going out and getting wasted with dumb punk boys is pretty fun.

however, in the end, one prefers the smarter, cuter, better fuck.

but for some fucking reason it really does bother me. i should be above this. i was raised better than that. my mother would roll in her grave if she knew.

i know what is the right thing. and when i don’t know what is the right thing at the very least i still know what is the wrong thing. however i do not avoid doing the wrong thing on most occasions. and doing the absolute right thing is almost always very much more taxing emotionally than doing the thing that is not one hundred percent wrong.

it is somehow a little more difficult when the thing that is wrong is how i feel though. like, a certain thing should not rub me the wrong way but it does. or a certain other thing shouldn’t offend me because i am a socially enlightened person. but that doesn’t take the sting out of whatever it is that bothers me.

and then i wonder if i really am who i think i am, who my friends think i am. and if i am not – then who am i?

am going out with dumb punk guy tonight. we’ll see how it goes. sometimes the dumb punk guys that dropped out of high school in 11th grade are better than the super smart bondage guys who went to an ivy league school.

then he accuses me of being a chick that is sexually aggressive but then is put out when men do not respond.

holly crap. he couldn’t be more wrong.

i do end up being aggressive sometimes. mostly out of impatience. And it almost ALWAYS backfires.

If there is one thing I have learned in my somewhere around 30 years it is that men do not actually like an aggressive female even if they think they do.

“you are over thinking things “, he says to me.
“over thinking…”, i think, “wtf”.
i say, “you mean thinking or feeling at all… right? like what the fuck are you talking about. here i am telling you how i feel and you tell me that i am over thinking. it’s my damn right to think aobut this. it’s my feelings for christs sake.”

then he says something to the effect of: if your over thinking things then it is like you are playing a part and not being yourself.

one part of me is thinking “dude, fuck right off. you cant decide if you like me enough to try dating only me then i will make the decision for you and so goodbye fuck-o!”

but then again… “why quibble? i like to hangout with him. fucking him is fun. why not be cool and just not think about it?”

i hate the urge to “be cool” about something. fuck. i dont want to be cool. and i also dont want to make an emotional investment in someone who cant decide between me and some other chick.

hate guys.

so i was watching dr. phil yesterday and he had this family on whose 15 year old daughter was eight months pregnant. and she didn’t know still if she was going to keep the baby or give it up. the sister hated her because she was totally the center of attention all the time even though she fucked up and got knocked up. the mother was scared of having to give the baby back when her daughter got done with college because she would have raised it as her own and would be all attached to it. the father was ecstatic that it was a boy because he never had a son and wanted to keep it for that reason.

meanwhile dr. phil gave the girl one of those electronic teaching baby dolls that cry until they are fed, changed, comforted, etc. during the show he asked her where it was right now and she said she had turned it off because she had plans and couldn’t bring it to the show where it would be disruptive. thus demonstrating that the whole point of the exercise completely fucking escaped her. this, ladies and gentlemen, is the future of our country.

fuck!

so comfortable, so flexible, it’s like they become one with your underwear.

will these people never, ever learn?!

me: did you receive the fax i sent yesterday?
bank: what fax?
me: the fax you asked for.
bank: i don’t see it. did you get a confirmation?
me: yes, in my fax log.
bank: hold on.
me: (fuming)
bank: it’s not here. the cleaning crew must have thrown it out last night.
me: …

dude i am sorry but fire the fucking cleaning crew because this is fucking money we are talking about. and while you are at it cancel my application because there have got to be more professional bank employees out there somewhere. you know fuck all about anything anyway.

me: hello, bank, i would like to borrow a lot of money for a major purchase.
bank: okay, fill out this form in triplicate and sign here.
me: okay.

one week later.

bank: we need you to sign this form and fax a copy of this tax document.
me: okay.

one week later.

bank: your fingerprints aren’t on file.
me: here you go.

one week later.

bank: could we also have a dna sample? preferably from an intimate part of your body?
me: oh sure, why the hell not.

one week later.

bank: hi, we’re calling to tell you that your conditional pre-approval has expired and you now have to reapply. oh and the interest rates went up, too. have a nice day.
me: dammit all to hell!!

okay not really. but sort of. they asked for a copy of these canceled checks to prove something about my income. only my other bank doesn’t send the originals anymore, they only send an image of the check. so i fax that and it’s all pixellated and shit because i use my computer to fax stuff. and now i am scared they will not accept it because it isn’t very close to the original document really.

please let them be able to read the stupid fax. or please let a laser printer fall from the sky and land on my desk, for free.

thanks.

we played this game once for like three months where we were allowed to do anything we wanted except actually screw. it was torturous and amazing. anal sex was also off limits.

i found myself wanting to fuck him so much more than usual, thus proving his assertion that i am contrary by nature and want what i can’t have simply because it is elusive. which might be a little true. however i also must point out that the sex you have after not having sex for a reasonable amount of time is awesome sex. possibly second only to makeup sex. definitely better than goodbye sex or random sex. because once you actually get it after having been without it, it is very much like coming home after a long business trip where you didn’t have your morning coffee in your favorite cup or your cat sleeping on your feet or your fluffy bathrobe after a hot shower in which the water pressure is exactly to your liking. yeah. that’s what it’s like.

i thought i would have no problem with him exclusively going down on me or fisting me or using my favorite toys on me. it didn’t seem a big deal to give him hand jobs or blowjobs or footjobs or boobjobs for so long. i honestly didn’t even think i would really notice. but i did, and i got really impatient really fast. in a blinking contest it was always me that blinked first, and this was no exception. his willpower and stamina amazed me. i would be decked out in fishnet, which he loves, topped with leopard print, which he really fucking loves, moaning into his ear and begging him to fuck me. and he kept saying he would, that he was gonna fuck me so good i’d remember it for the rest of my life, and i kept waiting and waiting and he never did, he would go down on me instead. and i would gasp please and he would shush me in a voice filled with love, desire, and patient amusement. in the end, he liked that i am not as strong as i think i am.

as with everything, he won and i lost. we both got off, ten times more than usual, but it somehow wasn’t the same. we did all of it together, but only when the three months had finally passed and we allowed ourselves to fuck again did we become each other.

i am not in any way, shape, or form a fan of tom petty. although that one video which was done in one take with a rotating camera and a drag queen was pretty fucking cool. except the part where they bleeped out the last word in the line let’s roll another joint.

also. that t-shirt on roxy bears not the likeness of george harrison, who was a bit of a hypocrite. although i am not sure who it is, i don’t think roxy would be into him. someone a bit more rebellious and anti-establishment who didn’t spend the last several years of his life picking nits from his cushy country estate. manson was my first thought, but the carved swastika is missing from his forehead. i wonder who else it could be. pancho villa maybe? cesar chavez? what did those dudes look like?

on the other hand, it also sort of looks like this guy who works in the mailroom when he doesn’t shave for like a week.

is grumpy, irritable and inscrutable.

fifteen percent of nothing is still nothing.

not to be ungrateful, but still.

that although life is hell when your internet connection is sporadically available, forcing people to yield to you because you drive a big-ass hummer and they are afraid to cross you is fucking cool.

also. getting a raise and a sort-of promotion which is about three years overdue is kind of cool. but somehow bittersweet because it seems like too little too late. it is ironic – i got a raise now because of all the ass-busting i did a few years ago. i got sick of waiting for their puny reward which isn’t really a reward and stopped working so hard and quit the long hours and gave up on giving a damn about the place. i’ve been operating that way for about a year now and now when i am doing the least work ever is when i get the raise. that is of course because i have a kick-ass colleague who went to them and essentially demanded more money with one foot out the door. they freaked out and finally caved because even they could tell he was serious. and i have more seniority than him, so they can’t deny me. as soon as he is back from that seminar in cleveland we are so going to go out and get hammered.

i was on vacation at the time, and they actually called me and left a message on my voice mail, the hr people that is. they used the words ‘discreet’ (’discrete’?) and ‘low-key’ and ‘please don’t tell anyone i mean anyone at all because there is after all a hiring freeze right now and nobody else is getting even their regular raises much less a 15 percent raise like you are getting’. i think that’s what they said anyway, i deleted the voice mail. i don’t think indiscretion matters if you are in a trendy bar downtown and have had fifteen shots of tequila or something equally hazardous to your health. do you?

on the down side, i guess i should probably start actually working again, then.

the hippies in this state have beaten me down.
i no longer have an opinion about anything. having an opinion would be WAY too unPC.

is it really too much to ask for you to fucking tell me when you are going somewhere instead of just walking out the door while i am in the other room? i mean you might be going somewhere that i need something dropped off or picked up or something. i always tell you when i’m leaving…

most fear your obscene
size, you’re thick and superlong -
they can’t handle you.

the hummer came back from the tweak shop today. it is now a perfectly fluorescent shade of lime green with a curvy violet stripe down the side. to match my toenails.

see that benz driving bastard who is attempting an illegal mid-intersection u-turn? smash. oops, me either.

everyone between the tweak shop and here had better count their lucky fucking stars that i am a sucker for a fresh paint job and therefore decided against plowing into anyone who was driving like an asshole. which was pretty much everyone, grrr!

once the novelty of the lime green wears off, i will allow myself to smash into people willy-nilly. i will then return the hummer to the tweak shop for a new paint job in dreamy fuschia. it’s fall’s new black.

i will never be as smart as her. even remotely. sometimes i care and sometimes i dont. I’m inbetween right now.

i like to think of them as one part normal human/ one part cuddly teddy bear / and one part retard.

not necessarily in that order.

euphemisms for having your period are so fucking stupid.

also, i am all for open communication and being grownup about bodily functions, but let’s get real for a minute. there is not one woman i have met who picked the brand of her feminine hygiene product based on a fucking tv commercial. the one i hate the most is the one where the chick goes brace yourself! it’s a commercial about your period! which is really retarded. that’s a heads up for me to change the channel right there and for any males in the room to flee the scene while claiming to need another beer.

you are marketing people! my period is none of your fucking business!!

i have used the same brand of pad since the day i got my period, except if i ran out at a friend’s house or something and had to use something else in a pinch. that’s almost two decades of brand loyalty, and i have no plans to change anytime soon. my brand advertises minimally, and it’s always pretty tasteful. unlike the heinous tampax commercial with the dumb chick wearing all white who puts her tampon on the open windowsill in the bathroom. of course it falls into the bushes two stories down and she uses other non-tampax tampons to rig up this little rope to retrieve it. what they mean to say is that she will jump through hoops to use a tampax instead of another brand. what they actually say is that she is a fucking moron for putting her tampon on the windowsill in the first damn place. and then she’s all mischievous looking afterward, like it’s her own little secret that she is really lara croft, tampon raider.

anyway. no stupid maxi pad commercial ever made me sit up and say hey, that brand looks like it might work, i think i will try it next time. i use what i use, no matter the price, and i don’t ever wander that aisle looking for something better. every woman i have ever discussed this with either uses what her female relatives or friends use, or found the preferred brand by needing something in a pinch and not having the usual handy.

let me reiterate so the marketing dorks can get it: you could save ten trillion dollars if you would just stop putting your shit on television because it is wholly unnecessary! women don’t subscribe to that stuff and it irritates us.

(note: it wasn’t actually a real sabbatical, it was more of an unexpected loss of internet access.)

i bought a hummer because it is the single most politically incorrect vehicle in existence, and i fucking dig that. i did donuts in the parking lot at work with it the day i got it, and every day since then. it freaks out all the dicks in marketing. soon i will work up to sticking my head out the window and shouting squeal! while i terrorize them as they are walking to their saabs and audis.

someone should write a song about how great hummers are. then i could have a theme song for my recreational outings, just like shaft. shaft rules.

i keep resolving to be nice… and it doesnt work. i think it is all due to insecurity.

when do i get to say “dont date anyone else please”? and how do i know that the other girl he is dating isn’t saying the same thing?

do i say it now? risking exposing myself and being vulnerable? but at the same time sweetly making it clear that i say that because i like him?

man, i hate dating.

does this mean i have to go find someone else to date to make the playing field more even?

well, i dont want to feel like this is war? or an audition. i dont like it.

i dont think i am ready for a relationship or even dating…

i’m too angry apparently.

i’m being attacked by crazed libertarians.

shit. he has chat. now i am going to be checking every five seconds to see if he is online. and if he is, i’ll wonder why he isn’t messaging me.

jeezus.

note to self: turn off brain please.

or does it.

the weird part about sleeping with him again was that i remembered his body but also didn’t. he had chest hair suddenly! the kind i get my teeth caught in while playing with his nipples. irritating!
his body was all grown up. no more skinny 17 year old chest and arms. instead he was solid. taller. muscular. nice and heavy on top of me. he remembered my sweet spot miraculously.

we did NOT discuss this sex at all. which was possibly dumb. i could have forced a discussion i suppose. but there was no real point to it. i wont see him again for like 5 years. I’m just sorry i only slept with him once. i think. or maybe I’m sorry i slept with him at all. or maybe I’m just sorry i slept with him while too drunk to fully savor the experience.

not that i didn’t orgasm. i did. quite nicely thank you. he did not however. i came and then rolled over and went to sleep. i patted him and said “we’ll get to you next time.” and then giggled insanely.
hahaha. god i love being near my sexual prime. it makes things so much easier.

what was really weird was afterwards, over the next couple of days, i could tell he was attempting some kind of faltering, clumsy affection. patting me and so forth. i was at a loss to understand it. was he trying to make sure i didnt have some weird chick reaction to casual sex? still unsure. maybe he was having some weird reaction.
maybe i’ll ask him in an email. (omg, such a cop out!).

also, i found that i didn’t care about the fact that like 2 weeks ago he wrote to me and was telling about his recent sexual exploits and how he had to think of his ex-wife while fucking other chicks.

what do i care?
think about whatever you want. like as not i’m thinking about being fucked by the Dallas cowboys or some bikers or something.

also, i’m glad i fucked him because it gives me a feeling of power over the other guy i’m fucking. the one that could be a potential boyfriend. he was off fucking 85 lb strippers most likely. well, at least i too was fucking someone. and if he wasn’t fucking anyone. even better.
either way i dont think i’ll tell him. he hasn’t asked and i haven’t asked him.

i do feel the desire to ask him if he is sleeping with anyone right now tho. as in when not off on vacation in the desert. regularly. it’s too soon to ask. but i really dont like dating. i dont like fucking multiple people. and i don’t like anyone i am fucking to be fucking anyone else.

please keep your damn pants on when it comes to old boyfriends.

i have been having this paranoid feeling that everything about me is a distracting offense to other peoples sense of aesthetics.
everything about me. my voice. how i look. the way i think. the way my eyes blink in the sunlight…

what i find disturbing is that i can no longer tell if i even like someone or not.
it doesnt seem normal. either you like someone or you dont. it should be simple.

if you dont know does that mean that you dont like them? as though i want to like someone and this person is available so i feel like i should like them but i dont really so then i have that ambivilant feeling.