour and a half yesterday. Awesome parenting, fucking astounding. Calls us at 6:15 at night and doesn't understand why I'm pissed off already. Then asks if it's ok if (my son) just skips school so he can hang out with him more (which he doesn't actually want to do, let me clarify- he's asking this to put up a front about how he really WANTS to see him more but I just won't LET him.) Of course, he could come on a weekend? But that's inconveniant. So he came on Monday and calls us late Tuesday and acts like he's just so put out that he doesn't get more time with him while he's here. I coldly tell him that if it was so important he could have tried calling AT ANY POINT DURING THE LAST 24 HOURS. Fucking jackass.
You see, I'd forgotten. I keep doing that. I think now that he's (supposedly) sober (and not smoking crack, doing coke and meth and whatever else) I assume that I can deal with him like normal humans. No, no no. I still need to treat him like a fucked up shit head and so once I remembered that it was fine. You see, he told me he was coming on Monday and I said, "Ok," assuming he would call when he got into town and make some plan with us. Oh, stupidly stupidly no. He would OF COURSE wait until I was certain he wasn't actually here at all and (hopefully) died somewhere (in a flaming car crash involving sleep deprivation and some kind of amphetimine induced hallucinations). Then he calls. And wonders why I'm not falling over backwards to accomodate his stupid ass.
I forget how it is with him.
Eh. There's more but thinking about him makes me borderline homicidal. Well, no. It does make me feel as if someone has replaced a good portion of the blood that runs through my veins with liquid poisonous rage though. And that's awesome.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mothers Day came and went. I tried to find a card for my mom that expressed...I don't know...something besides bitter resentment. I found one that had this long message about "You made me who I am" and thought that was really fucking apt. No doubt about that.
The next day my Grandma calls me to chew my ass out about not calling my mom or anything. I tell her I did but she's pissed off and ready to tell me off about it. I wonder for a minute if she got a hold of some whiskey or something. I explain to her that there must be some miscommunication somehow because I did send her that card and I did call her. She calms down and quits snapping at me.
I felt bad. I should have called my Grandma too really. But with the stress of this weekend (a lot of which I didn't even bother to get into because otherwise I'd be typing all freaking day) it just slipped my mind.
I did explain to my grandma that Mr. Wonderfuls mom lives 7 hours away and that we spent most of the day in the car driving. I didn't bother to get into the fact that he was hung over and I was still a shitty mess.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I haven't quit having daily panic attacks yet. Maybe today they'll stop. Heres to hoping.
And also, I have this whole chain of thought about some fascinating info my new pal Patti passed on to me. Alas, I am too full of shitty shitty anger to ponder that for you all right now so it will have to wait.
But there's some exciting sparkly thought process in the works. Just know this.
That and I'll probably poop again today.
Cause I'm Awesome Like That.
What kind of stupid question is that when it's in a blog?
Oh well, whatever. And that sums up my general attitude right now.
I'm so fucking sick of insomnia.
>walks off to grab coffee as sleep is obviously pointless<
Not ready yet. Dammit.
Here's whats going on:
Spent the weekend at Mr. Wonderfuls moms house. Mr. Wonderful wanted to go visit his old buddies. I wasn't particularly happy about this plan seeing as how his old pals are drunk whores, the lot of them. He was too when he used to hang out with them. It is a point of contention, let me say. To be blunt, his past makes me want to vomit sometimes but I try to deal. I have a past. You know. I should be a bit more... understanding of things. That's not always the easiest thing to do however. Meaning, being understanding is not something I succeed at, but I make a valiant attempt.
Whatever.
(I can hear the alarm going off in the bedroom...for quite a while....there. Anyway...)
So we go to his moms and that was stressful. His sister is in the throes of puberty, his mom in the throes of menopause. Between the two of them the house may as well have been drenched in flammable estrogen. One got the impression that playing with matches or even sparks of things was a dangerous idea and it was best to be as placating as possible.
Little old me is in the throes of PMS and placating is never my forte while wallowing around in the murky mire of my own hormones but I tried to pull my head out of my own ass for the extent of the weekend.
Then, we go visit his ..... friends. (Had to resist urge to put that in qoutes.)
On the way there I am completely overtaken by a raging panic attack. I didn't want to go at all, but worse would have been him going without me and me wondering what was going on for the hours and hours he was gone. THAT would have made me totally homicidal. I've heard plenty of stories from Mr. Wonderful himself. I was hopeful that most of them were drunkenly inflated tales told with a male perspective. I mean, there can't possibly be an entire town full of drunken whores, right? College town or not, the girls can't be THAT easy anywhere, right? Right?
Wrong. This town is so full of skanks I was just flabbergasted. I wouldn't have been surprised if the girls just laid down on the sidewalk and waited till guys laid on top of them. Seriously. I was half surprised drunk college girls weren't coming up to the car at a light and offering blow jobs for free.
What shocked me most is that I really thought, I really did, that most women at least act coy...but these women were aggressive about getting laid, as if it were a difficult thing to accomplish in a town full of drunk college guys.
As soon as we walked in this club I wandered off to find the bathroom. I don't see it, and turn around. Already there is some girl hugging Mr. Wonderful and she's smiling hugely. I think, ok, must be someone he knows. I walk up behind her and stand there casually waiting for him to notice me. It takes longer than I want, I note with mild distaste. At any rate, he notices me and says, "Oh hey, this is my fiancee!" and I feel a bit better. The girl reaches out to shake my hand but is giving me this ice dagger expression and then shakes my hand with disgust as if I've just announced I eat my own feces. She coldly says, "Congratulations" in a flat tone that left me no doubt I should avoid her in the bathroom and dark alleys. Even semi dark alleys.
Needless to say, I did not find this comforting. She wanders away and Mr. Wonderful informs me she came up to him and announce she just graduated, would he like to kiss her?
>pause<
She hasn't seen him in a year, doesn't ask how he's doing, if he has a girlfriend, hey, where've you been? No. Just Hi Let's Lock Lips.
Fucking gross dude.
I told him she really didn't need an excuse like that and that I thought anything would have been a good excuse for her.
"I had Fruit Loops for breakfast, let's make out!"
"I'm wearing clean underwear, let's get it on!"
"I remembered to floss last week, how 'bout swapping spit?"
Fucking nasty.
This was, I might point out, EARLY. We JUST got to the club. Within 2 minutes of us walking in the door! It wasn't crowded yet. And some girl is already crawling on him....
Fucking awesome.
Must I add that my anxiety went immediately through the roof? No? Ok.
Need I tell you that instead of vomiting my anxiety chose to come out the other end? Repeatedly? No? Ok.
Must I explain how awesome it is to be in a club with a bunch of drunk ho bags trying to fuck your man and all you can do is run to the bathroom to shit? No? Oh, good.
Cause I would hate to have to get into all that.
And the club starts filling up and Mr. Wonderful is having a great time seeing old friends and is drinking like a fish. A happy oh-look-there's-so-and-so fish and people are slapping him on the back and looking all crazy glad to see him again and he's even SMOKING. He quit a while back. Cause it's... mmm... what's the word I'm looking for?...oh yes, RETARDED. Super fucking retarded. So he's drinking and smoking and my anxiety is rising like a great tide of I-wish-I-could-stop-crapping-and-maybe-start-puking-intead that is going to swallow me up. I am claustrophobic, and the people piling in there are not helping. The loud music is causing anyone I do speak to to smash themselves into my personal space and yell in my ear and the place is getting smokier by the second. I want to puke, but it only comes out the other end. Awesome. But the waves of nasuea leave me even more frightened that I might just hurl on someone cause there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to shove my way through this crowd to get to the bathroom in time.
In the meantime, I'm checking people out. I'm watching the drunk sluts on the dance floor with most of their tits hanging out, a cigarette in one hand, a drink in the other, retardedly girate to some imaginary beat that had nothing to do with the one actually playing. Their lack of rythym made me want to put bags over their heads for the shame of all white people everywhere. I wanted to get out there and show them how to really dance (people, I can bust a fucking move, let me tell you...) but I'm too busy with my non compliant bodily functions.
And OOOOOOOOOOH (steam pouring out of ears) there are few things that annoy the fucking crap outta me more than dumb ass drunk bitches taking up a dance floor. Worse? The drink and the smoke in either hand. Not only are they taking up space that someone with an ounce of rhythym could use, but they're spilling their fucking drinks all over everybody and burning peoples clothes and flesh all over the place with that fucking cigarrette. Is it possible to be any more annoying? Possibly. But not by much. Maybe if they were loudly screaming the lyrics to "Achey Breaky Heart" or something, maybe. Maybe. I don't know.
And besides all of this, only one of Mr. Wonderfuls friends is actually speaking to me. The rest don't seem to give a fucking crap about me, and I fairly quickly decide they are impolite assholes. There was two other nice guys in the bunch but they seem to be really shy and when I talk to them they look like they would rather run away. (Judging from the Whore Level I was guessing they might be afraid that I was Yet Another Whore, so I quit trying to talk to them.) Mr. Wonderful keeps wandering off and back again, and thankfully the one nice friend he has stuck pretty close to me. I decided I loved him. I'm not sure if he's really as cool as I think or if he just seemed like a beacon of comforting light compared to all the drunken fuckwads that were in this club. (shrugs) I don't know.
But every girl that Mr. Wonderful introduces me to shakes my hand and looks oddly frightened. Smiles, but looks totally freaked out. I can't decide if the news of my vomitous ass has reached every girl in the club yet or if it's just that I'm 6 feet tall in heels and obviously posess a brain that they found intimidating. Who knows.
I tell Mr. Wonderful that I'm sick and that I know he's having a good time and I'm going to try to hang on as long as I can because this is important to him. He hasn't seen these people in a year. I personally feel they aren't worth seeing ever again but I also realize I am insanely uncomfortable and it's easier for me to judge them then it is to deal with my concerns of inadequecy. And so, I judge.
They all fail my judgement, except for the one nice friend, who also mentions he is a freak in this town because not only does he HAVE a girlfriend, but they are MONOGAMOUS.
(rolls eyes) Un huh. I was guessing that was an oddity, yah. (sigh)
Another issue I'm having great difficulty with is seeing Mr. Wonderful drink. I've seen him drink maybe 3 times since we've been together, and it's a beer with his mom or mimosas at him birthday party, but nothing serious. THIS, now THIS was serious. He was pounding em down, and smoking! WTF?!?! And instead of my usual Us Against Them feeling that I find so comforting, I was looking at him like Do I Know You? You look like the guy that I'm in love with and trust with my very life itself, but I'll be damned if you don't fit in with these drunken losers just a little too well... (squints at him) Hmmm.....
Not comforting.
Finally I tell him that's enough, I just can't bear it any more. We leave. He's content, thanks me for hanging out as long as I did. We walk back to the car. I feel a bajillion times better once I am breathing oxygen again (the place was FULL of smoke by the time we left) and we walk holding hands and talking, laughing. All is well with the world. I have left The Place of Stupid.
We get in the car and I drive (duh) and within 5 minutes he's ready to hurl and talking about how maybe it all wasn't such a good idea. I am, I must confess, totally overjoyed at this. He drank WAY too much, way TOO fast, and I'm pretty fucking relieved he's getting sick. If he didn't get sick from all that I would be seriously concerned and the red flags I'd been noticing all night might stay up forever. ~sigh~
But he's ill, and I mean ill. He's ill for basically the next 3 days. Good. Serves him right. Stupid boy with his stupid drinking and his stupid smoking and his stupid friends of debauchery. Hmmph!
I tell him yesterday that I'm sorry I don't like his friends and that I don't even think they are his friends. He tries to explain how some alcoholics can be good friends, that they aren't ALL bad, but I disagree. I tell him alcoholics want alcoholic company. That is their priority. Your alcoholic friends don't want whats best for you; they could give a shit less. As long as you're hanging out with them and getting drunk then everything is cool. Otherwise they don't really want much to do with you now do they? If there isn't alcohol involved in the plan they don't want any part of it. And God forbid you should decide you don't want to drink with them. I assume most of you have known at least one drunk in your life times to guess how well that goes over.
All in all I was totally dissapointed. I had agreed to go with him because I was hoping I could get over my paranoia about these people but if anything they managed to not only confirm my worst fears but magnify them by another million or so.
In retrospect it was the whores that did that, though.
I told Mr. Wonderful that and he said not to worry, that he is my protector and would not hurt me nor cause me to get in harms way. I said, "Good. Then don't ever take me back there again."
I meant it.
But I'm sure we'll be back at some point. Curiosity is a bitch like that. Because soon I just won't even believe that one town could be so full of alcoholic sluts. And I'll have to go back to see it again. Fucking amazing.
(No, I'm not blogging where this town is. I don't want the alcoholic whores of that shithole to flame me. If you're a drunken whore looking for your own kind, write to me and I'll tell you.)
Even just retelling this story made me poop. I told it to my friend Anne yesterday and had to poop twice. Somebody needs to call Ripleys. I must be The Shittiest Women Ever or something. If not, they could at least give me a consolation plaque that says in huge bronze letters "Dude This Girl Can Shit" and in smaller letters beneath "Seriously. It's Fucking Crazy. We've never seen anything like it!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of drunken whores (and shit), my sons dad is back in town. Yes, apparently he needed another excuse for a vacation and decided to use his sons birthday as an excuse. So he drove 500 miles to come here, and managed to hang out with his son for a whole hour and a half yesterday. Awesome parenting, fucking astounding. Calls us at 6:15 at night and doesn't understand why I'm pissed off already. Then asks if it's ok if (my son) just skips school so he can hang out with him more (which he doesn't actually want to do, let me clarify- he's asking this to put up a front about how he really WANTS to see him more but I just won't LET him.) Of course, he could come on a weekend? But that's inconveniant. So he came on Monday and calls us late Tuesday and acts like he's just so put out that he doesn't get more time with him while he's here. I coldly tell him that if it was so important he could have tried calling AT ANY POINT DURING THE LAST 24 HOURS. Fucking jackass.
You see, I'd forgotten. I keep doing that. I think now that he's (supposedly) sober (and not smoking crack, doing coke and meth and whatever else) I assume that I can deal with him like normal humans. No, no no. I still need to treat him like a fucked up shit head and so once I remembered that it was fine. You see, he told me he was coming on Monday and I said, "Ok," assuming he would call when he got into town and make some plan with us. Oh, stupidly stupidly no. He would OF COURSE wait until I was certain he wasn't actually here at all and (hopefully) died somewhere (in a flaming car crash involving sleep deprivation and some kind of amphetimine induced hallucinations). Then he calls. And wonders why I'm not falling over backwards to accomodate his stupid ass.
I forget how it is with him.
Eh. There's more but thinking about him makes me borderline homicidal. Well, no. It does make me feel as if someone has replaced a good portion of the blood that runs through my veins with liquid poisonous rage though. And that's awesome.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mothers Day came and went. I tried to find a card for my mom that expressed...I don't know...something besides bitter resentment. I found one that had this long message about "You made me who I am" and thought that was really fucking apt. No doubt about that.
The next day my Grandma calls me to chew my ass out about not calling my mom or anything. I tell her I did but she's pissed off and ready to tell me off about it. I wonder for a minute if she got a hold of some whiskey or something. I explain to her that there must be some miscommunication somehow because I did send her that card and I did call her. She calms down and quits snapping at me.
I felt bad. I should have called my Grandma too really. But with the stress of this weekend (a lot of which I didn't even bother to get into because otherwise I'd be typing all freaking day) it just slipped my mind.
I did explain to my grandma that Mr. Wonderfuls mom lives 7 hours away and that we spent most of the day in the car driving. I didn't bother to get into the fact that he was hung over and I was still a shitty mess.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I haven't quit having daily panic attacks yet. Maybe today they'll stop. Heres to hoping.
And also, I have this whole chain of thought about some fascinating info my new pal Patti passed on to me. Alas, I am too full of shitty shitty anger to ponder that for you all right now so it will have to wait.
But there's some exciting sparkly thought process in the works. Just know this.
That and I'll probably poop again today.
Cause I'm Awesome Like That.
Friday, May 06, 2005
the posthumous award for stating the obvious goes to:
‘He insulted me, he hurt me, he defeated me, he robbed me.’
Those who think such things will not be free from hate.
-Buddha
Those who think such things will not be free from hate.
-Buddha
Thursday, May 05, 2005
obsession du jour
I've been working out. Like a crazy person.
It's bringing to my attention that I really don't do anything without it turning into an obsessive activity. I bake like mad, I cook like mad, I clean like mad, I read like mad, I blog like mad, and now I know that I also exercise like mad.
Shocking huh?
My life is really just broken into chunks of time spent with whatever my obsession of the moment is. With enough coffee, I can combine obsessions and multi-obsession-task my way into the Lunatics Hall of Fame.
Hurrah! What a glorious day that shall be!
Until then, I'm working out. You know, so that I'll be looking really freaking hot when I accept my Superfreak of the Year award and all.
And, like everything else, I am overdoing it. Well, maybe.
I'm addicted to the elliptical machine. Oh glorious fabulous make-my-ass-the-sculpture-it-was-destined-to-be elliptical machine. I've learned something: when you sweat for an hour (or more) a day on one of those things, you drop fat quickly. Also, I've learned that you build muscle quickly. And suddenly my butt and thigh fat is melting away and being replaced by some super sexy muscle. I'll have Beyonce thighs in no time. And this is good.
Unfortunately, I am already a pretty muscular girl. And so today I tried to slide on my not-stretch pants and my thighs are struggling to have circulation in them. No, not because of FAT...they are nearly rock solid at this point. If I keep this up (and you know I will cause I'm kinda nuts like that) I will not be able to wear normal human clothes.
Ah well. Maybe my next obsession will involve me becoming a seamstress. You never know.
It's bringing to my attention that I really don't do anything without it turning into an obsessive activity. I bake like mad, I cook like mad, I clean like mad, I read like mad, I blog like mad, and now I know that I also exercise like mad.
Shocking huh?
My life is really just broken into chunks of time spent with whatever my obsession of the moment is. With enough coffee, I can combine obsessions and multi-obsession-task my way into the Lunatics Hall of Fame.
Hurrah! What a glorious day that shall be!
Until then, I'm working out. You know, so that I'll be looking really freaking hot when I accept my Superfreak of the Year award and all.
And, like everything else, I am overdoing it. Well, maybe.
I'm addicted to the elliptical machine. Oh glorious fabulous make-my-ass-the-sculpture-it-was-destined-to-be elliptical machine. I've learned something: when you sweat for an hour (or more) a day on one of those things, you drop fat quickly. Also, I've learned that you build muscle quickly. And suddenly my butt and thigh fat is melting away and being replaced by some super sexy muscle. I'll have Beyonce thighs in no time. And this is good.
Unfortunately, I am already a pretty muscular girl. And so today I tried to slide on my not-stretch pants and my thighs are struggling to have circulation in them. No, not because of FAT...they are nearly rock solid at this point. If I keep this up (and you know I will cause I'm kinda nuts like that) I will not be able to wear normal human clothes.
Ah well. Maybe my next obsession will involve me becoming a seamstress. You never know.
introspectres 20 second lesson on life:
Dying your hair when it's really short is actually much harder then dying it when it's long. The little pieces have a tendency to flick dye all over everything as you run your hands over it.
Also, it is more difficult to type with little rubber gloves on.
I don't highly recommend either.
Also, it is more difficult to type with little rubber gloves on.
I don't highly recommend either.
Monday, May 02, 2005
fear
"Wind in time
Rapes the flower trembling on the vine
Nothing yields to shelter it
From above
They say temptation will destroy our love
The never ending hunger
But I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
Here in this lonely place
Tangled up in our embrace
There’s nothing I’d like
Better than to fall
But I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
I have nothing to give
We have so much to lose..."
Sarah McLachlan, Fear
Rapes the flower trembling on the vine
Nothing yields to shelter it
From above
They say temptation will destroy our love
The never ending hunger
But I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
Here in this lonely place
Tangled up in our embrace
There’s nothing I’d like
Better than to fall
But I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
I have nothing to give
We have so much to lose..."
Sarah McLachlan, Fear
first fight
Last night was the first official fight that Mr. Wonderful and I have ever been in. We've gotten cranky and pissy with each other, you know, normal little things.
But this, this was a angry verbal battle.
~sigh~
About nothing, as all arguments are. To look back, the things we thought we were fighting about in the beginning was not even close to what we were discussing at the end. I thought it was about one thing; he thought another. In both instances, the bottom line was fear. What else do people ever fight about? In the end, it always boils down to fear:
fear they don't love you
they don't respect you
they don't like you
they think you're stupid
they love someone else
they'll leave you
they are embarrassed by you
they're bored with you
they're heading somewhere else in life
they're changing into something you're not
you're incompatible
they think you're too fat, ugly, whatever...
>insert the millions of things people fear in here<
And the fight was ended before bed, and cuddling and reassurances commenced. We slept well. This morning the sun rose and I felt like the house was marked with tinges of anger like blood stains on the walls. Trauma marks things, you know? And even though the fight is over, I doubt the feeling of walking on eggshells will be gone for awhile.
Even thought the argument is resolved, the pain of actually HAVING the argument is not.
This morning I told him I thought we should be able to call time out. You know, if we start arguing about shit like that again, one of us can call a 20 minute time out to calm the fuck down and figure out what we're actually fighting about (which would have saved us an hour of angry bickering last night.....). The more I thought about it, I realized that there were distinct cetegories of our fight, which we could break down and analyze. I told him that I had an idea but he might think it was kind of lame...he said let's hear it so I told him: If we were to call a time out and sit down and list 3 things I think we could save ourselves from ever fighting like that again.
Those three things are:
1) I think
As in, I think you're a jerk, I think you don't understand me at all, I think you're over reacting, I think you're retarded, whatever.
Once the whole "thinking" process is out of the way we move on to
2) I'm afraid
As in I'm afraid you're embarrassed by me, I'm afraid you don't want what I want, I'm afraid you'll leave me, I'm afraid to get hurt again
Which brings us safely into the heart, the real argument. The thinking is just the brain trying to think it's way AROUND fear.
And
3) I want
As in I want you to reassure me, I want to feel safe, I want to know you love me as much as I love you, I want to know you're proud of me, I want to know I'm not wrong about you
Because THESE are the things we seek. We can fight all day long about nothing at all and get farther and farther from the reassurances we long for, which just leads to more fear and more thinking of ways to justify our anger so we don't have to acknowledge our fears...
...which will just perpetuate the fight.
And when a fight keeps going like that, it gets UGLY. I've been in those, where you just start stabbing them with the most painful things you can think of in some lunatic effort to disable them so they stop hurting YOU. Fights like that only end when one person is so pained that they fall apart, and the victor doesn't win anything at all other than knowing they are the more vicious of the two. For some people, this is a great victory. For sane people, it should not be considered a victory at all.
I am always the one to start crying first. God help you if we're fighting and I'm NOT crying. I've been there, and that's when I get evil on your ass. If I'm not crying, I'm not ALLOWING myself to feel hurt, and that's never a good sign.
When you don't allow yourself to feel hurt, you cover your fear with self righteousness and indignation and well shit me a brick, that's just how wars start now isn't it?
Hmmm.
But this, this was a angry verbal battle.
~sigh~
About nothing, as all arguments are. To look back, the things we thought we were fighting about in the beginning was not even close to what we were discussing at the end. I thought it was about one thing; he thought another. In both instances, the bottom line was fear. What else do people ever fight about? In the end, it always boils down to fear:
fear they don't love you
they don't respect you
they don't like you
they think you're stupid
they love someone else
they'll leave you
they are embarrassed by you
they're bored with you
they're heading somewhere else in life
they're changing into something you're not
you're incompatible
they think you're too fat, ugly, whatever...
>insert the millions of things people fear in here<
And the fight was ended before bed, and cuddling and reassurances commenced. We slept well. This morning the sun rose and I felt like the house was marked with tinges of anger like blood stains on the walls. Trauma marks things, you know? And even though the fight is over, I doubt the feeling of walking on eggshells will be gone for awhile.
Even thought the argument is resolved, the pain of actually HAVING the argument is not.
This morning I told him I thought we should be able to call time out. You know, if we start arguing about shit like that again, one of us can call a 20 minute time out to calm the fuck down and figure out what we're actually fighting about (which would have saved us an hour of angry bickering last night.....). The more I thought about it, I realized that there were distinct cetegories of our fight, which we could break down and analyze. I told him that I had an idea but he might think it was kind of lame...he said let's hear it so I told him: If we were to call a time out and sit down and list 3 things I think we could save ourselves from ever fighting like that again.
Those three things are:
1) I think
As in, I think you're a jerk, I think you don't understand me at all, I think you're over reacting, I think you're retarded, whatever.
Once the whole "thinking" process is out of the way we move on to
2) I'm afraid
As in I'm afraid you're embarrassed by me, I'm afraid you don't want what I want, I'm afraid you'll leave me, I'm afraid to get hurt again
Which brings us safely into the heart, the real argument. The thinking is just the brain trying to think it's way AROUND fear.
And
3) I want
As in I want you to reassure me, I want to feel safe, I want to know you love me as much as I love you, I want to know you're proud of me, I want to know I'm not wrong about you
Because THESE are the things we seek. We can fight all day long about nothing at all and get farther and farther from the reassurances we long for, which just leads to more fear and more thinking of ways to justify our anger so we don't have to acknowledge our fears...
...which will just perpetuate the fight.
And when a fight keeps going like that, it gets UGLY. I've been in those, where you just start stabbing them with the most painful things you can think of in some lunatic effort to disable them so they stop hurting YOU. Fights like that only end when one person is so pained that they fall apart, and the victor doesn't win anything at all other than knowing they are the more vicious of the two. For some people, this is a great victory. For sane people, it should not be considered a victory at all.
I am always the one to start crying first. God help you if we're fighting and I'm NOT crying. I've been there, and that's when I get evil on your ass. If I'm not crying, I'm not ALLOWING myself to feel hurt, and that's never a good sign.
When you don't allow yourself to feel hurt, you cover your fear with self righteousness and indignation and well shit me a brick, that's just how wars start now isn't it?
Hmmm.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
stupid moments
stupid moment #1:
I'm in the grocery store. I'm scoping out the broccoli. I'm feeling the heads 'cause they have to be tight for broccoli to be fresh. The produce guy is watching me do this and walks over to tell me huffily, "They're ALL fresh. I just put them out." I say, "Why yes, thank you" with a little but TOO much politeness. In my head I am thinking, "For 15 years have I bought broccoli! My own counsel will I keep on what is fresh!" Is he planning on buying it for me? No? Then shut the fuck up and let me pick my own damn food. And for the record, it is NOT all fresh. Some of them were rubbery indeed.
stupid moment #2:
I'm at the gas station pumping gas into my truck. Some guy walks up and asks me if I mind if he demonstrated some new NASCAR cleaning spray stuff on my truck. He looks all official in his little uniform and I don't want to give the guy a hard time and curiousity gets the better of me. I shrug and say, "Sure, why not?"
So he stands there and starts spraying this stuff onto the side of my truck and giving me the shpiel about it being waterproof or some crap. Alas, I cannot concentrate on what he is saying at all because it is a very windy day and this guy is standing directly upwind of me spraying some white chemical foam all over my truck but it's flying right into my face. He keeps talking, looks at me, keeps talking and I'm just staring at him while this shit is hitting me in the face. I am so utterly dumbfounded by his incredible stupidity that I can't even talk. I was waiting, waiting for that moment where he went, "Oh shit! I'm sorry! Are you ok?" but it never happened and he just kept on spraying that shit and it kept on hitting me in the face. He finishes just after I finish pumping gas and I'm just slack jawed staring at him in amazement. He says, "So, you want to buy some?" and all I can get out is a strangled, "No...." and he walks away.
I, on the other hand, felt like my face was weirdly burned and the side of my truck looks like a giant bird had a wretched case of the runs while flying over. He, uh, didn't do a very good job wiping that stuff off.
He was awesome. Just awesome.
I'm in the grocery store. I'm scoping out the broccoli. I'm feeling the heads 'cause they have to be tight for broccoli to be fresh. The produce guy is watching me do this and walks over to tell me huffily, "They're ALL fresh. I just put them out." I say, "Why yes, thank you" with a little but TOO much politeness. In my head I am thinking, "For 15 years have I bought broccoli! My own counsel will I keep on what is fresh!" Is he planning on buying it for me? No? Then shut the fuck up and let me pick my own damn food. And for the record, it is NOT all fresh. Some of them were rubbery indeed.
stupid moment #2:
I'm at the gas station pumping gas into my truck. Some guy walks up and asks me if I mind if he demonstrated some new NASCAR cleaning spray stuff on my truck. He looks all official in his little uniform and I don't want to give the guy a hard time and curiousity gets the better of me. I shrug and say, "Sure, why not?"
So he stands there and starts spraying this stuff onto the side of my truck and giving me the shpiel about it being waterproof or some crap. Alas, I cannot concentrate on what he is saying at all because it is a very windy day and this guy is standing directly upwind of me spraying some white chemical foam all over my truck but it's flying right into my face. He keeps talking, looks at me, keeps talking and I'm just staring at him while this shit is hitting me in the face. I am so utterly dumbfounded by his incredible stupidity that I can't even talk. I was waiting, waiting for that moment where he went, "Oh shit! I'm sorry! Are you ok?" but it never happened and he just kept on spraying that shit and it kept on hitting me in the face. He finishes just after I finish pumping gas and I'm just slack jawed staring at him in amazement. He says, "So, you want to buy some?" and all I can get out is a strangled, "No...." and he walks away.
I, on the other hand, felt like my face was weirdly burned and the side of my truck looks like a giant bird had a wretched case of the runs while flying over. He, uh, didn't do a very good job wiping that stuff off.
He was awesome. Just awesome.
wake me up and I'll give you a freaking pig tail dammit
Sleep deprivation and I are not friends. I don't do it. It should not be inflicted upon me. I get violently angry (although I like to think I'm evolved enough to not actually be violent, but I think it, oh yes I do) when kept awake.
Tonight dear old Mr. Wonderful took himself a nice couple hour nap, then drank more coffee...at like 8? 9? I don't know. I fall asleep on the couch trying to watch South Park. At midnight he wakes me up to tell me to take my vitamins. I think this is stupid but I'm too tired to really care one way or the other.
Since he's been talking about us doing it off and on all day I assume (wrongfully) that this is his REAL reason for waking me up. I was woefully mistaken. I try desperately to wake up enough to get it on, as I am not one to ever pass up such an opportunity. He then informs me he's too tired, but thinks maybe he'll go spank it to some porn instead and go to sleep. Then asks if that will annoy me. I'm like, "Yah..." cause why the hell did you wake me up, other that maybe to get me out of the room so you could spank it? But I am groggy and tired and don't give enough of a crap to argue about it and tell him to do whatever (just let me go back to sleep now, THANK YOU). He leaves, I fall asleep.
An hour later I wake up to find he is STILL looking at porn and then I was pissed. Too tired, eh? What the fuck ever. He comes into the bedroom and I'm livid, but trying to control my anger, because I know it is mostly being fueled by a poisonous rage at being AWAKE more than anything else. I woke up and he still wasn't THERE, you see. Anyway, he comes in and we talk it out and then he starts to fall asleep. I, on the other hand, have not just happily gotten off, no no, I am wide awake and angry and feeling all around done wrong. Mostly, I am exhausted, and I blame it soley on him. I tell him this. He asks how it is his fault that I am awake. I tell him if he hadn't drank coffee at NIGHT his ass would be asleep and SO WOULD I. He tells me I shouldn't have let him HAVE the coffee.
*twitch*
I tell him when he falls asleep I'm going to leave and drive up to the 24 hour sex shop and buy that piggy tailed butt plug I saw and shove it up his ass. Little does he know that I seriously laid there pondering it, cause he sleeps like the dead, and it wouldn't be hard to drive on up there, buy the supplies and come back, hog tie his ass, shove one of those rubber ball gags in his mouth, and then stick a curly pig tailed butt plug in his hieney.
He'll wake up and I'll be lying on my side of the bed and raise my head up from my pillow, twitch a little and tell him in a deeply psychotic voice, "Stop waking me up. You wanna make it worse?" and roll over muttering, "I need my beauty sleep goddamn it."
Don't fuck with me people. You're making me tired. You wouldn't like me when I'm tired...
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ps) saw this one while looking for the pig tail picture and thought it might be fitting as well, though it doesn't really get the point of selfishness across quite as eloquently...
(find them at extremerestraints.com, you can. or google "pig tail butt plug" like I did. google. ~shakes head~ good times, good times)
Tonight dear old Mr. Wonderful took himself a nice couple hour nap, then drank more coffee...at like 8? 9? I don't know. I fall asleep on the couch trying to watch South Park. At midnight he wakes me up to tell me to take my vitamins. I think this is stupid but I'm too tired to really care one way or the other.
Since he's been talking about us doing it off and on all day I assume (wrongfully) that this is his REAL reason for waking me up. I was woefully mistaken. I try desperately to wake up enough to get it on, as I am not one to ever pass up such an opportunity. He then informs me he's too tired, but thinks maybe he'll go spank it to some porn instead and go to sleep. Then asks if that will annoy me. I'm like, "Yah..." cause why the hell did you wake me up, other that maybe to get me out of the room so you could spank it? But I am groggy and tired and don't give enough of a crap to argue about it and tell him to do whatever (just let me go back to sleep now, THANK YOU). He leaves, I fall asleep.
An hour later I wake up to find he is STILL looking at porn and then I was pissed. Too tired, eh? What the fuck ever. He comes into the bedroom and I'm livid, but trying to control my anger, because I know it is mostly being fueled by a poisonous rage at being AWAKE more than anything else. I woke up and he still wasn't THERE, you see. Anyway, he comes in and we talk it out and then he starts to fall asleep. I, on the other hand, have not just happily gotten off, no no, I am wide awake and angry and feeling all around done wrong. Mostly, I am exhausted, and I blame it soley on him. I tell him this. He asks how it is his fault that I am awake. I tell him if he hadn't drank coffee at NIGHT his ass would be asleep and SO WOULD I. He tells me I shouldn't have let him HAVE the coffee.
*twitch*
I tell him when he falls asleep I'm going to leave and drive up to the 24 hour sex shop and buy that piggy tailed butt plug I saw and shove it up his ass. Little does he know that I seriously laid there pondering it, cause he sleeps like the dead, and it wouldn't be hard to drive on up there, buy the supplies and come back, hog tie his ass, shove one of those rubber ball gags in his mouth, and then stick a curly pig tailed butt plug in his hieney.
He'll wake up and I'll be lying on my side of the bed and raise my head up from my pillow, twitch a little and tell him in a deeply psychotic voice, "Stop waking me up. You wanna make it worse?" and roll over muttering, "I need my beauty sleep goddamn it."
Don't fuck with me people. You're making me tired. You wouldn't like me when I'm tired...
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ps) saw this one while looking for the pig tail picture and thought it might be fitting as well, though it doesn't really get the point of selfishness across quite as eloquently...
(find them at extremerestraints.com, you can. or google "pig tail butt plug" like I did. google. ~shakes head~ good times, good times)
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