here i am. back. I am here to torment Emmie with my bad spelling and worse grammar and, omg, my totally random punctuation.

but unfortunately with no interesting sex to talk about really. if i was having super fabulous exciting sex i might not even talk about it then.

i often get flack from people i know about not being positive enough.

but what they don’t understand is that i AM positive, i just don’t feel the need to talk about positive things. mainly because feeling happy and positive about something is not confusing or worrying. it is not something i need help with or need to receive feedback about. it is more straight forward and so less interesting to me.

i find writing about things that upset me in whatever way helps me think problems through. sometimes i try to write about things in a structured way but more frequently i end up with a more free flowing outpouring of emotion. and sometimes in that, i end up saying stupid things. but if they are written down i can examine them and figure out why i was thinking that way in the first place.

if anyone i know is reading this i kind of hope they fuck off and allow me some privacy.

this is one reason do not like pres. Bush. he often makes declarations along the lines of ‘when i make up my mind i keep it made up’ and ‘i stay the course’ and other similar things. but to me that is not a admirable quality in and of itself. basically, being a person who knows and understand duty and commitments. that is admirable. but to be unwavering? to never change your mind? to not admit you could be wrong? to me that is an indicator that you are not actually thinking things through critically.

i often worry that my thinking is not critical enough. i see life and ideas as something like a layer cake. okay not a layer cake… but something layered. so you can peel back ideas more and more and maybe not ever get to the bottom of it. but i often need help changing direction. i want to look at things and peel them back from new perspectives.

let this illustrate that i do indeed keep my promises. please do not ask me to explain.

i wish i were some sort of domestic goddess but i am not. i actually like this person and i would like to do more than pick up a stupid prepackaged vegetable tray at the supermercado.

i sort of see britney deliberately attempting to go madonna’s way, and it irritates the hell out of me. it’s like watching a building collapse and not being big or strong enough to stop it. identify the moneymaking formula and kiss the ass of its pioneer. it didn’t work when oasis proclaimed themselves the next beatles… why is madonna so easily copied/toppled? possibly because she is still available (unlike the beatles?) to offer her endorsement. oh, look, britney, isn’t she as cute as i was when i first started? i am older and more sophisticated now and have much to teach her. i wonder if there’s any bitterness there…

that is what i was thinking about while listening to this new cd i have which has both britney and madonna on it. coincidence, really. that and swag, which we have none of. but which i am still convinced people would buy. i am not an artist, nor am i brave enough to brazenly reproduce copyrighted images for my own financial gain. ergo, no swag. someone draw me some pictures or something! i like sexy silhouettes. also eyes and lips (especially lips!) and symbols of superiority, such as the above tiara. we are not really superior but it is fun to pretend.

i promise i will try to have some interesting sex soon. i still wonder how many of you read us just for that content.

do you like us?

i am feeling miserable and misunderstood and mean.

i should be a better person. i should know how/why i feel about things.

where is that magic sentence or insight that will make this not matter to me anymore.

and how do i seperate my issues into the proper catagories? they seem so intertwined and i can not sort them out.

please please be around tonight. i need to talk to someone.

i don’t know why this upsets me so much and i need you to like talk me down or something.

you’ve been listening to me bitch about this for 10 years now. she has now decided to be poly. non of my business AT ALL. except when she is doing it with like people who i like and that i am friends with and stuff. although really that shouldn’t affect my friendship with them. but it does. i hate her. i want to get away from her.

i need to make some effort to get away from her and find some other support system.

this makes me want to move in with ‘boyfriend in not to distant town’ just to get away from her. i could have a new life and new friends with him,?

the problem is that he and i are both sort of unintential hermits. we don’t connect well or quickly with other people in that friend way. he might argue with that…but i think he would be wrong.

i spent this morning crying. first because i had to cancel my lesson because my i am still not better. i was having so much fun with those lessons and now i am fucked. and the woman was a huge bitch about it and is making me pay for tonight’s lesson anyway. so that made me cry at about 8:00 this morning. and then some chatting with her and she busts out that she is going on a date with our friend tonight. i told her it was disturbing and asked her if she felt that the loving relationships that people can feel for their friends were hollow why the hellcouldnt she just be friends with someone?

i have to get away from her. i need therapy to deal with her.

i mean it isn’t like i really have a problem with poly relationships, i guess, i don’t know well maybe i do. i think they are doomed to failure usually and i think that they are usually structured in such a way that one party is the loser. for instance. they are married and have each other as that for support etc. he is a passerby essentially. now if he is okay with that so be it. but people do not know what they are getting into with her.

she sucks people dry. she encourages emotional outpouring from people. she craves it. then when she is done with them or they require time or anything else from her she dumps them. she just wants the excitement of someone falling in love with her and ‘revealing’ themselves to her. she is a parasite.

once again: NONE OF MY BUSINESS.

why does this bother me so much? the fact that i have witnessed it umpteen times? because i loathe her particular brand of sexuality? because i think she manipulates people and it isn’t right. and i know this because at some point i realized that she was full of shit and manipulating me and this other thing… this weird thing she does… i don’t know how to explain it. she projects onto me. and i often don’t realize it until it is too late.

i am so frustrated. i feel like my life is on the verge sort of, of being what i want it to be. but it isn’t. and that somehow ties into all this. i wish i did not have to be at work today. i want to like go lie on the beach and be miserable. or something.

sometimes i wonder just how in the hell people look at me and say my skin is so pretty. i have rosacea and combination skin and probably some kind of parasite and i don’t drink nearly enough water. the makeup i am using must be really good although i do not think so.

when i put on my makeup i go close up to the mirror so i can make sure i don’t have any visible base lines anywhere because girls with base lines got made fun of in high school behind their backs. however i do see so much fine blonde hair that i have seriously considered just waxing my entire face. which would be dangerous given that i cannot be trusted to tweeze my eyebrows. you know those people who have some weird obsession with cleaning their ears with q-tips because it feels good? i’m like that with tweezing. yeah, they’re just growing back, thanks.

i think that waxing my whole face would maybe also contribute to the already existing flakiness that is highlighted by any makeup base i wear, particularly the ones that claim to be smooth as a baby’s butt. this problem is fixed with moisturizer or my rosacea cream but then one hour after putting on base someone slips and falls on the oil slick that is my face. and yes the moisturizer is oil-free, give me some credit.

the dermatologist is a twit. (did you know that ‘twit’ means pregnant goldfish? i wonder how it also came to mean idiot…) i asked him how good my skin could get, because the medicine makes it soft and smooth to the touch but it still looks ruddy sometimes and i get those bumps which aren’t exactly zits and so cannot be popped (nearly as gratifying as tweezing). he asked me how good i wanted my skin to be, which i thought was a dumbass fucking question. uh, i’d be satisfied with mediocre skin, will this $65 cream do that for me? DICK. i want it perfect, fuckhat! give it six months, he said. after three i have found that i barely even have time to wash my face once a day let alone use a cream three times. and there is this whole makeup problem.

just don’t wear makeup? yeah, i tried that too, genius. if i don’t wear makeup everyone thinks i am sick and they all run up to me and ask if i am okay. irritating.

i have also noticed lately that the area around my eyes looks sunken and about four times darker than the rest of my skin. not purple circles like i get when i am sick. almost olive, like my skin melted off and that’s what’s underneath. looks creepy after i put on my base but have not yet put on my eyeshadow…

he was surprised it was a hummer. with a girl in it. i could tell he wanted to see if i was hot.

fortunately for him i was not. because i was wearing a paint-stained miller shirt (i am remodeling, thank you) and sweats (it was cold) and my hair was in a sloppy ponytail (no makeup of course).

it was weird because as i got out and walked toward the gas pump he very deliberately turned and sized me up. i would think men would have a little bit more shame in this age of sexual harrassment lawsuits and shit. he finished filling his tank and left without looking at me again.

cute guy dropping off his car for some type of service checked me out though. and my ponytail must not have been that sloppy, or else he is a messy kind of guy. he reminded me of someone i know…

should i stop haiku?
scientists say they have found
poets die sooner…

january 5 is the birthday of my first sort-of real boyfriend. it was fifth grade and he was the cutest thing ever. he let me wear his red satin jacket after i convinced him it was the right thing to do, a public declaration of our love. he didn’t seem so sure. it was very convoluted because he loved jennifer, i loved him, billy loved me, and lauren loved billy. billy and my boyfriend were best friends and lauren and i were best friends. it turned out that my hair wasn’t straight enough for him, that is why he liked jennifer, who utterly disdained him. i didn’t like billy because he was too short. billy didn’t like lauren because she was too fat. and in the end, it was he who wasn’t straight enough for me… in high school he came out of the closet.

lauren was a bitch. two-faced. i miss billy sometimes though, he was a really good friend to me all the way into high school.

then comes march 31, the birthday of my first *true* love. he fucked with my head off and on for six years before i finally gave him the finger. he immediately married some other girl who nobody even knew he was dating. last time i saw him he could not look me in the face. everyone knew we would be together forever. everyone was wrong, and i am glad.

april 23 (today) is asshole day. this guy did me more damage in three years than the last guy did in six. i did not realize until after i got out of the relationship (for the third time) that he pretty much coerced me into fucking him like every day. and if i didn’t want to or whatever he acted all bitchy and sometimes completely ignored me until i gave in. i did however tell him to fuck right off every time he ever tried to talk me into giving him head.

why is it that i can’t remember to take my fucking birth control pill every day but the birthdays of my ex-boyfriends will always stay with me?? fucked! like if i could clear that shit out of my head there would be room for much more important things like

go to bank
clean litter box
buy ritz crackers
learn japanese (or lose your job)

if i could just locate my brain’s delete key…

earlier when i said i almost came clean, i meant that i almost said waaaaaaay too much here because i was at a breaking point emotionally. and would have easily blown my cover had i had the energy to fucking type. which fortunately for me i did not.

now you will never know that i am really a 40something housewife with eight kids and a MLM business…

heh.

i have let you down and you love me anyway!

normally i would have said us. it’s the equivalent of breaking up in the blog world though.

today i actually heard girl at pharma say “i almost blogged about that!” am convinced i was hearing things though. she is young … possibly she blogs. who knows.

horror of horrors: my boss has figured out that i am a lesbian in hetgirl sherpa. she knows and she thinks it is hysterical. she teases me about eyeing the aforementioned good-looking boss of other department… i am not really a lesbian. nor am i a hetgirl. but she seems to like me better lately and therefore tells me more about my job security and who is getting downsized, shhh! she even gave me her home phone number. maybe i will get really lucky and she will ask me to babysit her yorkie who is adorable! and named after a certain warrior princess (who is apparently a hetgirl in lesbian sherpa).

i do not understand my good fortune sometimes. i am a total bitch and somehow people like me anyway. and think i know what i am doing to boot. this is called the seat of my pants and it is my main guide right now, thanks. light me a cigarette already.

well that’s just great. shit runs downhill. who knew?

it is weird when people poke around fishing for information who never talked to you before for any reason. it is also excessively difficult to maintain patience with a bunch of naysayers who live in a permanent state of denial and ignore their problems instead of addressing them.

i mean, if you were about to get mugged, would you punch the guy in the nose and run away, or would you stand there and talk about something else and hope that possibly he would not notice you or hurt you? i know shit about stocks but i am sure that emotionally i am either bullish or bearish. whichever of those means that you deal with shit head on and prepare for worst case scenario. yep that’s me.

there is no worse word in the world than maybe. maybe is the most irritating concept of all time. also that “twenty minutes, three times a week” idea is lame. but maybe takes the cake.

maybe means that nothing is being done.
maybe means that nothing is known.
maybe means that someone can’t say no.
maybe means that someone can’t say yes.
maybe means that i have been placed on hold, but that my call really isn’t *that* important.
maybe means walking on eggshells.
maybe means i can’t live my life.
maybe is un-fucking-acceptable.

i contemplate coming clean all the time. last night i was really really close to just saying it. but now there is too much history and it would be more damaging than if i’d said it from the start.

i’m just like that girl in that movie who made that guy fall in love with her under false pretense and now has to tell him the truth because their relationship can’t go on like that. will she lose him? short-term definitely… but if they recover (in the movie they always do) it won’t ever be the same again.

not ever.

i guess it’s because here i am me, but not really me. so i can’t play catchup and say here is what i have been doing the past few weeks or months or whatever. to post here is really because i am inspired, and i have not really been that inspired lately. for a variety of reasons which i can’t go into.

here is something i was thinking about earlier today though. someone in my family was murdered when i was a child. at least everyone is convinced she was. it looked like an accident but there were apparently all these things that just didn’t fit. everyone also knew that they knew who did it (her husband) and he was apparently arrested (or possibly just interrogated) and released, supposedly because there was insufficient evidence to keep him.

i remember he was always a wack job. i remember that he abused their kids. i remember the drama. i forgot the details though. and now it is kind of weird to bring it up all these years later and try to find out what the fuck. but meanwhile i DO feel like, WHAT THE FUCK? and i want to kill him too, if only for abusing their kids. because that shit ain’t right.

right now i am reading imajica by clive barker. normally i would put that in italics but it might still fuck up the sidebar. it is a huge comment on my personality that that right there is my worst dilemma this week – to not properly annotate the title of a book, or to fuck up my sidebar? hmmm. design wins, because i can explain why it’s not annotated. g. and i had fun at dinner today playing this-or-that with the resident vegetarian (who really just avoids red meat):

g.: do you watch fear factor?
vegetarian: yeah, gross! those potato bugs, huh?
me: *shuddering* i’m eating, here.
v.: see this carrot? (picking it up) this is the abdomen of a potato bug.
me: …
v.: and it has pincers, so it like bites your tongue while you are eating it.
me: this is the grossest easter conversation ever.
v.: i’d eat it, for fifty grand.
g.: yeah, but would you eat this lamb?
v.: doesn’t that look gross to you? all that fat?
g.: dude, for fifty grand? i’d eat a bucket of lard.
v.: yeah, me too.
g.: so the lamb? or the ham?
me: lamb-or-ham. good name for a gross-out gameshow.

weird.

but the point is that i am very much like the two main characters in imajica in that i simply can’t fucking remember a lot of my life. me and my best friend sat down to make a fuck-list one night after too much tequila and i actually couldn’t name all the people i had slept with. (being the picky type i also had three columns – one for males, one for females, one for multiples – and i put an asterisk next to all the ones that were virgins. five, in case you were wondering.)

i don’t remember anything about the woman that was murdered except her funeral. i was reading a novel the whole time and everyone thought i must be taking it really hard. when i was really just totally bored. i remember specific moments but i forget circumstances and outcomes. and sometimes i am surprised when people tell me something happened, and it was something that should be monumental to a normal person. but to me it is more like, oh really? are you sure?

i wonder sometimes how much of that is just that my brain got too good at repressing shit. like the filter is broken and now it just locks up entire portions of my life, instead of just the painful part.

gentle and jude, i feel you.