I'm really rather disappointed I didn't tell a 69 story for my 69th post. So I'll do so with my 70th.
I totally karate kicked goth guy in the head the last time, on the dismount. Through the tear-blurred misery of it hopefully being over at last again, I'm sort of proud of myself.
Heel to temple. It was not a gentle touch. He called it a kung fu ninja kick.
(P.S. to those who don't know what 69 means: think dual oral sex. my head's in his lap, and my lap's in his face. Great fun if you can handle keeping at it rather than doing the usual gasping. And not kicking his face on the dismount.)
Random text along the lines of teasing me for still being in bed. Not in bed.... Hm. Does anybody's mind jump to the 'ahhhhhhh, he's finally moved on and isn't telling me/is fooling around behind my back' scenario?
Well I tried not to.
But damn did he take offense when I (CASUALLY, NOT IN AN ACCUSATORY WAY) asked if it'd been meant for someone else. I mean, damn.
Of course I promptly back-pedaled. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean..."
"Wow. No, it's okay. Don't worry about it."
But noooooo. It was NOT okay. We TRIED to move on. He wasn't doing so hot.
"Are you okay?" stupid question, but what was I supposed to do? He went nuts at the very vaguest SUGGESTION of infidelity. I certainly didn't want to try to discuss it in detail.
"No, I'm not."
WELL WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?
Eventually he gave me a lame excuse to get off the phone.
I texted a miserable I'm sorry. Which seems pointless when he doesn't even listen when I say it. He just tries to move on without fixing anything. I just wanted to make it right. Damnit. I'm not even supposed to be in to this sorry bastard, and here I am FREAKING OUT.
I think I'll smoke. And then do spanish homework until my soul gives out and I can finally.... be miserable some more.
I dreamed in Español last night. And didn't understand a word. Pero el chíco Gotíco fue ayi, y el padre del gotíco tambien (quien no conozco). El numero del Gotíco's telephono fue diferente, es porque el no habló comigo ayer. In my dream, anyway.
Ah well. A girl can dream. I wonder why he really hasn't called. He texted... back, after I texted him... surely that counts? But seriously. For a couple weeks we were talking EVERY DAY. And now I haven't heard from him in five days? Yes, yes I am panicking, muchas gracias.
I'm aching today. My heart is killing me. I love how my coworker put it: heart problems. For when my feelings are a mess. Of course THESE messy feelings happen to be the love child of Goth guy and my birth control meds, which really throw me off balance until my body gets used to them.
So I did some spanish homework (Heavens, I had no idea 'ar' verbs could be so complex! Or, alternatively, so UNcomplex that it just throws me for three loops because I'm not sure if I should over or under complicate it. ¡Lastima!)
I drank some wine. I ate some wheat thins. I cried to my mother. I masturbated. I chatted with friends. I watched youtube videos and wasted time on MLIA and facebook.
Then I turned out the light and tried to think of something to entertain my mind until I fell asleep, since masturbation wasn't an option anymore. Fantasies. I used to day dream about adventures, and monsters, and being a hero, with only one person in all the world powerful enough to challenge me, to dominate me.
But my mind wouldn't be distracted. I said the prayer I say every time I lie down to sleep. "I lie down and sleep in peace, for You, O Lord, make me dwell in safety." It's part of the well-known 23rd Psalm. I remember when I was a kid, a friend of mine said it before she ate, because it was the only prayer she knew.
I opened my computer to give me light so I could get into my Bible. But my Bible isn't on the desk (el escritorio. sorry. spanish is getting into my head.) where I usually leave it. So instead I typed "God is love" into Google and hit "I'm feeling lucky".
It appears to be catholic, but it's better than the site I'd seen a bit ago that used a verse in which a man was demanding of his wife that if she loved him, she'd claim to be his sister (because he was chicken because she was hot and he thought men might beat up on him to have her if they knew). It was supposed to be an example of God's love?
Further proof that any idiot with a computer can misquote the Bible and make God look like an asshole. I'm ashamed to be classified in the same religious group as those sorts of people... ah well. I suppose all walks of life have their idiots.
The site I eventually landed on was just about God's love, according to the Bible. I know it's Catholic. But they study the same Bible as me. And so when they reference it, they generally get it right.
God is love. Anyone that loves is born of God, knows God. Someone that does not love does not know God. I love the simplicity. And yet... how much does this change my world?
Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and love your neighbor as yourself. It's easy for me to love people. I'm actually sort of a sucker for em. But how do I love God? Obviously I want to know how, seeing as it's the greatest commandment. I can't hold God, hug God, tell God it's gonna be okay, lend God my car, pick God up from work, offer to watch zombie movies and drink beer with God when somebody breaks his heart......
I lost my victory patch last time I saw goth guy. See, before that I had always shaved for him. But then he sent me packing... again... Aaaand I decided to grow me a victory patch. Or a dignity patch. Or what have you.
However the point of shaving is making it a welcome place to put a tongue.
Aaaand goth guy wasn't a fan. I tried to keep my victory patch. I did. But nooooo. "you need to shave." I gave an indignant look, and he offered to do it for me. And regardless of my earlier determinations to say no way... I wasn't about to keep a man on his knees from shaving my victory patch.
Although we both agreed he should have waited until we'd washed the soap and excess hair off before he got back down to business.
In other news, I went to church today. I wonder if I'm going to hell for living in sin? Though some people don't even really realize that they're sinning. Or they don't think whatever they're doing is sin. I know it. And I feel terrible about it.
If someone dies while living in sin, do they go to hell? Even if they feel badly, are repentant? What if they really didn't think it was a sin?
Well, whatever the case, I'm praying that I live long enough to get away from this so I can start trying to be a good person again. Don't get me wrong. I try to do right in the rest of my life. But this? This is willful sin. I hope He forgives me, should I die here.
I dreamed last night that I was being pleasured by a midget with elephantiasis. He kept licking my knees.
Aaaand in looking up elephantiasis to make sure it was the right disease (sort of. the midget just had large bumps that must have been tumors all over his body. Like boils that never pop), I found this unrelated site! Click and be horrified. Why didn't he digest the potato?
Ahhh, erotic wine tasting and the pain/pleasure complex. I had a wicked weekend.
Chico Gotico (we'll see if I can ever use 'Goth guy' again with such an excellent spanish substitute) is back on the scene. Again. Good times were had, even though, as usual, I felt like a terrible person for the next couple of days. If that's the price of a healthy conscience, I'll take it.
I haven't been to church for the last few weeks. I'm going to have to fix that. I cannot have myself slipping. I will not lose my faith to el gotico. I pray more than ever. But I rarely read my Bible, and I haven't been to church. Not THIS weekend. I am GOING to CHURCH.
And of course the quickest fix will be getting back to the book.
I feel a little hideous writing all this when I'm about to describe some highlights from my encounter with goth guy. (oh. I guess I can still use it.)
First of all, I tried my first wine. Very nice. It was a Merlot. And promptly after trying my first wine I discovered the fun and games involving my breasts, Goth guy's tongue and wine. Wow. Just wow.
And then... well, the point of it all is that there was wine, theological debate, bigfoot, argument over the validity of the moonlanding and a handsome set of scratch marks carved into his back by the end of it.
An evening well (or very, very badly) spent. Huzzah.
Actually, I hate the word goth. I just wear a lot of black because I like the color. Call me artistic. But the point is this: I promise to be honest. I'll tell you everything. All my dirty secrets. As a Christian and a Woman. It's all true. Judge me if you can.