is something wrong with me that this seems so good?

psycotic blue collar small town boy

well maybe i can content myself with quick visit for a good snog or two.
ugh. am having serious problems.

this constant waiting for emails is killing me.

is living in total fantasy world bad? i mean, the life i am living now kind of sucks. it’s like i am in stasis somehow. Should I be trying to break out of stasis? Or is it okay for a while, especially if I can make it all tolerable by having said fantasy life?

It does seem wrong to purposely put yourself in stasis. As in, “I must wait to meet people until I lose 10 lbs.”

I wonder if I am doing that. Is my reason true? Am I just here because I have some serious character flaws.

i am not a bitter feminist, or any type of girl-power tripper.

it just suddenly struck me as really fucking unfair, that’s all.

somehow women statistically live longer than men, even having to deal with all of that shit.

you tell me who is the weaker sex.

girls have way more parts that can get cancer.

ovaries, breasts, uteruses, and cervixes are all at risk, and mostly because of the normal things we do as part of our lives, like taking birth control, ovulating, and having sex, or genetics, which we have no control over anyway.

men have prostate and testicular cancer which are particular to their gender. the rest of the cancers can all be had by women, too (lung, liver, stomach, brain, colon, etc.).

oh, and contrary to popular belief, eating chocolate or shopping for shoes or getting our nails done

does
not
make
up
for
all
that
shit.

so, okay, something that i was thinking about which is starting to seriously piss me off. clearly god is a man and here is proof.

women’s bodies are more delicate by design, and more beautiful. the delicacy is the price we pay for the beauty. see, there are all kinds of bacteria and shit that can throw off the chemistry of our inner parts, specifically our private parts. pantyhose, wet swimsuits, non-cotton underwear, the wrong diet, too much sex, anal and regular sex in the wrong order, not sanitizing the hell out of everything that goes there, and regular old bad luck or genetics can all cause us intense discomfort. meanwhile men can get hpv, chlamydia, and yeast infections and be asymptomatic. which means that their immune systems usually kick these things naturally, but not before they pass the shit on to us. it’s women that have to take medications, change what we eat, get intrusive internal examinations, etc. for this stuff. not to mention that unless you are prepubescent (illegal), menopausal (hormonal), pregnant (very hormonal and physically uncomfortable), or had a hysterectomy (also invasive), there is this once a month crap to work around.

and the damnedest thing is that if you have any of these issues, it is neither healthy nor comfortable for you to put out. meaning that you have to give a lot of blow jobs in the meantime. and since giving blow jobs makes some of us horny, it increases the frustration at not being able to even masturbate comfortably.

of course, we are the ones that can get knocked up, and we are the ones responsible for preventing it, if we don’t want it, and we are the ones who can’t walk away from it if it does happen, because even if we get an abortion, which is the quickest fix, it costs money and has a nasty social stigma and is also somehow a political issue and has potentially serious emotional side effects.

but women, people say, are smarter than men.

which also works against us in the end, because we are intelligent enough to realize the fucking plight having a twat puts us in.

it’s not penis envy, really. it’s cunt annoyance.

there is something so very wrong about the fact that nobody can smoke in a bar around here, and yet some sorority chick with big hair can spray her aqua net all up in my personal space in a really small restaurant bathroom.

could i please have some money to study the harmful effects of breathing second-hand hairspray?

she kept saying she was sorry and giggling. and yet, i thought, you continue to fucking spray! i suppose if i were also a sorority chick with big hair i could rest assured that i could catch the residue from her can in my hair, eliminating the need for me to carry my own horrific can. but i am not a sorority chick, dammit, and i wanted to blow smoke in her face so bad.

i would have, too, had i not left my cigarettes at the table.

fish-belly white and
flabby, not at all hairy
like the rest of you.

i am not going to post a link because i don’t know if it will be permanent and because the postlink class isn’t fucking working right now apparently. but i am sure you will know what i am talking about when i mention the stupid fucking twat who hit the homeless guy and drove home eight miles with him lodged in her fucking windshield.

she left him there, in her garage, and he DIED of blood loss, dammit. she claims she was all hopped up on ecstasy and pot and that she prayed for god to tell her what to do.

also she was a nurse apparently and there was some debate about whether her training would have been enough to save his life.

how about call nine fucking one one, you stupid cow, how much fucking training does that require? they have shown stories on the news of THREE YEAR OLD CHILDREN that saved their mom’s life by doing that for god’s sake!!!

it took him like two hours to die, at which point she called her cousins or something and they came over and dumped the body for her!! does anybody else besides me wonder what the fuck kind of inbreeding there is in fort fucking worth texas for this to be remotely possible?!?

this man had a son and used to be a bricklayer. meaning he spent a lot of time busting his ass, then he lost everything he had including his house. and now this dumb whore comes along and kills him in such a completely stupid fucking way!! i am not a religious person but i tell you there must be a place in heaven for people who die so retardedly. they should call it the pity section, because that is just pathetic.

and i do not care how fucking drunk or stoned i have ever been in my life, i have never once gotten behind the wheel of a car, much less not realized that with someone HIT BY MY CAR i should call 911 or they might die. these people that pull dumbass shit and then blame it on the drugs are fucknuts who are screwing it up for the rest of the users. because i will tell you something, if drugs bring out THAT in you then it was already there to begin with and you would have done it at some point anyway. this woman was almost thirty for crying out loud. even a dumb hormonal teenager under the influence (a normal one, not like those asshole columbine kids) would know better than to do what she did.

and then she kept quiet on it for four months, at which point she told someone about it at a party?! what, was she playing truth or dare or something? how the hell does that kind of crap come up in conversation??

it was her idiocy that got her into the mess, and it was her idiocy that brought her to justice. i just fail to understand completely why they are not considering gassing that bitch, i don’t give a fuck how sorry she is or how much she cries in court.

she should have no more civil fucking rights, and she should not be allowed to spend the rest of her miserable existence in jail getting a buff bod and a college degree on the fucking taxpayers’ dime.

deep cleansing breath

i will now stare at my toenail polish, which has changed color yet again. perhaps it really is a mood thing…

i get my feelings from pop radio.

oo, these look good. i kinda want them.

i am completely out of money right now. where the hell is my paycheck one wonders?

my horoscope said
to blaze my own trail, so i
set my cube on fire.

my social retardedness knows almost no bounds. i stubbornly refuse to try to present myself as interesting in any way. I hate having to do that. Which could explain my singleness…

nevermind my tendency to get really drunk and obnixious.

sometimes i notice i have meet someone who has made a particular study of “how to be interesting”. They read books on the best seller list. they know the names of all the band members for new hip bands. They also know many little facts about the greats in the music or entertainment business.
Have a conversation with them is essentially like getting a little lecture.

People who were geeks in high school are often like this. they carefully thought out how to make themselves interesting and then pursued that goal. i have two friends who are great examples of this. however both of them are still geeks to me no matter how much they know about music or whatever. it’s like they never progressed past the way a teenager thinks being cool is.

As a teenager you can almost be mocked to death if you don’t know all the band members of black flag or something. god forbid you show up in white keds. those skater chicks will rip you to pieces. the details have changed but the pressure is surely the same as an adult.

it’s okay to go through that struggle when you are a teenager. but i feel that you really should grow out of it. it shouldn’t affect you as an adult.

personally i grew out of it around 9th grade. people around me were dumb and i stopped caring what they thought.

but then again… maybe they have a point. small talk must be engaged in occasionally. you might as well arm yourself somehow.

i think i’ll go read oprah magazine online or something. quick!

i don’t know about you… but i know something is wrong with me when one (or more) of these things start happening.

i want to sleep fully clothed. preferably wearing this huge soft flowing hippy skirt i used to wear in high school and a t-shirt and a hoodie or a sweater. it’s my comfort outfit.
i once slept in that outfit everyday for a month. in the hallway. which brings me to point two..

when i want to sleep anywhere but my bed. the floor the couch. if i had a closet i would be sleeping there right now. I’ve slept in the bathtub before.
my thought was, “i know this is weird… but hell, it’s better than NOT sleeping”

when shallow 2 dimensional things make me cry. milk commercials. airline advertisements. dumb sexual tension between two characters on a TV show.

i cant sleep unless i watch TV until i pass out. i hate this one. but again, at least I’m sleeping. and Shirley it is better than drinking myself to sleep. right?

i become paranoid. i become paranoid that someone is outside my apartment looking at me or listening to me. i begin to whisper.

when i begin to whisper. talking to my self is bad enough… jeez.

why does it seem to me that every-fucking-one i know is constantly on vacation?
like one or two are unemployed due to layoffs. but why aren’t they crouching in the closet sobbing or pounding the pavement trying to get a new job?
why are they in Vancouver for a weeks vacation with their fabulously sexy significant other?

why am i sitting at my desk all single and bored? I’m starting to stare at the world with an ever more bitter gleam in my eye.

I feel like it has been such a long time since I have met anyone interesting. Is it that no one is interesting, all are a bunch of lame-ass hipsters with no life beyond clubbing? Do I dismiss those people too quickly? Do I dismiss everyone to quickly?

And what the hell is so great about me anyway. I am socially inept. Small talk is nearly impossible for me and I don’t have anything with deeper meaning or understanding to discuss with people either. you cant have a meaningful discussion with someone about something if you refuse to form opinions about things. I don’t think about things enough.

In short, I am totally lame.

Also, and I think this is probably a pathetic excuse, I hate where I live. I feel it bearing down on me. My environment has always been important to me. I LOVE my stuff. Must have my stuff around me at all times. But I would never invite someone over to where I live now. In fact I am even embarrassed to tell people where I live (and no, it isn’t with my parents). Its just such a shit hole. And yeah, I am doing it to save money. But I am putting my life on hold in the process. How dumb is that?

How long is it going to take me to figure out what to do about this? “Duh, how about moving dipshit?”, you might say. Well, there’s the money issue to consider. Living where I live is financially smart. My decisions always seem to be wrong and so I am afraid to even make one at this point.

I need to buckle down and stop whining and have a little fucking self control.

I’m starting to get lonely.

do type b’s have interesting blogs? because all the stress and irritation and drama is sort of what makes a lot of blogs tick.

including this one, i think?

one of the worst things, however, is being completely intellectually horny and having my body just refuse to fucking cooperate.

i am so into the idea of fucking someone with abandon for an entire day, having olympic sex, as it were, and trying everything i’ve already tried all over again just for the fun of it. want to. want to, want to.

yet. am continually frustrated by various limiting factors, including: impossible scheduling, unnaturally high stress level, telephone and doorbell interruptions, emergency calls for help, having to actually go to work, and inability to clear head from all these distractions should i actually get a lovely buff bod to victimize at will.

i don’t know about you, but i am one of those people who cannot fucking relax if there are distractions. and not being able to relax means that no good sex is on the horizon. seriously. not because i want to be difficult or anything, but it just isn’t as good if i have to ignore the phone message being left by the phone company repair guy mid-coitus.

partners always say relax, just ignore (insert name of distraction in question here) which is so much easier said than done. for a long time i thought that was a man thing, that they can get in the mood any damn time it suits them no matter if the sky is falling. but i have recently befriended a couple of women who are also this way. and so i must believe that it is simply a type a personality thing, and that type b people do not have this problem at all. which makes me long to be type b. also the people who can do this thinking that it is so easily done when it is clearly not, at least not by us type a’s, irritates me into not wanting to fuck them anyway.

do type b’s get laid more often? are type a’s the reason they actually manufacture those so-called “personal lubricants” (you know, the ones they have on commercials during soap operas)?

the best thing ever is heat-sensitive nail polish. i picked some out at my pedicure the other day. it is dark purple. i noticed that it changed sometimes to a lighter purple, mostly when i wear socks and my feet are warmer. i figured changing between two colors was kind of neat.

then i took a hot bath, and watched in awe as my toenails changed to cotton candy pink.

this stuff is the shit. i will buy some, dammit. and next time i go there, i will try out the green one, and after that the blue and the pink. possibly i will have them paint my toenails multicolored with this stuff instead, or do a french pedicure with two color-changing polishes instead of the traditional pink and white.

psyched!!

i now am obsessively checking my hotmail account.

has he written me back yet?!?!?!

I’m glad to know he is doing the same thing. His last email said something to the effect of, “i thought i had offend you since it took you all weekend to write me back”.

it’s dumb. but it gives me something to fantasize about anyway. i can lust after his wrists from afar. he had the sexiest damn wrists ever. i find all men i sleep with must have similar wrists.

as you will notice in the future, i will not be picking up to move to B.F.E. (if you know what that stands for you are a big dork) to marry a dysfunctional alcoholic small town boy. no matter how sexy he is.

but i love his emails. It’s the same old thing. He’s exactly the same. Introspective to the point of utter immobilization and just as manic and obsessive and as smart and funny as ever.

I love that.

Please stop farting.

Thx,
Ellie

I experienced this last week.

I went out, on a week night, to have dinner and some drinks with a friend. Now, she is very beautiful, tall and thin with a huge lions mane of dark curly hair and big eyes and full lips. And also, she always looks impeccable. I, on the other hand, tend to look like shit. So there we were, her looking perfect and me in my scungy t-shirt, jeans ripped at the knees, grubby backpack and no make-up. We went to an upscale sort of bar, one filled with 30 something yuppie types and a couple of rich college co-eds, I was glaringly out of place.

I started drinking and I drank and drank… I started with margaritas and then moved on to mojitos.

Some dudes started talking to us while we were outside smoking. I would guess that they were in their early to mid 30’s. one was clearly the alpha male there was one who was cool and remote and the other was kind of a dork.

After a while it was clear that alpha dude was interested in my friend, even tho it was also clear that he didn’t have a chance in hell.

So I suddenly realized that I was the ugly friend. And that alpha dudes ugly friend was going to zero in on me. he bought me like 4 drinks and he talked to me about his boring job. He was ultra boring and seemed to have no personality.

It was really odd and unreal to me that I felt like I could see everyone’s motivations so clearly. I was thinking about how men should ALWAYS go for the ugly friend. The pretty girl is really used to attention and will more probably brush you off. The ugly friend is flattered unbelievably by your attention and if you get her drunk enough she might sleep with you. I wondered if that is what this guy was thinking. Was he smart enough to even have thought of it? I wonder if men’s mags like Maxim give advice like that?

You know, I also wonder why more pervs don’t take gym classes. What could be better than hanging out in the back of a room watching 30 women jump around, get sweaty and contort themselves into weird positions?

yeah, ugly friend gave me his business card and told me to email him.

NOT

i can’t believe it has been so long since i updated. (girls, help me out here!)

hell week.

holy shit.

everything that could go wrong this week did. and i found myself sitting in my coworker’s cube for minutes at a time, mesmerized utterly by the rotating photos of various waterfalls around the world on her screensaver.

i can tell you with certainty that if any sort of watery noises accompanied those photos i would be rendered completely and totally useless at work.

i want to swim under a waterfall. i want to bask on a large, slippery rock and hear the crashing as water meets water meets water. i want to fly, to circle lazily in the air above the water, feeling the mist upon my face and studying the patterns created when standing liquid is violently disturbed by falling spray.

words simply cannot express the depth of my longing to be so frighteningly near one of these unbridled displays of mother nature’s artistry.

possibly i could solve the problem by getting one of those little bubbling water machines for my desk. i think they are japanese, or something, and they probably sell them at the sharper image.

i have a new theory: fights, in the context of a relationship, are exactly like sex.

which is to say that in the same way you get frustrated if you and your partner don’t have sex for a while, you also get frustrated if you don’t fight for a while. which results in the random and seemingly ridiculous picking of fights. usually over nothing, or over something old that you’ve already argued about. because let’s face it, if you really had something to argue about, the fight wouldn’t fall into this category at all, it would be a legitimate fight.

the thing is that in my experience the gratuitous fight doesn’t remotely qualify for make-up sex. which kind of sucks, really. because that’s the very best part of a fight, the knowledge that in the end you will probably have angry, rough sex to resolve it. because nobody ever really resolves anything in monogamous relationships, the same issues are always there from day one to day none, and nothing ever changes.

he and i used to fight nonstop in the very beginning. we drove each other completely fucking insane all the time about everything. some of our fights were really bad ones, with one of us threatening to leave or something. but nobody ever left. and interestingly, during that period of time we also had the most frequent, most urgent sex ever, several times a week, and after fights we almost always had sex. because i would debate the point into oblivion, and he never had the right words to say what he meant, and it was easier on each of us to just fuck the other than to actually get a point across. and in the afterglow of a good fuck, the thing that bothered you so much a few minutes ago seems really kind of stupid.

as the relationship went on, we both got sort of frustrated with attempting to solve problems, and we sort of tolerated the parts of each other that we didn’t like, grumbling to ourselves about it for months on end. we also got tired of making the time and effort to have sex, and we stewed about that too. so whenever one of us would get ravenously horny, the other always felt sideswiped. and whenever one of us blew up and picked a fight at some random time, the same thing happened.

so the point is that not fighting enough gives you emotional blue balls, if that makes any sense. and i’d stake my gpa on that thesis.

if there was one person i would have married it would have been him. in fact, i would almost give up everything and go marry him right now.

i feel all sad and shaky now.

maybe i should have given him a blow job when i had the chance. but it seemed so sleazy. like he had obviously promised his girlfriend that he wouldnt _sleep_ with me or anyone else while on his little road trip of desperation. so i just felt like it was too gross and squalid to participate in.

and than that whole fiasco with his dumb friends who i let stay with me for two weeks. man. I’m sure they told him how heinous i was. which i fucking wasnt. they were the heinous ones.

UGH.

he just wrote me back. i bet he married that dumb bitch girlfriend. i would have made a better wife.

looking back over the past say 10 years the choices i have made as far as who i sleep with have been mostly bad. the one night stand or fling sort of sex i have had have all been bad. really bad. why do i do it? i think its a combination of things.

one i get in a situation where i feel the same way i feel when a used car salesman is looming in front of me. also there’s that thing left over from being a teenager where i would just make out with any boy who drove me home.

so i moved into the this big house. it used to be a drug lab sort of house. and was smelly and falling apart and the walls were all tagged with graffiti. and actually the living room was somehow filled with garbage. mostly thrift store type garbage not actual rotting food. but it was still gross. after i had been there a month i and a friend cleaned the whole thing out and painted the room all nice… pink to be exact. since pink paint was what i stole from behind the Sherman Williams store over on Pacific.

anyway, by the time i was living there every in the house was pretty nice. there was :

• the very very young hiv+ boy who had run away from home on the east coast.
• the hippy drum circle guy.
• a DJ.
• an artist just out of jail.
• a fucking beautiful but super flaky girl with a dog.
• a man (who believed his girlfriend had been abducted by aliens) and his dog.
• the heavy metal stoner dude.
• and me. the punk mohawked introvert.

so anyway. one night the lame stoner dude was in my room talking to me. and it progressed to him giving me a back massage. and then he started to leave but was all lingering and giving me a lusty/puppy dog look. so. i slept with him. loudly. and roughly. in fact i ri0pped my recent clit hood piercing in the process and had to take it out. and after that i was too chicken to redo it. but anyway. i didn’t like this guy all that much. i mean, he was nice. but i wasn’t attracted to him at all. AT ALL.
*sigh*

i saw him at Folsom street fair 5 years later. he was wearing all leather and was leading his fiancé around on a chain. he ran up to me all excited and hugged me. then he introduced me to his almost wife as the chick who had introduced him to SM.

i barely even recognized the dude first of all. i only slept with him once also, and i don’t recall any SM happening unless you call my clit hood piercing ripping SM… which i don’t. i call it unintentional and sucky pain. in any case, loud rough-ish sex does not really = SM in my book. but i guess it did to him.

anyway, it was weird.

she claims to be an optimist and she tells all and sundry that i am a cynic. she may be right about me, but i really don’t need her telling people anything about me. nor do i need her ass analyzing me all the damn time.
okay girl, we all KNOW now that you are oh so fucking intellectual and such a bad ass critical thinker, but could you shut the fuck up? because no one cares.

as for her being an optimist… that isn’t the way i see it.
i see her as irresponsible. she isn’t prudent. she lacks foresight. she does any dumb thing with the excuse of optimism and then some more calm person (a cynic maybe?) has to come rescue her ass.
most of the time her optimism results in some one having to spend time or money taking care of her or her problems. man, i am sick of it!

and what i really hate is when this lack of foresight is rewarded. maybe life should be that way? maybe life is better with those risks? maybe for her. but it’s making things sucky for me.

actually now that think about it i have another fried who is similar. I’ve been sending her money for years so that she can pursue her crappy artistic dream. Which I think totally sucks. and all the good parts were my idea anyway. but somehow every damn time i see her she has all this new stuff… clothes, books, cd player. god i am an idiot.

i was thinking the other day about the old junior high rumor that people can tell if you are a virgin by the way you walk. i remember this evoking a moment of panic and speculation in me and my friends.

i was going to post this in comments but i haven’t updated in a while so i thought i’d squeeze a whole post out of it, two birds with one stone.

erin said she got e-mail suggesting that if the girls and i posted pics of ourselves we wouldn’t live up to her mental image of us. unless that came from one of us (it sure wasn’t me) it sounds like someone is either

insulting us behind our backs: they refuse to post pictures because they’re ugly;

or

attempting to goad us into doing so through amateurish usage of reverse psychology: they think we’re ugly? we’re not! we’ll post pictures to prove it!

neither of which will work, by the way. the reason we won’t post pictures, in case you just joined us, is because this is an anonymous blog, and it would defeat the purpose. we all have friends who read blogs, and if they run across this one, nobody can prove we said anything. unless they see our pictures on the site, in which case our covers are blown.

we are willing to take responsibility for the things we write, to a degree. this is our safehouse, where we can speak freely and say things we can’t anywhere else. that’s one of the things our readers find interesting, and i for one refuse to deny myself that outlet.

plus, if it’s that we were ugly, we all own photoshop and are proficient enough to use it well… or we could of course post bogus pictures, duh.

i must rest now. site drama tires me immensely.

every fucking year my company puts out a memo stating that there is a freeze on raises/bonuses/hiring because of economic conditions. last year they blamed it on september 11; this year they blamed the economy and something about a new tax law.

mind you, back in the day when management was living high on the hog, they gave excuses too. and since they didn’t share when the getting was good, people don’t really give a fuck anymore about what economic position they are in. they blew it, i tell you.

exactly sixty days after the aforementioned memo, they put out another memo saying that their accountants have magically pulled out of their asses a solution that will allow them to give us raises/bonuses/promotions. they sit back and wait for us all to show them love for coming through in a pinch, and they expect us to believe that they did it because they really care and not because they caught us surfing monster.com and polishing up our resumes.

then whatever bonus or raise we get, and it is without fail meager, they put into our paychecks, instead of cutting a separate check, meaning we pay more taxes up front and take home less.

i know that in the end, i get it back from the feds, but it still fucking irritates me that they can’t stop playing this ridiculous game, and that they think we don’t know it is just that.

no, i’m still not bored with this topic. i could obsess over it all week.

i asked my fashionista friend at work about it. she of course does it. i asked her if it is any worse than getting a tattoo, which i have done several times in typically painful places on my body. she told me about another girl who used to work with us who had it done and couldn’t walk for three days.

how’d that be, calling in sick because you waxed your cha-cha?

although i am horrified at the thought of such pain, and of repeating such pain every few weeks or months, it is endlessly intriguing. simply because i am too fucking lazy to shave properly and avoid the whole razor burn thing. plus i don’t have regular access to a bathtub, only a shower, and i’m no contortionist, thanks. it’s hard enough to shave my fucking legs standing up.

part of me is also afraid of what i would find under the hair. i mean, i’ve never seen my labia without it. wouldn’t that be kind of like walking in and catching your dad naked or something?

you people are gonna be the death of us.

keep on complimenting us like that, calling us blog goddesses and comparing us to the outlandishly cool siouxsie and asking us to publish our ‘kus – and you will have a few unmanageable divas on your hot little hands.

speaking only for myself, i sort of dig our little cult following. it’s neat to be liked and yet not commercially popular with thousands of hits a day. it also means that remaining anonymous should thankfully still be absurdly easy. we promise you, in the tradition of underground rock bands, cult movie classics, and janeane garofalo, we will not sell out!

wait.

on second thought, i would totally dig thousands of hits a day.

how about i promise that we’ll never ask for donations or put up wish lists or join affiliate programs?

i have read more about popular porn star hair removal methods, and they all seem to really like the brazilian wax thing for its uncanny ability to get really intimate with hair removal and go where a razor just shouldn’t.

i am still trying to envision laying on a table, naked from the waist down, with my legs all open like that and having some asian chick use a little plastic stick to spread hot wax (um, ow?) in all manner of nooks and crannies that i can’t even see without a really strong makeup mirror.

worse still, i recall how much pain was caused by waxing my shins the last time, and transfering that degree of pain to my nether regions scares the fucking hell out of me.

but dammit! i fucking hate razors!

and i want a cute little landing patch. preferably with a skunklike dye job. you know, with a white stripe down the middle. like a really short two-lane road or something.

i also desperately want to know (since i have never actually dieted or otherwise attempted to lose weight) if when you start losing weight your bikini area also gets a little more bony and pronounced? because mine is kind of soft and thick which works well with the weight i am now but would probably look freakish on say a size six body which is what i hope to eventually achieve. you know how your boobs always get smaller before you see anything gone from your ass? so, is it like that, do you think?

possibly not. i should probably just pierce my navel instead.

don’t ask me how it happened, but i think i sprained my jaw. yes, i was alone. except for my trusty hot pink ribbed vibrator.

i said don’t ask.

i worked myself up into a tizzy yesterday. i just kept thinking about how irritating she is. in so many was. one of which is that i can predict when she will come over and why.

the worst part of hating her is the massive guilt and love that go along with it. talk about seriously dysfunctional relationships.
but i have to say that all the girls I’ve loved before have been completely fucking nuts. this one is by far the worst when it comes to complete self absorption.

and really that’s what makes me feel like a guilty piece of shit. and the fact that i am struggling with this emotion just adds to my guilt. it’s fucking ridiculous.

i feel all the black oozing hatred and evil will as if it was tangible thing. kind of like that black oozy entity in that star trek episode. the one that killed tasha yar. you’re all geeks right? you know the one i mean.

anyway. somehow i should be happy that she can find happiness? but when i see that she is getting it so selfishly… it makes me mad. and jealous at the same time. is she really that oblivious? does she think she deserves these things more than the people she uses, tramples and blows right over.

maybe its just that i wish i could do it too. gee, wouldn’t it be great to get all the things i want in life mainly because other people make it possible by sacrificing shit for me? but actually, in non theory, NO. i don’t want that. sure i want people around me to help me achieve my goals. but why should they have to sacrifice or just plain forget about their own goals in order to do so?

oh, but anyway. i worked myself into a tizzy. i KNEW she was going to come over after her thing was over. and sure enough she did. but once again i kept my mouth shut. i listened to her cheerful flow of chatter. it’s actually none of my business.

omg, a friend of mine just asked me to do some graphics for the website of a family member of hers. and i went to look at what’s there to get some ideas and i can’t stand it.

the person has a picture posted, a really smiley one that makes me just feel bad. because said person although very nice is extremely dorky. and there isn’t a lot on the site at all, but the person who did the barebones design felt the need to use frames as if to give the impression that there is more content than there is. and it’s all a bunch of white space with some small black text except for an inexplicably large bright yellow table containing an e-mail link.

what’s worse is that there is simply no creative inspiration for me there whatsoever. and so i have not yet done anything on it. i am afraid that it would be truly horrific, although that would probably be a step up.

maybe i should dust off frontpage and use one of their stupid stock designs. but then that person would probably think i was the neatest thing ever, and i don’t think i could live with that.

god i need a smoke.

have to admit that i have always liked making out with strangers. in bars or clubs that is. i probably wouldn’t make out with a stranger on the bus or something. not dark enough.

anyway. i was out this weekend and was in one of those super small super crowded clubs. i felt like i was drowning in a sea of hipsters. a girl i know came up to me and said “damn everyone is dancing so ‘dot com’”. and i was like “oh really? um..uh… what exactly does that mean?” and she said “oh you know …” and then did a little dance.
I’m still in the dark really. but they did all look like hipsters to me. apparently they were ‘dot com’ hipsters.

so my point here is that it was one of those clubs that only has one bathroom. and i have to pee like every two seconds if i am drinking. which i was. i got in line for the bathroom and started talking to the guy in front of me. you know, the usually ‘damn this line is long i really have to pee’ kind of banter…

he was kind of cute. in that all hipster dudes look alike kind of way. short ruffled hair and small black glasses. but he had nice smile wrinkles by his eyes. and i was drunk. so we get to the bathroom and he makes some motion like ‘hey, lets go in together’.

uh no. i really had to pee. and i refuse to pee in front of anyone never mind a stranger.
what exactly did he want to do in there? fuck? watch me pee? i have no clue.

so i see this guy later and i think.. why not, I’ll give him my email address. maybe it’s time i started dating or something. so i go give him my email and he is like “so where are you going now?” and i say i am taking my friend home.
and then he says something to the effect of well why not bring me home with you.
i say no way but email me if you want and run off.

I’ve actually never just met someone in a bar and taken them home to fuck them and i don’t plan on starting now.

also, by then end of the night the friend i was with was freely trying to grope me and kiss me. and he managed to get in a good grope and a reasonable kiss. but man. i do not want to deal with that shit from him. crap!
But he and I went off to a good diner and loudly discussed that anais nin story where they guy finds a dead girl on the beach and fucks her. I’ve always thought that was an ultra sexy story and it has been good masturbatory material for me in the past.

This topic came up because he was telling me about some chick was trying to date and how they hatched a plan to exchange sexy stories. He gave her ‘Little Birds’. And get this… she gave him a Danielle Steel book. Now, I’ve never read a Danielle steel book. But I know she is heralded as a horrid romance sort of writer. I was amused when he told me that he read it and told the chick that he liked it. Mainly not to hurt her feelings but also because he wanted to keep sleeping with her.

good thing that was just a minor sitemeter glitch. referrals page is free again.

remind me not to call you guys when i’m drowning

ok, sitemeter randomly decided to start charging for referral reports today. and i don’t pay for shit like that. so i need to find a new stat service that includes a hit counter which will let me add the number of hits we’ve received already and which will show referral logs. for free.

any suggestions?

at one point i was really into phone sex and i was pretty much a walking orgasm waiting to happen. that was the summer of endless heat, and everything in sight was steaming, including the asphalt. even at night, a thick haze of warmth hung heavily over the city.

one night i stopped at a phone booth to call him. i’d just finished my shift and was waiting for the bus, which was unmercifully late. i couldn’t wait until i got home, so i called him collect. he accepted the charges, probably thinking something was wrong.

in fact, things were very wrong, because i needed to get off right then, and it would be another hour before i could get home to my trusty vibrator. i quickly explained to him that i had to come, and that he had to help me. he was speechless, until i begged him to fuck me.

right there in front of the place i worked nights, with traffic whizzing by, i slipped my hand into my pants and began working myself, closing my eyes and focusing on his graphic language. i brought myself off twice before hanging up.

there are certain bitches in this world who make the rest of us look bad, i mean really bad. so for the ones who deliberately sabotage other people’s relationships and careers and knife anyone at all in the back for no obvious reason i reserve the word twat. it’s much easier for me to say than the c-word, which also manages to offend nearly everyone in casual conversation.

however.

the c-word is intensely erotic when used during foreplay or frantic sex. in fact, it is second only to the word whore. and for some reason that i can’t fathom at all, nothing gets me off quite like being called a whore and having references made to the c-word as well, but more in the anatomical sense.

invariably i growl into his ear, tell me, at which point he poses the critical question:

look at you. you’re a whore, aren’t you? you live for cock, don’t you?

i agree, urgently, and beg him to say it again, louder, for the whole world to hear. sometimes i repeat it back to him while the earth thunders beneath me.

so yeah. that’s the best way i know of to use that word.

how is it that somehow she always gets by. she always has someone to take care of her so that she doesnt have to work? this pisses me off extrememly. every fucking one else has to work. why the hell doesnt she? she just gets to hang around being creative and shit. fuck her right in her snotty ass.
i can’t believe she is getting away with it.

also, she can shove that cheerfulness right down her throat and choke on it.

maybe if i think of some of my all-time favorite nooky scenes from movies i will rediscover the urge to fornicate. so here are the ones i can think of off the top of my head:

anything from wild orchid because at one point mickey rourke was actually sexy, and his character was so domineering.

the countertop scene from fatal attraction although michael douglas and glenn close are both so not sexy.

anything from original sin because angelina jolie oozes sex and it’s dreamy watching antonio banderas lick it up.

basic instinct. no, pretty much the entire movie.

unfaithful, where diane lane is physically quivering because her psyche is torn between doing the right thing and doing what feels good.

the scene from monkey shines where the chick gets together with the paraplegic guy (don’t ask me how that works, exactly). she was sort of swinging from the traction gear he was in and he went down on her while she was suspended from the ceiling above him. see it, seriously.

surely i am missing some and surely i can count on you to remind me.

and yesterday, after a week of semi-relaxing vacation, i got an e-mail stating that one of my former colleagues who was working in our european office died in a horrible car crash last week, and that they had to use dna to identify him because it was so brutal. he was no older than me, probably a little younger in fact, and had just been promoted or something.

although it sucks much more when someone you are very close to is killed, at least you know how to act in that case. i mean, if you’re close to them, you can get all upset and everyone understands that is normal. if you only knew them casually, though, what is the protocol there? i mean, it’s really sad, but how long do you shake your head and cluck your tongue and say things like, he was a really nice guy? and do you send flowers or would that be weird, seeing how you only met them a few times? and certainly do you take time off of work to go to the memorial service? will people think you are phony for going? like thinking, she didn’t know him that well, what the hell gives her the right to be here? or if you don’t go, will they think that is disrespectful? would they go to your funeral if you died tomorrow, and how would your family and friends feel about that?

all reasons i avoid funerals in general like the plague.

there was this one guy who got fired. a supervisor got in a car accident and was hurt really bad, and he said something about it being too bad the bitch didn’t die. he actually said that at work. and they fired him.

then there were the two supervisors who were caught fucking around with the timecards. one of them is independently wealthy and is only working because she is so close to retirement that it would be stupid to leave and skip the pension, and she talked this other supervisor into punching her timecard when she wasn’t really even at work. they didn’t get fired but he got reprimanded and she got demoted. i think she bribed him to do it too, with all her disposable income.

and of course the guy who put a client on hold and went out for lunch got the axe, too, along with the guy who was using his work e-mail account for porn mail.

the guy who was angry and belligerent all the time and who was also getting blowjobs in the parking lot from various female colleagues got the axe. he is suing the company for some stupid reason and wrote a four page e-mail to an ex-colleague accusing management of skimming off our paychecks and encouraged her to pass it around the office so we could all watch our backs.

and for the last eight years there have been rampant rumors about once a month that they are going to close our office and lay everyone off in favor of cheaper canadian labor. which all the little busybodies like to point out is completely illegal according to nafta or something. i don’t even know if that is true.

but when my friend says to me aren’t you scared you’ll lose your job? i say that closing our office is probably the best thing that could happen to my career, because it will ensure that i get off my ass and get a real job that might actually go somewhere and that i will not grow old and die in the bermuda triangle of careers that is my company.

and she doesn’t quite get that.