What was heaven is hell

It's so strange to feel my world twisting around into a new shape based on the Music man. I enjoy him, and all my time with him. But now suddenly a day that would usually have been wonderful was terrible because I didn't get to see him.

Of course, I've said very little about the Music man.

Divorced. You knew that. And yeah, it would appear that I've had sex with him. Once. TWO LONG WEEKS ago. Too long. I wanted to be with him today. We were going to spend the day together. But when it wasn't one thing, it was another.

The roomies had the cars. And then his evil bitch-faced boss decided he needed to babysit her granddaughter. WHAT THE HELL? He works at a fucking FAST FOOD RESTAURANT! But he's her freaking slave because he wants to be a manager and she owns his chances.

The boy needs a new job.

I mean, it's so awkward that I make more money than him. I wouldn't mind if he had a car of his own and always had enough gas money to come see me. And if his boss wasn't the psycho boss from hell that won't take no for an answer.

She once tried to force him to come in on his day off. He was spending the day with me, and refused. She was a bitch to him for a week and a half.

I just miss him. That's why I hate his job, the lack of a dependable vehicle and his stupid boss. Because I wanted to see him so bad today. And I didn't get to. And it made me cry.

I've never cried over someone that I know wants me not being able to see me.

The world is a whole new shape now.

44 hours a week

I have a full time job. I'm so tired all the time I can't even think. I'm with "customer service". For one of your favorite phone companies. Can you hear me now? Bad news. In the homephone, tv and internet department you probably can't. Considering all the unhappy customers, they can't possibly be any good.

But more on my adventures as a super villain at another time.

Goth guy got married.... true love... had the gonads to brag about it and act like we were friends. I hope he trips over a curb and into a rift in time that would make it as though he never existed. He scarred me up so bad in my lady places that it's hard to have sex with the Music Man.

Music man is new. The first boyfriend. I hope what they say about the first one not working out doesn't apply to us because of just how weird all my previous experience is.

Another divorced man.

Broken. Only just divorced when we met. It kills me that someone else got to him before me. And messed him up good. It wasn't all her fault, they were both terrible, but still. He didn't intend to date so soon. But if I didn't have something good right now, I would be depressed and miserable. I don't tell him THAT per say because that's a lot of pressure. But the one time he panicked and tried to leave I stopped him. Because I want him. And I know he wants me.

He was just afraid that it might be wrong. I told him I was willing to take the risk.

I have a crush on a girl

Shit.

My mother would kill me.

And every site that popped up when I googled "gay and Christian" was supported by gaychurch.org or christiangay.com, or something else to that tune. Not helping here. I know it's wrong. I don't see WHY it's wrong, I have always thought it shouldn't be.

But the Bible says that it is. Of course so is gluttony and swearing, but still. This one seems more serious.

I still like guys. Like, Goth Guy is back in the workshop, working almost the same hours as me. We see each other every day. More than we did when we were into each other! And I think about it. Every moment I'm aware of his presence, and as much as I don't want to hurt again I want him to make a pass at me.

So apparently I'm bi.

Shit.

Bulimia

Bulimia is a horrible, dirty, awful thing that destroys girls from the inside out. Examples being me and my awesome gay lady friend. The enamel in our teeth is getting all messed up. She says the edges of her teeth are getting translucent.

I always thought that was normal.

My teeth hurt much of the time. They're so sensitive. Also, one of my molars is cracked. I doubt the repetitive corrosive stomach acid baths chipped it, but I bet they made it weak enough that the next time I accidentally chomped my tongue ring, it cracked.

My throat hurts a lot of the time.

Some days I don't even throw up. It happens more when I'm menstruating because then is when I crave and consume ungodly amounts of carbohydrates. And this time I even ate some cookies. Sugar. I don't EAT sugar. at all! Except for a couple days ago, now.

On days when I work it's easy to be good. I wake up at 4:30. I have some toast around 5:30. I get to work at 6 am. I have a snack at 8 am. Lunch is at 10:30. I get off around 2:30 and 4 pm is dinner time. And then I'm asleep by 9 pm. I have trouble convincing myself to go running when I don't sleep enough, though.

And then I feel guilty. Especially when I over-do it on the weekends. So when I do eat carbs, and I haven't been working them off, I get guilty and throw them all up.

I knew about ana-vegans. Anorexic vegans. What am I? A buli-vegan? A dead girl walking.

I can't continue this. Yeah, it definitely works as a supplement when I've over-eaten or forgotten to run. But one day my esophagus might collapse. Then my family could watch me drown in my own body fluids with no way to save me.

Of note:

Three things:

A: I'm about to ralph up the tater tots I consumed twenty minutes ago because SOMEONE has to take control of her body. Yup. Eating disorder? Still there.

B: You'll never guess what I got pierced.

C: He's back.

100

Grr. No more fur.

Victory patches are over-rated when you have no one to flaunt them at. And I hate feeling like chewbacca or bigfoot down there. That's just weird. If I were a dog, I would shave ALL of me. It would feel awesome.

Luckily, I only have to shave PART of me. So I'm gonna go do that. In the jacuzzi. (ever notice how hard it is to spell jacuzzi? I always wanna spell it jacoozy, or jacouzi. But no. JACUZZI.)

And in that jacuzzi I will drink a mudslide (ingredients be damned) and eat celery sticks (to offset the mudslide) with peanut butter (to offset the celery). And maybe read a smutty novel.

HUZZAH for Sunday night JACUZZI time!

Also, whilst googling bigfoot, I found this. Woah. Just woah. I love google. And I fear it.

Subconscious strikes again

I had a dream about Good Guy last night. He'd finally found somebody, and seemed to be happy. He tried to rub it in my face, but I think eventually we all did something together.

And in the dream, I thought to myself, That could have been me. I could be together with someone, about to get married, and she could be alone. That could have been me.

I awoke and reminded myself that she was getting the short end of the stick, unless he'd changed as a person.

It was a strange dream, and made me think about how I'd burned that bridge. I have no doubt that I did the right thing. The way he had behaved was unacceptable. But I missed having the option to date a jerk, I guess.

I think I must just be lonely. And that happens to everybody. Someday I'll find a perfect fella that I can seduce by cooking amazing food for him. There will be flour-covered kitchen sex. Not to say that I'll be a domestic goddess. He'll be DAMNED greatful for every bite he gets.

Maybe he'll happily live the alternative life-style by my side. I know that's something I really liked about Goth Guy. We seemed right to be roaming the world together. Anybody that looked at us thought we might be together, and wouldn't fuck with us because we were awesome.

(...looking)

I don't know. I just imagine that someone really different will get me. But maybe your average schmoe is gonna end up being the lucky fella that really makes sense of me. (I suppose he won't be average inside his head. And I guess that's what counts.)

I guess it's just been a long recovery from Goth Guy. I keep fantasizing that he'll walk around a corner and try to seduce me. I think part of me is relying on the hope that he will do just that. Because that part of me still loves him more than words can say.

But it's only a small part now, rather than the whole. So hopefully I never see him again, and never have to deal with that temptation. I would like to grow to hate him, or better yet not care. So that when he pops up with a girlfriend, it won't break my heart.

The Universe keeps changing

Well I keep trying to change it, anyway.

And I CAN change it.

I've tried to take control of my body since I last posted. I've been running every night. Not really all that far, but when you're as active as an avid knitter currently obsessed with Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns, three quarters of a mile can seem like a lot.

That feels like it should be doing me good, but more than a month later I've lost nothing. I've heard rumors of muscle weighing more than fat and all... I HAVE lost an inch around my belly...

Well anyway NOW I'm upping the ante. Ante. What the hell does that mean, anyway? Pardon me while I go google it.

Ohhhhhh. Means poker stakes. So upping the ante is when you raise. Got it.

ANYWAY. NOW I'm upping the ante. I bought diet supplements and protein powder! The pills have green tea and acai berry extract. They act as both a laxative (ew) and as a diet suppressor. More importantly they were the second cheapest bottle on the shelf. And vegetarian.

I got the protein powder to make myself less hungry. it's HORRIBLE!! I need to bake it into protein cookies or something, because it's not super bearable at breakfast time. It's like hot coco, but cold. So it doesn't really dissolve right. So it has the consistency of milk mixed with sand. Horrible, vanilla flavored sand.

OH. And making it into cookies is going to be a bit more difficult because I'VE STOPPED EATING SUGAR. Cold turkey. Just like that. I didn't realize the headaches were part of that until my father asked me how the withdraw was going.

I never thought I could give up sugar. Of course I never thought I could give up cheese burgers or provolone either. But here I am. The sugar free vegan that runs every night and now ingests horrible, horrible protein powder. (SOY protein, thank you very much.)

Hell, I've even been doing reps with my mothers dumbbells and crunches after I run.

If I don't morph into the incarnate image of Aphrodite after all this, I'll be wanting my security deposit back.

And there's one more think I think I need to invest in: An "e-cig". Electric cigarette. Instead of sucking tar, you suck vapor. Still get a healthy dosing of nicotine poisoning, but none of the other chemicals that usually come along with the common packed-paper cigarette.

I'm certainly not addicted to cigarettes now, but I've been drinking more. And when I drink, I love to smoke. So I think I would use the e-cig while drinking. That way I can smoke as much as I want without feeling incredibly guilty the next day, and without feeling the need to deprive myself of my beloved cancer-causers for weeks after.

Huzzah for a better way to integrate poison with my body!

Of note:

You know, I understand what men say about "beer goggles" now. I think I'm sexier when I'm drunk too!!

Of note:

Four hours of sleep, surviving on coffee and then a massive portion of chili will knock you out like a sumo on steroids.

Of note:

Actually that was my 94th post. I had a lot of unpublished drafts. Which means that I missed my 69th post too.... ah well. I guess it's like having two birthday parties. Kids with divorced parents have all the fun.

100 Posts!

I've made an important choice. In order to help myself recover from all the badness in life (I'm getting better already, I think) I'm going to take extra good care of myself.

I'm trying to lose (MORE) weight. I'm using a special facial cleaner to clear my skin. I'm running every night. I'm actually putting make-up on before I leave the house.

It just makes sense! One of my more vapid friends told me that she usually gets over stuff that way. Although I rarely take her advise, this particular idea struck me as clever. I've always considered it shallow to focus on myself too much, I thought it vain. But maybe it's exactly what I need. Like a spa day. Only it's a spa month. Year. However long it takes.

I need to make myself beautiful and healthy and successful. Get artwork into the school gallery. Start finishing my novel. Finish the two short stories I'm working on. Finish learning spanish. Learn sign language. And then, next time I run into him, if I must, I won't have anything to be ashamed of. Just lots to be proud of. So maybe it won't bother me so much.

I just hope I never see goth guy again. Along with my apparent trauma/shock, I appear to also have come down with acid reflux. Damnit. It comes from the stress. I'm always at school. And I'm always afraid I'll run into him.

Ways I can deal with this: Running at night really does help. Maybe I'll do a yoga class or something. I could smoke more. Liquor.

I'm hoping to get a new job soon. Either a second part time working as an art teacher, or a full time job in medical records. I have a pending interview for the art position, and I had an interview a couple weeks back for the medical records. They said if I didn't hear back in three weeks, to move on.

Looking for a job SUCKS. I'm stressed about money, still dealing with my messed up emotions, having sudden homo-erotic feelings for a friend, and I STILL have a girly infection. My life is out to get me.

I think I went on the job segment because I would then have the money for an electric cigarette. Which I could smoke as often as I darn well please. And that would help with the stress.

And on that note:

¡¡¡100 posts!!!
(huzzahs, confetti)

Of note:

The evil spirit of Goth guy past kept me up all night last night. I finally slept for a couple hours at 7 am. And then had work. Aaaand my mother is at last concerned enough to seek out professional help for my brain/heart/body trauma.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Man. Even my best friend is sick of hearing about it. Is a month and a half enough to get over a guy? I've heard it's different if you've had sex with them. I suppose it's even more of an unusual case if they raped you.

Ah well.

I finally got him back for defacebooking me before. But mine wasn't out of anger. I had to put him out of my mind. And you know how it is; off of facebook wall, out of mind. Mostly. I deleted all his old texts. Even the really nice ones. I know he's bad for me and I'm better off without him, but I wish he would miss me.

Ah well.

Time to move on. Time to get so unbearably famous that I someday have the option to hire him as a janitor. Actually he should have no part of it. The dream, I mean. He should have no part in the dreams of my future. But it's hard to not wish he'll see me in the future, see my great success. Be envious, or even just respect me.

I think that's it. What I wanted more than anything from him. Respect. I wanted him to look at me and see something formidable. A formidable lover. An equal love. A worthy rival.

But I'm worthless in his eyes.

However.

His eyes do not measure my worth. They are incapable of such. I alone provide the worth, and myself and God may measure it. The rest can see it as they will.

I hate you

How can he be so cavalier about my virginity? It's like he's already forgotten me. He took my virginity and it's all that ever mattered to him.

So now that it's gone, so is he.

He just moves on like nothing happened. It didn't even matter to him all that much. He could have at least been sorry.

You hear that, goth guy? You could at least be sorry for what you've done to me! When I had sex with you, it was a gesture of my affection for you. When you had sex with me, it was just your satisfaction at stake.

I'll never forget you. But you've already forgotten me.

You couldn't have done anything worse. And still I don't delete you from my facebook list in the hope that you'll.... what? I don't even know why. I'll just wait until you delete me and be hurt all over again.

I guess I should do something about that, but I'm afraid that if I do that, then you'll call or text, ask me 'what the hell?' I'm not prepared for that. I guess I'm afraid to act like you don't care, in case you actually do.

Even now that you don't care anymore, you're controlling me.

How many habits do I need before they're just quirks or part of my character?

I drank some chocolate vodka tonight because I won't be able to drink alcohol for a little bit, while I'm attempting another round of stuff to kill off the colony of yeastians living in my vagina.

Yup. Month six of the infection.

Also, I can't have anything with sugar in it while I'm on the stuff. Fortunately it only stays in my system for 3 days. UNfortunately I smoked TWO cigarettes not THREE days ago. So I can't fall back on that habit.

And apparently I've kicked my Goth guy habit? We'll see. I hope so. Mostly. Evil raping bastard. I just have to imagine him pursuing another woman like he pursued me to make me angry. And hurt. Damnit.

Anyway, I suppose I can either fall back on my art habit or my pokemon gameboy game habit while alcohol and sugar are on the outs.

And of course there's television. I've set my DVR to record family guy, the simpsons, old buffy the vampire slayer episodes, reba, ramsey's kitchen nightmares AND star trek: the next generation.

Aaaaaaand I procured the movies IT, Alien, something about a serpent and a rainbow or something (I think it's about voodoo), and Pandorum. Pandorum was okay. Not really all that scary. Definitely more of a sci fi than a horror. I suppose I also have the rest of the saw movies. *eyeroll* The first one was only good because of the last ninety seconds or so. I mean, SHIT dude! THAT, out of the whole movie, THAT scared the hell out of me.

Gore just isn't frightening. Monsters are frightening. Zombies are frightening. But only the zombies that can run. Fast zombies. That's what I'M talking about. Like Dawn of the Dead remake zombies. Terrifying. 28 days later zombies. Those were pretty good too. As for 28 WEEKS later? That can go to hell. It had all this potential and blew it with a cookie-cutter ending.

Man eating plants CAN be frightening. Like The Ruins? I'd have been more impressed if the plants had been as aggressive in that movie as they were in the book the movie was based on. SHIT dude. Those plants were creepy as hell in the book. The movie only lived up to the book by 75 percent. In the book, *SPOILERS IF YOU DON'T WANNA KNOW, DON'T FINISH THE PARAGRAPH!!!* everyone dies. None of that one person getting away to warn the world nonsense. Nope. The book is a bit more psychological (which can be hard to believe, after watching the movie).

However the attack of the Triffids was just silly. The only thing that could have topped that movie off would be if the plants had sung and danced.

Pokemon red is SO better than pokemon yellow. I'm gonna catch em all this week. That or knit a hat. Maybe both. And I could finish my rape painting. (yes, I am that psychologically disturbed by what happened. I need a freaking painting of how I felt. Whatevar. Eventually I'll get over it.)

I always start with bulbasaur because he has the best chance of defeating my nemesis in the first battle. But I'll get charmander and squirtle by restarting my blue game a couple times and trading for lame pokemon. Gotta catch em ah-all!!!

Rapist

I miss him.

It's been two weeks since I last had any kind of contact with him. He's not putting up any kind of a fight. In this condition I'm sure so much as a facebook comment in my direction would have me crawling back.

It's good that he hasn't called.

I was kind of doing okay until it got to within a week of my menstrual. My hormones mess with my feelings like no man can. However, when they're on the man's side.... urgh.

I feel like my first sex meant nothing. And it did. And that's awful. I should never have let it happen. I have nightmares about it. About that night. When it wasn't really my decision. I so clearly remember him saying, "I'm gonna rape you."

I guess he wasn't really lying. I know, I let it happen, and I was dumb enough to get drunk with him. So of course I'm certainly not going after him for it. But it's always gonna be terrifying to remember. I'm always going to hurt when I remember the things he said and how rough he was with me. It hurt so much.

And it meant nothing.

I'm always going to remember most clearly that point where I thought he was finally asleep and it was safe to come back to bed. But when I got close he grabbed me, got on top of me. He wrapped his arms around me and started thrusting into me at a painful angle.

I begged him to stop, I tried to push him off of me, I cried. He told me to shut up. He called me a bitch. Nothing I did stopped him. I was either not strong enough or too drunk to push him off, though it felt like I was pushing with all my strength. So I just laid back and tried not to move. I looked away, up towards the corner of the room and pretended not to feel the pain. Pretended it was somebody else being hurt. I hoped that my not responding would make him stop. It didn't.

I just waited and waited, until he finally pulled out to readjust himself. Then I closed my legs as tight as I could. He pushed at my legs a little but he was drunk, so he just collapsed on the bed and let me be for a little while.

I relive this at least once a week in my nightmares.

I wish I could look at all this and hate him. I guess I feel like he owes it to me now, to be decent to me, to love me. But he owes me nothing. He just stole what was mine. And I didn't stop him.

I will never let myself be that drunk again.

I feel like I'll never love again.

I made love with him the next morning and a few days later because I just wanted to know that it could be something other than painful. And the way he looked at me when we were making love that morning was breath-taking.

"You're not a virgin anymore," he said, and he smiled at me. And it was sweet, and he held me like I was precious, and he touched me like I was unique and perfect.

It was all a lie.

His true self was the drunken monster that raped me the night before.

Dear God:

I'm dying down here. I'm aching inside. My heart is breaking.

There is nothing thus far in my life as hard as letting go of the man that didn't love me. At the same time as I try to set free the man that did. Goth guy doesn't care that I'm letting go, which breaks my heart. And Good guy is being malicious and cruel, jabbing what's left of my feelings with things I was honest to him about.

Please help me. Please save me from my feelings. You know how hard it is for me to try to let go. I loved Goth guy. And he took advantage of it. And I let him, because I was lonely and he was sweet, when he wanted something.

Even now I want to believe that it's not over. But at the same time I'm afraid of that. Afraid that he'll call, and I'll answer. I guess it's proof, if I'm not willing to kick him off my facebook. But I really prefer not to do that unless someone (like Good guy) says or does something awful to me.

While Goth guy has done much evil to me, he's done it nicely, so I still haven't really got any good dirt on him to get him kicked off the friend list.

Oh God forgive me. I'm a monster. And I'm so sad. And ashamed. Forgive me.

Of note:

Forgot to block Good guy on AIM.

"instaslut just add vodka"

Asshole. I told him I'd had sex because I wanted to be honest. And now he's using it to try to make me feel terrible. So I texted with an apology for my 'loveless relationship' comment and asked him to leave me alone, and that I'd been honest and now he was just using it to hurt me.

So if he continues, I've told him to stop already, and I can push charges for cyber harassment.

From Good guy to Asshole in a matter of moments

Well, if I had any thoughts of Good guy NOT being an asshole, I certainly don't anymore.

Yes, it was harsh. I suppose that's ALWAYS pretty harsh, telling somebody you don't think you should talk to them anymore. I told him that having some relationship with some chick who KNEW he didn't care about her and then still having the gall to tell me he loved me was unacceptable.

And then I was dumb enough to wait, because I wasn't sure if I should just block him right there, or wait for a response.

"Peace out. Have fun with your vodka and sex."

O.o

Wow. Asshole. Just... wow. I mean, I knew the guy had a temper. And he had a right to be unhappy. But that was a pretty nasty thing to say.

See, I'm a wuss. I am ALWAYS nice to the people I break it off with and the ones that break it off with me. Not much of a bridge burner. So I tell them that it was fun while I knew them and I hope they find what they're looking for.

But THIS TIME I defended myself! I was pretty proud of myself.

"Peace out. Have fun with your vodka and sex."

"And you, with your loveless relationship."

Woot me for finally having the balls to be a bitch. At least I defended myself. The only thing my not-so-good-with-the-whole-dealing-with-my-emotions-thing mother could say was, "YOU TOLD HIM YOU HAD SEX!?"

See, he didn't make me cry, but that sort of jerked a tear or two. And possible a temper tantrum. I angrily swatted a mostly-empty lettuce bag off the counter. (badass. I know.) The wall behind me was covered in lettuce leaves. I then promptly cleaned it all up.

Geez. Aren't moms supposed to KILL men that talk to their daughters that way?

Of note:

I don't know why, but I find great solace in shelving the spanish books at the library I work at.

Maybe it's because I'm learning that language and feel some sort of closeness to it because of that? Or maybe it's because my first love is a spanish speaker. Orrr maybe it's because I live in Arizona and half the locals speak it.

No matter. It still provides great peace.

Hubby bubby woo woo

I HATE the word "hubby". *shudder*

It's horrifying. First of all, the "ub" sound is just gross. Grub. Chub. Glub. Bub. It reminds me of giant chunks of congealed fat. Blubber. But women use it as a cutesy possessive noun for their husbands.

It's like the crazy dog lady saying "oh, my fifi is such a honey dew, isn't she? wib wibb wibbie wooooooo!"

You got that image, right? And that's sort of how I imagine you speak to or about your husbands, when you use the term hubby. "Oh my hubby wubby woo woo!"

Do you talk like that while you're having sex? Is that your parallel to dirty talk?

Woold my hubby wubby wike a bwo job?

Ladies. Please. Give them back their dignity. What woman first thought it was okay to strip her husband of his pride and make him look like a wuss in front of all the other men? Okay! They're powerless! They get it! But it doesn't help YOU to make him look like a pussy.

Woman that do that are called dominatrix. Dominate female situation.

Ironically, women that call their husbands "hubby" are most likely to want to be the bestest little house wives. Which clashes with your desire to cute-sify or NEUTER your men.

Pick one ladies, you can't be both.

Woold wuvy hubby wike his master to whip him raw?

Or would your manly man like you to make him a nice dinner and ask him about his day, and then have you submit to him like butter to a hot knife in bed?

Sleepless night

I don't know why I can't fall asleep. But I can conjecture.

Maybe it's because of Goth guy. I haven't spoken to him for nearly a week, and our last conversation was unpleasant. I haven't even texted. It's like he wanted me to get mad at him just so he could retreat to his pity corner. But I didn't rise to the bait so suddenly he just took offense at everything I said.

But the big issue with him at the moment is that I feel I'm nearly ready to actually move on. To beg God to take away my feelings for him. I have prayed for this. This is not something I was willing to ask for before.

Because I wasn't ready to let go.

I'm not really ready now. But I'm ready to actually try. I'm ready to leave him alone. I'm willing to ask God for my heart back.

But if he calls, and he's kind, I don't know what I'll do. I don't know if I'm ready to say, 'no. I won't be seeing you.' I might try to get him to settle for coffee or a movie. Pathetic, I know.

But the place I'm going isn't a fun one. It's either stay and pine over him (which I don't want), or it's get over him and be alone without someone to hope for.

Eventually there will be somebody else. But like all things it'll probably take it's time. And I don't look forward to that time of loneliness.

Maybe the reason I can't sleep tonight is because of Good guy. Who wasn't near as good as I thought.

He confessed to loving me. The next week he got into a relationship with some other girl. I asked about it. It's 'something to pass the time'. He admits his dislike for her. He tells me she knows that he doesn't see it going anywhere.

And then he still has the gaul to tell me he loves me.

Shame on him. That's despicable. So now I have to find a way to tell him I don't want to see him on thursday. Or ever. Is there an easy way to tell somebody this?

I'm sure he'll offer change. He'll offer to break it off. And I won't be interested. Because it was in his heart to do it, and he saw nothing wrong with living in it.

That would be like me finding nothing wrong in my involvement with Goth guy. No. There was plenty of wrong in that. And some of it I don't regret as I should, but I sure as hell can admit that it's wrong. I know that I have to apologize to my God, because I have sinned. I have hurt him.

But Good guy saw no problem in what he did.

Maybe smoking a cigarette would make me sleepy.

I went out drinking for the first time on saturday night. With my cousin. We had a good time. Two men hit on me. One was Puertorican football playing Eddie. Nice guy. Into the "goth look". I let it slide because I like the attention. Didn't go to his afterparty. But I did get invited.

I'll be smoking that cigarette now. Sweet dreams, cruel world.

Oh HELL no

Good guy is engaged again. A week after professing his undying love for me and telling me he was willing to wait for me to sort myself out. I find myself feeling a bit burned because I believed him when he said he would wait.

Instead I find he has returned to his ex-fiance. Whom was crazy and hated his parents, according to him. Also, according to him it was a bad relationship. Just... wow.

He actually told me that it was better for him to wait for me than to be in a bad relationship. Apparently not.

My friend says I must have broken his heart.

It was unintentional. I really actually kind of hoped he would wait for me. Maybe I'd get over Goth guy, and then I could fall for Good guy for reals.

My friend also says that if you chase two rabbits, you lose both.

Well, it's like the men in my life coordinate their attacks for maximum damage to my already delicate emotional state. I mean, SERIOUSLY! They must be like women. Their periods must synch like ours. Only, they synch with the periods of men that are also involved with their object of affection.

Clever, men. Very clever.

Books and lovers

A list of updates, after looking through the last month or so of posts:

My new toys are named Alejandro and Tchaikovsky. Alejandro vibrates. Tchaikovsky does not. But Tchaikovsky is made of silicon for easy cleaning and is bright blue. (realistic toys scare me. So much.)

I finished Life of Pi. It was disturbing in a very deep way and I highly recommend it. I also finished The Battle Sylph, by new author L. J. McDonald. It was average, even only so so... and yet somehow I'm impressed by it. I think I was mislead.

It LOOKED like a dirty romance novel. Which was sort of why I got it. I mean, CHRISTINE FEEHAN recommended it! Do you REALIZE what she WRITES? VAMPIRE SMUT! And "changeling" smut. And witch smut. And more recently, genetic-experiments-gone-wrong smut.

Heh. The first three or four books are pretty exciting. And then you realize that they are all EXACTLY the same. And then you feel a little bit pathetic. Like you should add some variety to your smut or something.

Anyway, the battle sylph LOOKED like that but ended up being a fantasy with a touch of not-all-that-graphic romance. I mean, I got a little, erm, excited during certain bits, but there was none of those "pulsing member" or "hot sheath" type descriptions.

Hell, I should write a romance. It would be easy and very profitable. I could even add the emotional resolution that I feel most smutty romance novels short change us on. Make it so the woman really WAS special in some way, not just hot or royal blood or annoyingly lucky. I'd make her special.

And I'd make the man DIFFERENT. Not your run-of-the-mill football player demi-god turned all powerful vampire type stuff. Hell, I don't even WANT the guys to be all THAT weird. I'd actually appreciate a leading man with a personality.

Oh, and I finished Girl with the Pearl Earring. Meh. Great book. The ending was.... realistic. Which is good, but [SPOILER ALERT!!!! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW THEN DON'T FINISH THIS SENTENCE!] I hate it when truth and love don't prevail.

Of note:

You know I'm starting to resent how dependent I am on facebook when I congratulate myself for staying on only long enough to check my notifications and scroll through my top news section.

(and I scrolled faster over goth guy's link, so I wouldn't have to think about him. I am a pillar of resistance and feminine strength. *eyeroll*)

Words of curse

I've been cursing a lot lately. I blame penny-arcade. Which is a really great webcomic. That makes me want to be violent and vulgar. I guess you pick up the habits of those you hang out with... which have been:

The webcomic, my buddy that likes to party at her wild party house, this awesome lesbian couple with really angry language, and HBO. (I know, I know. I'm SORRY! I'm addicted to true blood. It can't be helped.)

It's funny. The party friend is trying to stop cursing. So instead she uses terrible replacers like "Yucky!!". Really. Yucky? ERGH. I'd prefer a nice loud FUCK to 'yucky'.

If you MUST replace angry words (as I'm beginning to suspect i should) then PLEASE! Use cool sci fi curses! Like "Frack" and "Gorramit"! Do not join the Ned Flanders consciousness. Your words are worth more than that.

Brain ninja

The comedian Dane Cook once called women brain ninjas. Said we'd say something that wouldn't bother a guy at first, but then it would fester inside their heads until they went mad.

Well, Dane, I've got rather uncomfortable news: Men can be brain ninjas too.

Exhibit A: Goth guy.

Is.

Fucking.

With.

My.

Brain.

Damn him... He'll call, we'll have a perfectly human conversation... Except he keeps bringing the topic back to why he's withdrawing from the world and how he just doesn't want to go out lately, "that's all". Okayyyyy....

The warning sign there was that I didn't ask but he said it anyway.

The second red flag was that he brought it up three times. About how he was fine. He was okay. And I was like, okay, that's great! But he KEPT BRINGING IT UP.

So eventually, I was like, "Is everything REALLY okay?"

"YES! I've just been telling you this whole time that I'm okay!" or something like that.

Which brings him to my LEAST. FAVORITE. HABIT. Worse than that whole break-it-off-once-every-month-and-a-half habit. and I really, really hate that habit.

So you can imagine just how much I hate the "HonestGoth can't say ANYTHING right because Goth guy is on his PERIOD right now" habit.

You FUCKED me at the beginning of this month. You took my FUCKING virginity, punk! DO NOT BITCH AT MEEE! Oh no. Do not.

Ironically, the last "HonestGoth can't say ANYTHING right because Goth guy is on his PERIOD right now" conversation we had was about a week before he fucked me.... So for all I know this means I'm gonna get some next week.

Which I shouldn't look forward to. But crave. Like drinking vodka, smoking cigarettes, eating guacamole and becoming ridiculously, flamboyantly famous some day.

But I admit after each of these conversations I secretly hope he'll just never come back. You know, let me finally continue on in my life? Give me the chance to build the walls that will (unsuccessfully) keep all men out of my life for good?

A girl can dream. Eventually I have to go through menopause, right? In thirty years or so... surely my libido will have bitten the dust by then. Just gotta wait thirty more years.

Of note:

We do seem to do that, don't we?

http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2005/4/6/

Of note:

I wonder how unspeakably evil it would be to wear a giant batman shirt and a pair of yoga pants to the grocery store.

Darkness and Light

Light and darkness.

Good and evil.

Good guy and Goth guy.

You've never heard of Good guy. He was the only good person I ever dated (of the two). Sweet, honest, intelligent, Christian, a gentleman. The second of the two men I've kissed.

Today he found out I've banged Goth guy. His reaction was intense. I'd broken it off nearly six months ago. I couldn't develop feelings for him because Goth guy was hanging around. Talking to me. Messing with my feelings.

He found out I'd banged Goth guy and threw a tizzy. Hung up. And I received a text exactly along the lines of "have a nice life". Oh. HELL no. I defended myself by not defending myself. Basically I said, I KNOW i'm a bad person. SORRY! You're JUDGING ME and STOP HURTING MY FEELINGS!

This lead to a long line of texts and IMs until he went and admitted he loves me.

SHIT.

So. I love Goth guy. And Good guy loves me. SHIT SHIT SHIT!

I should explain, I just never had any feelings for Good guy. Stupid. I know. He's mostly perfect. But damned if I was gonna lead a good man on.

And now he wants a romantic "hang out session". I can't really explain everything about Goth guy to him (or even tell him who that guy I banged is) but it's like he doesn't understand what can't be there.

Heh. Maybe the best response wasn't "Maybe something less 'all alone in the woods' ish. I'm not in date mode and that SOUNDS like a date." Poor guy.

Dear God: Please smite me down. I'd really appreciate it at this point. Well, maybe not. Maybe just smite my emotions?

Of note:

Ugh. There's one more infant child named Bella to add to the phenomenon that is Twilight. I hope you're happy, Stephanie Myers. Your books are destroying the world.

(In other news congratulations to one of my best friends who just had her baby.)

Of note:

I'm working on my third day of not having vomited. I've smoked two cigarettes in as many days. Not my usual. But I'm not smoking today. Nor the rest of this week. Maybe not this next weekend, but the weekend after.

Until then, I'll rely on alcohol to keep from binging and purging. Heh. If one addiction becomes a problem, then the others can cover for me while I recover. Great plan. Maybe that addiction to art school needs to become more serious.

Why can't anyone see my art?

I've been putting six word memoirs as my facebook status updates for nearly a month now. And nobody has noticed. I mean, I've gone to awkward and cryptic lengths to keep them at six words!

I have at least three friends that are obsessed with the six word memoir project! I have one that does a six word memoir every day, and she's doing it for a year. She won't go to bed without writing one!

Mine might not be as cool ALL THE TIME but damned if I haven't had some FLIPPING AWESOME ones!!

Like the title of this piece? AWESOME! It has hidden meaning! I love stuff that's obviously cryptic so you have to figure it out, want to figure it out. So much fun. Like reading Edgar Allan Poe or T. S. Elliot or C. S. Lewis.

People, start looking into the stuff that doesn't seem to make sense! It's the truest thing you'll find. Like Oscar Wilde said, all bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. Same basic concept here.

Hell is an eating disorder

I'm a bulimic. I vomit up my food when I feel I've had too much. Which is often.

So far once a day.

Goth guy made me feel bad about my body. Yeah, he called me big when we were drunk. Whatever. THAT didn't bother me.

What bothered me was when he emphasized how he only talked about how beautiful my FACE is. That selfish, conceited, self-conscious, self-loving, dramatic, pale, skinny, old BASTARD!!!!!!!!

But if I make him feel bad about himself, I'M a BITCH!? I just tried to tell him what he did to me while he was DRUNK OUT OF HIS MIND!!!

I know I should find help. But I so want him to look at my body and say, You are the sexiest body I have ever fucked. Bahahaha. Sad, isn't it? I WANT to be objectified.

Goth guy, what have you done to me?

Of note:

Ladies and Gentlemen!
It's back!
It's bigger than ever!
Please let me welcome back to the stage....

MY EATING DISORDER!!!
(AND THE CROWD GOES WILD)

Fuck.

Of note:

I find it really funny that Goth Guy forgets a lot of English words, but on the morning we woke up in bed together, he had no problem remembering the word "contraceptive".

Meat and Pearls

Their food is like a foreign language to me, and my book is like chocolate vodka.

Two beautiful metaphors that sort popped into my head today. But I can't put them as my facebook status because I've been using 6 word memoirs since mid June, and intend to continue until SOMEONE notices. But thus far no one has.

They of "their food" are my parents. I'm vegan, and can never eat the dinners my mother makes. It makes me sad sometimes. I miss being able to eat with them. "With" not just meaning at the same time and in the same place, but in unity. Everybody eating something special prepared by a part of the family, it's nice. I like it. Like a mind meld but different. A stomach meld. I miss it.

The book is Girl With a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier. Yes, I know, I'm far behind on the book fads. In my defense (and to my chagrin) I read Twilight before anybody knew what the hell it was, back when it was just a wonky vampire book.

Hell, what is the trendy book to read right now? Eh. Not feeling guilty.

I'm also reading Life of Pi by Yan Martel. That's a recent trend, isn't it? I find it to be very stylized. Which can be fun if you have the patience for it. I'm reading it in fifteen minute intervals, during my breaks at work. Makes me almost miss my grocery store. Nobody ever came in so I was always reading. Good times. Still don't think I finished many books, though.

Thinking of foreign languages, estoy piensando ir a hacer un poco de mi tarea de español ahora mismo. Tambien debo hacer un beber alegre. O beber un poco vino blanco. Voy hacer todos antes de éste.

Of note:

The bite-marks, bruises and scratch-marks all over his body insure that nobody ELSE is sleeping with him. What girl in her right mind would bang a guy who is clearly sleeping with a live tiger? Yeah. No. His letting me mark him up at least gives me THAT reassurance.

Fuck

I gave him my virginity and all I got was this stupid t-shirt.

Heh. I cannot BELIEVE I have the good fortune of being able to say that. The t-shirt wasn't all THAT bad. Goth guy actually has pretty good taste. And he buys me shirts. And gives gifts. And is now starting to expect tribute (aka gifts) in return......

But the sad truth is still there. I gave goth guy my virginity. He is between 10 and 15 years older than me. I am 21 years old. And we were drunk.

We bought vodka and orange juice. Frankly there was more vodka than orange juice the first time around. And slowly the orange juice became more and more diluted until it was nearly straight vodka, as new glasses were poured. I'd never been drunk before. After the first glass, my defenses were definitely down. So when he told me to take a really long drink, I just jumped on it.

Apparently drunk-me is very open to suggestions. Because when he told me to slap him, later, I didn't think twice.

But first came the flirting. I was terrible. A little vodka in me and I'm unstoppable, apparently. I admit he *might* have tried. But he didn't try too hard.

By the time I was super drunk, he told me he was gonna rape me. That I wasn't really a virgin anyway. When it happened, I didn't expect it. I remember losing my underwear. Don't really remember when I lost my skirt, shirt and bra, except I recall him asking me to take the bra off and I told him to do it.

And somehow we were in his bed. As far as I can remember, his clothes aparated off of his body.

Then I was under him and there was this harsh rubbing down below. It hurt. Like I was raw down there and his thang was made of sand paper... well, not that bad. Like that but much more bearable. Does that make sense? Like, that's what the sensation reminded me of, but it didn't hurt nearly as badly as it would have if that were true.

Sometime between the first and third time, I got really, really sick. I'd eaten a pita and some hummus over the last two days. What can I say? I was busy! But man was I sick. I kept vomiting vodka and water and bile. He told me to kiss him while I was busy doing this... I didn't really realize he'd gotten drunk too. I was too drunk to notice.

He said horrible, cruel things. When it finally started to feel a little good and I groaned some, he told me to shut up. When I started to cry while I was vomiting, or when he was hurting me, he told me to shut up. He kept calling me a bitch.

Neither of us came in the night. He didn't really try for me. I did put in a solid effort, but when it hurt too much for him to continue, there was nothing I could do. I couldn't sleep for a while after.

Once it got closer to morning, and I'd been sleeping some, his alarm kept going off. Every time it woke me, we were entangled. Maybe he'd clamped down on my belly with his legs, or our legs were all mixed up. Once I woke to find myself clamped to his chest, my face in his throat, his hand on top of my head. When I tried to get up he mumbled "don't leave..."

In the morning I woke to a "morning, beauty".

He didn't remember anything.

"We didn't do anything weird, did we?"

"Uhhhrrrm... like...?" (this marks the start of my initial panic. In my brain: Oh no. Oh no. Does he not remember what happened? Is he playing it off? Is he messing with me?)

"Like, sex?"

I stared at him. He seriously didn't remember anything.

"You fucked me. And it hurt. A lot."

Eyes got wide. He started panicking about getting me some spermicide and morning after pills, etc.

I stayed in bed long enough to explain (as I had the night before, stupidly, drunkenly which is probably what got me fucked in the first place) that I am and have been on birth control. (for hormones. come on people. give me some credit.)

Then I went and locked myself in the bathroom. I mean, how embarrassing!! I remembered but he didn't? Ugh.

Then there was "make up for the miserable drunken sex" sex and all was well.

The worst part of the whole thing though is that while I was drunk, he forced me to admit that I love him. That BASTARD!!

Of note:

If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands!

*soul killing silence*

69 posts!! *confetti*

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.)

Of note:

I hate that I love you.

May sprint phone services rot in hell for giving me texts

Why are men such FUCKING GIRLS?

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.

"Wow. wow."

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.

Of note:

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.

God is love

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".

I was directed to this site.

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......

Maybe I don't even begin to know what love is.

The errotic shave

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.

Of note:

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?

Why my nipples taste like wine...

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.

Of note:

It's more than feeling, more than faith. There's truth, an undeniable reality so much bigger than any of our little lives. I sit back, read that over and wonder how I can call someone else's life little. Huh. Theological discussion = many nights up late thinking. Thanks, I think.

MUUUEEERRAAAAAWWWW

Estoy un poco inferma. Pero no estoy trista. Chico gotico llamo para mirar si esti trista. Awww, como dulce. Debo ser MUY inferma si pienso que Chico gotico esta dulce. Ay no!! Que lastima!

Me importa para el.

Estoy muy estupida para lo, pero que puedo decir? El me uso, y tambien....

ARGH! I tried. Gotta give me points for that. Goth guy (bahaha. chico gotico. THANK YOU google translate!!!) is being nice. Really nice. There hasn't been a disaster for... what, almost two weeks? I keep waiting for the other foot to fall.

Maybe it's because I haven't gone to his place for a while. Which is good. Morally speaking.

Urrrgh. So I opened a can of diet pepsi (BAD VEGAN! I know. It's not technically unvegan... just unhealthy.) and was shocked and *not* delighted to discover a distinct formaldehyde flavor. It was horrifying. I only took a sip. And then I was like, THE HELL?

Called the company (we get free pepsi now) and kept the can. Maybe we'll test it to see what kind of horrifying chemical I ingested. I made myself sick to get rid of it, of course.

But I've still been pretty sick these last couple days.

GAHHH! GOOGLE IS TRYING TO FRIGHTEN ME OUT OF DRINKING DIET SODA!!!

Apparently consistently consuming aspartame (used to sweeten diet soda) can cause formaldehyde to build up in my organs. Because apparently aspartame turns into formaldehyde in the body. O.o

I'M DOOOOOOMED!!!

http://www.holisticmed.com/aspartame/embalm.html

P.S. the title is the sound I made when I started feeling sick.

Of note:

I'm definitely wearing fake eyelashes in honor of being done with school. They're HUGE. Like BUTTERFLIES. On my EYES.

Thank You for Curing me of my Ridiculous Obsession with Brownies... or not

So I once stumbled upon a delicious looking brownie blog. I bookmarked it, but since then firefox has crashed at least twice. Today I craved brownies (seeing as school is finally at an end, it seems to be about time that I started eating more unhealthily). So I googled "Brownie blog".

There are a lot of blogs about brownies. I had no idea!!

So in other news, I'm out of school. And pretty sad about it. I like school! It keeps me productive! It gives me something to do! So once school is over, I feel pretty much useless. But moreso this year than any year before. I keep kicking myself, asking myself, what did I do LAST summer? What did I do during break?

I think I was crushing. That must be it. And now that my ideals about love and dating have been shot down and processed (thanks goth guy. go to hell.), I have nothing to waste my time on. I guess that's good, seeing as I've already edited a paper and written most of a blog post and it's only noon on the first day.

But it's scary. It means I have all this potential to do great things this summer, so if I don't do them, then I have no excuse.

I miss school.

I mean, yeah, the last two weeks were so busy that I didn't even waste time posting, but I'm really proud of most of my results. I have an incredible sculpture that went over well and the beginnings of a truly kick-ass portfolio. And I have a new drive.

I hope that it drives me into the future I've been dreaming of.

(you know, the one where I'm a ridiculously famous author/artist and goth guy scrubs my floors in my extra-large mansion? yesssssss. That one.)

P.S. that title really made me want to watch Moulin Rouge.

I want to be beautiful

So much.

Sometimes I believe that I am. Now is not one of those times.

Went and lost my dignity to goth guy again last night. It's the worst because I know what he is. I know that all he wants me around for is company and pleasure. So why would I bother? Shouldn't I be proud enough to tell him no?

I know there's no chance of us being something. He made it that way. So why does he insist on my sharing my body with him?

And then once we finally spend some *not* fooling around time together, all he can talk about is beautiful women. Other. Beautiful women.

"You know the only problem with this woman? She is not my girlfriend!!"

Great. Regretting getting you off in the car now.

Am I REALLY the only action he can get? I think I'd rather be free. I wish that he respected me. Or any woman. I really doubt that he does.

How can he admit that him and I could never be anything and then still seduce me? Because believe you me I didn't come back easily. He just talked and talked and touched and tried to kiss. I kept saying no and he just wouldn't take it for an answer.

Why wouldn't he take no for an answer if I wasn't special? What the hell? Why put me through this shame and take away every chance I have for falling in love with someone who would care? Someone who would respect me?

And here I waste my time wishing I was beautiful and a little older, more in his league, so that maybe he'd change his mind. I'm despicable.

And I'm crying. As I should be. I don't really deserve to be happy at this point. Because I can't even respect myself.

Of note:

Five orgasms in a session. That has GOT to be a record!!! for me, anyway

Why do we bother with men again?

Mother's day

Weirdest mother's day thus far: My mother awakens me a mere 5 hours after I finally put myself to bed, and asks me if I'm gay.

Well that woke me up. My eyes popped open and I stared at her for a second.

"No, mom. I'm not gay."

Where does she even get these ideas? I know recent blog posts don't really support my sexuality, but I really do prefer men! Apparently my facebook status about a girl sending me her picture to draw made my mother think I was gay.

I daren't tell her they were nude photos....

"Really mom? Remember (goth guy's name)? The MALE I'm obsessed with?" (she doesn't like him either, but apparently she prefers him to gay. I found myself wishing I'd gone to see him yesterday. Ugh. Just because I'm not gay doesn't mean I need to prove it by going and ditching my dignity for HIM....)

"I know, I know, I just.... I know it's been hard, but don't let him throw you off men for good..."

"I know! I'm not. I like men!" *sigh* I love her but she worries over the weirdest things... and now she's got ME all worried about it.

And to all the lucky moms out there today, I'd like to extend to you a very special mother's day greeting: "Happy mothers day. I'm not gay." That's what I said to MY mother this morning, anyway.

Of note:

Oh my! Some young woman from the UK is going to send me nude pics so I can draw her! (artistic standard, thank you very much. I'm not being gross. I just think it's awesome that she has the courage and confidence to send something like that for an artistic purpose. YOU GO, GIRL!)

Turning on the girls

I think it should be legal (ethical by bible standards) to kiss girls if I have no intention of actually being romantically involved with them. Women are so attractive.

No, I'm not homosexual. I'll admit that women are beautiful and that at one time or another I've had a crush on a girl. But it was a decision I chose not to make.

Still, sometime I'd like to kiss a girl. Actually, I'd like to kiss girls whenever I want, just for the feel of it. Without them backing up and being like, woah. Creepy.

This is a desire I never intend to act on.

The implication and the feelings would be sins. And I have enough sins on my roster. Also, I just don't want to cause or feel those feelings. I just want to know the sensation. Is that lust? I think it might be. But a lust to know something. To feel it. To enjoy their beauty without tinting my sexuality.

I do believe I'm a terrible person.

I suppose I'll put in the obligatory disclaimer in now: I have no strong dislike for gay people. Huzzah. Good for you. Etc. My Bible says it's not okay. If you don't believe what my Bible says, you're in no way obligated to obey it. Also, even if you do believe in what my Bible says, I think there are far worse things you can do than love someone. But that's only my opinion.

Christ preached about how to treat people. I think he cared less about sins of the flesh than those of the heart. I hope that isn't blasphemy for me to say it.

Of note:

It's amazing how many pictures of cats you'll get if you google image "how should I shave my vagina". Tsk. I just wanted to know if there was a happy medium!

Of note:

It's amazing what masturbation has done for my lower body and core strength.

Education

I like school. This doesn't make me crazy. It just means that I've finished all my core courses. You know, my gen eds? My general education units?

That's right. Two sciences (marine biology and astronomy (astronomy was a bitch)) (note to all students, never do both your sciences in one semester. Not fun.),

one math (college algebra. Best I can figure, the teacher felt bad for me so he gave me a C. It was a 7:10 am class. I slept through many a class. And learned nothing.),

Writing 101 and 102 (the 101 teacher told me I was going places and that I ought to be in honors, and the 102 teacher (of an honors class, thanks very much) held the last class at a bar. unfortunately I was only 20 at the time.),

and two social sciences, Psych 101 and anthropology 112 (basically in psychology we crocheted and watched youtube videos about psychological experiments, and I actually didn't learn anything in "exploring non-western cultures", or ant 112, so I couldn't tell you what it was all about. I will say that I passed, which is what matters.)

And after dealing with all that, I may immerse myself in my major: ART. That means a ceramic class, a sculpture class, a drawing class, a color and composition class, and an advanced writing class (because I like writing too).

There has never been a cooler semester. Regardless of my troubles with men (spawn of satan goth guy) I had an AWESOME academic semester.

Buuuuut all good things must come to an end. And there's nothing messier about coming to an end than doing it with an artistic flair. I have three portfolio presentations in a week, and a large pipe house to grind down the welds on and put together and stake into the ground. the thing is 9 feet tall!! Eight feet across... three feet back.... it's huge. And it's due next week.

PANIC!!

Of note:

Damnit. Self-respect just doesn't appear to be my thing. I am not awesome.

The problem with women's underclothing

Yes, we want it to be sexy. But we also want it to be comfortable.

Also, it's nice if it's actually functional.

I have the sexiest little undershirt in the world. Or is it a bustier? Or a corset!? I DON'T KNOW! It's like a long camisole and a sexy bra got together and made a beautiful baby! The material is stretchy, so I don't have to feel like A: it fits awkwardly or B: I have to stuff myself into it and not breath too hard for fear of bursting out of it like the hulk out of his screen-t.

Also, it holds the hills high whilst still covering my belly. I can wear it under shirts that might not otherwise be long enough. (sorry, I'm not gonna get into baring my belly until said belly chooses to turn into abs of steel. But I'm neither holding my breath nor doing the thirty minute abs work out while I wait.

It is a bra. AND an undershirt. And it's not going to last forever. Which is a terrible shame because among all those other things, it's also sexy. I remember the creepy old man at the register winked and asked "You gettin all dolled up tonight, eh?" when I bought it. And goth guy liked it.

Of course he generally didn't pause at the underclothing. I think sexy underclothing is mostly for us women. Sure, the men probably appreciate them, as long as they get to tear them off. But we're the ones that like wearing them.

Anyway, the point is that I'm panicking because A: walmart hasn't had this sexy little piece since I bought it two years ago (Yes. Walmart. I'm sorry. Shut up. I'm poor.) and B: I can't find it online and C: I've scoured high and low, every store on the list, but I cannot find them ANYWHERE!!

What will I do without it!? How can I LIVE? I mean, I love my traditional bras, I do. But it's hard to find a truly long undershirt that isn't a shitty tank-top! WE WANT SOFT, STRETCHY T-SHIRT MATERIAL UNDERSHIRTS WITH SPAGHETTI STRAPS!! Or I do, anyway.

Actually, I want stretchy, silky material with a BRA on top.

Of note:

Damnit he's gotten into my head. Not gonna let him win. Even with his "you're the only one like me..." routine. Or his evil hint game. Where he basically started to wonder if I was special even though he was older. Aka:

"I know I am (pick a large number between 30 and 40) but still maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"Nothing. It is nothing."

"Okay."

Heh. I really like acting like I don't give a damn. And actually I kind of don't. Because it's all a game and I understand that now.

And yet I can't stop fantasizing about his holding me tight and kissing my neck, trying to ignite my arousal, trying to seduce me, whilst I struggled.

DAMNIT!

I do believe this calls for a post on bondage.

Horriblescopes:

Taurus love horoscope for yesterday:

"It will help you to stick firmly to your inner feeling about a certain relationship, and to refuse to be dissuaded from taking the course of action that you know is best. The current astral configuration indicates you have considered the issue deeply, and are even willing to admit that you could be wrong, yet a persistent hunch has become too overpowering. Listen to what it is telling you."

First ever applicable horoscope. This is an important moment in history. (remember, yesterday Goth guy came crawling back. On his knees. Wow. I can't believe he got on his knees.)

But I know the best course of action was the one I took. Where I said NO. Because I am awesome.

Of note:

Little does the horny bastard know that I too have decided to grow a goatee.

I'm awesome

You won't believe who got down on his knees and apologized to me tonight.

And tried to kiss me. And FAILED. Twice.

"Can I kiss you?"

'No.'

"Just a small one?"

'No.'

"Please?"

'No. No no no no no no no.'

He leans forward.

I lean backward.

My only regret is letting him hug me. And then not being able to escape when he started kissing my neck the way he knows I like it.

But I continued my reign of girl power by pulling away as soon as he let me go and telling him it was no good. I was going to be strong. Goodbye, I said. And then I left.

I AM awesome.

Of note:

I'm so relieved I don't have to see your face on my facebook wall anymore. Huh. I guess I must be getting over you! HUZZAH!!

Redeeming bad habits

Each man, woman and child battles a bad habit.

Thumbsucking. Porn. Smutty romance novels. Smoking. Drinking. Masturbation. Art school. Crack cocaine. Take your pick. The options are limitless. Some are cheap or free, like porn. Some are really expensive. Like smoking. Some will kill you faster than others. Like art school.

But maybe we need bad habits.

I was texting with a friend and in a deep blue funk about my lousy luck with the *other* gender. We argued for some time (amiably) about the making a big deal out of it versus faking improvement while I'm still miserable on the inside and dreaming pathetic dreams of return and revenge in the day and having nightmares about it at night.

She finally concluded that it sounds like I need to start a bad habit.

I said, "I smoke, I drink, I read romances, I masturbate, I go to art school AND I'm vegan. What bad habits are left to redeem me!?"

We decided that crack was too expensive and that I didn't have enough options and just a little less than the required courage for nymphomania, so she suggested porn. It is generally cheap... Or even better, I could run my own site and actually profit from it!

"Does whoring my image count as a bad habit?" I wondered.

Any habit would do. Anything to obsess over that wasn't him. Perhaps he in himself was a bad habit? And what better way to kick one habit than with three others? I managed veganism all in one shot... I didn't have to ween myself off of animal product.

Smoking is something I choose to do, maybe once in a week. Some months I just don't smoke. It's never been a vice. Nor has drinking. But fooling around with some fella? I guess I've found my own personal crack.

I wonder how well me-porn would sell... Do you think I could use pay pal? Hmmmmm.

I could probably use it to support my art school habit.

Of note:

I drank a whole bunch of almond milk yesterday.
Today my lady space smells like almond extract!

Awesome.

The evils of Natural Flavors

I hate those two stupid little words. "Natural. Flavors." A new vegan's worst nightmare.

It's the company's sneaky way of not telling you what's in their product. For all I know, beef bullion is Captain Crunch's secret ingredient. But since it's part of what gives it that unique flavor, it gets stuck under "natural flavors" and I can never be certain.

Unless I call them. And ask. And then I have to argue with customer satisfaction representative after customer satisfaction representative, assuring them that I am not in fact trying to steal away the secret recipe, but just want to make sure it's safe for consumption. Half the time I won't get anything out of them. Why is it so hard to assure somebody that it doesn't have any animal products in it?

They could overpass this whole disaster by just assuring us that it has no animal products according to the unvegan list. OR they could be EXTRA awesome and actually print it at the bottom, under the ingredients list, after the WARNING: MAY CONTAIN SOY OR PEANUTS. Just one little word. VEGAN. Or if they want to look good, VEGAN FRIENDLY.

It doesn't have to be in big words. Just a tiny little word after the list of ingredients. It would make my world twice as awesome.

Unfortunately that's something you don't see anywhere but in natural grocery stores and the like. And let me tell you, I once paid four dollars for a can of pineapples at one of those places. They are FREAKING EXPENSIVE! A jar of vegan mayonnaise can cost you upwards of SIX DOLLARS!!! HOW am I supposed to get my veganaise fix at those prices!?

Ergh. I yearn for a more vegan friendly world. I mean, come on. We're low fat and fat and sugar free friendly, but not VEGAN friendly? Companies are aware of being green and looking out for transfat, but can't be made to care about vegans? It's not hard check your recipe and type out either CONTAINS ANIMAL PRODUCT or VEGAN FRIENDLY.

That's EASY!

Of note:

When your vanilla soy milk burns going down, you know you've added too much whiskey.

Of note:

As one might be able to derive from my last post, goth guy defriended me on facebook. I've been facebook burned.

Facebook

Heh. Facebook etiquette is a complicated, dangerous thing.

The first thing a couple does is extend relationship requests, so they can proclaim their love to all their accquaintences and friends of friends. And as soon as he catches her cheating on him, the relationship status goes from married to single, and a flurry of comments follows. For the bitter, mean facebook friends, it's that one chance to like a status for full villain points before they get defriended.

Ooh. And defriendship. It's petty if the other party hasn't visibly done anything wrong or offended you on facebook chat, and you actually know said other party. If it's someone you randomly friended, it's okay, probably. Unless they're a friend of a friend and ask the friend why. Then it might get awkward.

Defriendship can be the ultimate burn. Say you've been on and off with a fella (or lady) for a while, and finally come to your senses and ignore a phone call, then they might defriend you, just to retaliate. Do not initiate contact after this burn. You must let them simply fade away. They are fishing for a reaction. Do not give in. This would result in your being the more pathetic individual, rather than leaving it at them.

It was a petty move, but if you call to say what the hell or send them a new friend request, then you've lost.

Buuuuut if they send you a friend request once they've realized what they've done, then you win!!

Of note:

Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

Fool me three times.... well that was stupid of me....

Fool me four times.... Well NOW I'm just getting desperate. That's pathetic.

But fool me FIVE times? FUCK THAT!

Of note:

Watch me come crashing down like a bird that's hit a window should he come back. Ugh. I hate how resolve never seems to work out in the long run.

Heh. Is it wrong of me, as a vegan, to laugh at the idea of a bird flying into a window?

Silver lining

Well, seeing as I no longer have a really sexy reason to murder my own conscience, I suppose I can start nursing it back to health.

I felt bad doing this, knowing full well that God didn't approve. I mean, I questioned him about it, and I prayed. I always prayed. I actually prayed for goth guy. For God to touch his life. Somehow. Seeing as I wasn't doing a very good job of it.

I love my God. There's never been something that came between me and Him like this. There was never a sin I preferred at the expense of my faith. I always thought, this is wrong and I will not do this or continue doing this. It was always easy to fight.

Not easy to win. But I at least fought.

This time I fought the hardest I ever had. And then I fell. And I felt terrible. Never again, I said. And then I fell again. And again. And soon it wasn't even falling anymore. It was jumping. Sliding in, feet first, eyes wide open. For the first time in my life, I stopped fighting.

The first time he kissed me I was terrified. I'd already decided I didn't want him. He wasn't a Christian. I wasn't so much disappointed as determined to get away cleanly.

And then, when I said I should go, he took my face in his hands and brought my lips to his. And the whole time I was panicking because I didn't want it.

You know, even after all that, I still remember it fondly, somehow. It was my first kiss.

A couple months passed without incident. He smiled at me, he waved, he tried to call a couple times. I didn't answer. I would never let him get in my car because I knew he'd try it again.

He always wanted me to come see a movie at his place with him.

The last night of classes. The night I thought might be the last I'd ever see him. I was decked out. There was a TOP HAT, for goth's sake. I finally I went to his apartment.

He made me dinner. And when I couldn't calm down, he kissed me on the right cheek, then on the left, and then again on the right and told me not to be nervous. And my resolve was melting.

Kiss me here, he said, and pointed to the side of his neck just below his jaw. And I did. Keep going, he said. And I did.

And we went to his bedroom. And I lost my shirt, and bra. And he kissed my breasts and it felt so good. And I didn't even think twice about plying my tongue when he exposed himself. It just came naturally to me.

Yet the whole time I felt an undercurrent of shock and shame and guilt. And afterwords, I told him I would never come back.

I almost went back to him on Christmas eve. But I decided against it. Only just. I was halfway to his apartment before I turned myself around. I still know it was the right decision.

We'd seen each other around the workshop, in the previous semester. That's how we'd met. I just enjoyed his looks until he beckoned me over and held my hand too long when he introduced himself, and told me I had beautiful eyes.

Everything went back to normal. I did not pine or whine. After the first week of my new semester, I had not seen him at all. You can imagine my shock when the next week he walked into one of my classes and sat next to me.

This is going to be an interesting semester, he said.

I said no for weeks. He was so persistent. I told him it was against my faith. He said I could keep my faith. I said I wanted to stay a virgin. He said I could keep that too. I said no. He was hurt. And I was dying inside because I'd never wanted something so much. I ached and deliberated. Would I disobey my God for a taste of this forbidden thing?

I finally said, ok. Let's try this. He was so glad that he pulled me to him and kissed me. So softly.

And then I went to his apartment again, and learned what pleasure could really be. The pants came off and he plied his tongue to my secret places. For a couple weeks everything was wonderful. I was excited and delighted and he was sweet and seductive.

And then he said he couldn't do it. That it'd all been a lie. He didn't care about me at all. I was so hurt. I cried, right there in front of him. After he worked so hard to have me, it was all for nothing. After I deliberated so long about having him, he ditched me on the turn of a dime.

And then the next week, he invited me to his apartment.

Baby's first friend with benefits. I’ve still never been in a real relationship.

But it felt so good, what he did to me, that I didn't care. I was addicted.

Now he’s ditched me again a few weeks later. I'd been hiding it from my parents, after he broke it off the first time. They'd been so disappointed at me for seeing a guy like that. And I cried to them when he hurt me. So I didn't want to further disappoint them.

It's nice to not have him between me and God anymore. Even if it wasn't my choice. Maybe I'll have the strength to tell him off if there's a next time. Maybe I'll see it coming the next time a guy like him starts to throw me for a loop.

I have a chance to be free. The feelings are very slowly dying down inside of me. Hopefully they will be gone and I'll be able to mean it when I say never again.

I will flee temptation. Not run into his arms.

Of note:

When I'm unhappy, my body likes to wake me up extra early so that I can contemplate my misery.

back again back again

It's funny how quickly I reverted to the heart-ache part of my grief cycle.

Last time, I cried for days. I wondered why and fantasized about how to get him back. And then, at last, at long last, I just felt a dull, hollow, massive ache inside of me. It was a horrible feeling. But it was so much better than the first hunk of grief that I was actually relieved.

I'm not as much relieved to feel this again. It's right back where I was when he decided friends with (limited) benefits was an acceptable exchange for a real relationship. And so I was saved from the large empty chambers of my heart. In a sense. Or maybe I just found a way to put off recovering from my hurt.

That's probably not something that should be put off.

Of course I still think, what could I have done to stop this?

The answer? Maybe nothing. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned when I didn't cum. Maybe I should have mentioned it while we were still naked. Maybe I should have taken more initiative throughout the whole thing.

But all that doesn't really matter now, does it?

I've lost the pleasure that was helping me to fill the empty chambers, and now the silence is ringing in my ears. My own voice doesn't echo in the void like his did.

Of note:

UTI: Universal Technical Institute or Urinary Tract Infection?

The worst part was telling my mother I didn't know why I was crying. I was so glad I fessed up. Of course she'd known. She's a mom. They're psychic.

He can't come back. He just can't. I hope, I hope, I hope that he doesn't. Everyone thinks he will. I suck at telling this guy no. He controls me, manipulates me. He can't. He can't do that. I can't take it. Please. He can't.

Dear Goth Guy

I'm very tired of being treated like a child. I do not have an Oedipus complex. You were the one that treated me like a child. So it is YOU who is the pedophile, rather than me the Oedipus.

I'm sure it's a good thing that you've dumped me again. Maybe this time it will be permanent. YOU're the one that didn't make ME cum, you monster.

How did we get from my first butt sex to scanners to my trying to tell you how I didn't cum to you breaking it off with me to you kicking me out of your apartment? We weren't even dating!!

Look, you aren't always the victim. You really do try to make yourself seem that way. "I'm so sensitive..." "I don't mean to seem rude..." "I don't want to hurt anyone which is why I..."

You are the villain. Stop pretending. You're the bad guy, goth guy.

I'm so glad you didn't make me cry this time. There's almost tears at the moment. But those will pass.

It's funny how you were just talking my ear off about women deserving respect, and women getting what they deserve. Please don't give me the chance to throw that back in your face. Don't come back. I'll miss you, but frankly your not making me cum really did help.

I was addicted to you.

Hopefully now you'll leave me alone and I can be free.

To cry. And be alone. And have no one to lust after my body and touch me in all the beautiful ways that I love. And to continue on into my twenties, diving into my art career and resurfacing in a decade, unhappy.

Of note:

Oh. And apparently google betrayed me. My doctor says my hymen really is kaput. I never even felt it. Probably broke it with a tampon. Then any and all blood would have blended in with the rest... It should have been right inside the lip. Seriously, I feel bad for the girls that have to have it intact the first time they bang their husbands. What if they really are a virgin, but broke it with athletics or a tampon? Poor girls.

Of note:

Alternative to lolcats:
















wtfcat says,

"I HAZ A YEAST INFEKTUN!!"

The great divorce

I'm not finished reading it, but it's the most intense short read I've ever read.

The Great Divorce is a book written by C. S. Lewis (think Chronicals of Narnia, you masses of illiterate monsters). It's a story of a trip from hell to heaven, I think.

Hell is a grey city where you live forever, and can have anything and everything that you imagine, materially. People imagine massive, beautiful mansions. They start philosophy clubs and art groups.

And they argue. They always argue. They don't seem interested in peace. Or in heaven. They aren't happy, but it seems like they don't want to be. They just want to complain about their unhappiness or contemplate the existence of joy without actually having any joy of their own. They don't think they need God.

I know that I am probably ruining this as I describe it. Please, please read it. It's a really short book. And the imagery is lovely. You can really see the city. The people in it are easy to see.

In this book hell is a state of mind whilst heaven is the realest of places. Heaven is based on fact and reality, a beautiful reality, while hell is just whatever people can imagine it to be. People there are limited by their own minds.

Here is the paragraph that has made me reflect upon my own life the most:

"Ink and catgut and paint were necessary down there, but they are also dangerous stimulants. Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells, to love of the telling till, down in Deep Hell, they cannot be interested in God at all but only in what they say about Him. For it doesn't stop at being interested in paint, you know. They sink lower-- become interested in their own personalities and then in nothing but their own reputations."

Scary. Am I there yet? Am I only interested in paint? Or have I sunk to the pride in my own reputation already?

No longer. I will take up showing what I love again. Telling stories for the truths behind them. Painting pictures for the feelings that they shadow. Learning about my God for the need to know him, rather than the image of one who knows Him.

Of note:

hate doctors. hatedoctorshatedoctorshatedoctors.

Apparently my mass in my arm is a fat pad. It'll go away with weight loss and exercise. Ironically I've lost twenty pounds since it appeared, and it's only gotten bigger. Oh. And I need yogurt.

I am sick of having lady issues.

Of note:

I find myself wondering if my electric blanket will burst into flames if I set it at the hottest number for long enough. This is of course a ridiculous thing to think, seeing as it was 85 degrees in tucson today. I don't NEED my blanket to burst into flames. It's plenty warm already.

But still. I wonder.

Horriblescopes:

Taurus love horoscope for today:

"The present planetary alignment could sweeten your day considerably when you are invited out for a meal with someone elegant and well informed. This is just the way that you like to spend time: wining and dining in the company of one who is delicious to look at, and who also has a lot of influence. Even better news: you will find them extremely likeable, as well. Enjoy your lunch."

I had lunch at my grandparents' house.

Horoscope fail.

Faith

Yesterday at work, as a man left the computer lab, he told us to have a nice weekend, and to not let anyone push us into believing that Easter was a big religious day. I kind of wanted to strangle him with a piano wire for trying to push us into believing that it WASN'T. Is that unChristian of me?

To be fair, easter didn't get its start as a Christian holiday. But I really don't think that jerk was planning on going home and worshiping the hare as a symbol of fertility, and dying eggs to represent new life.

But that IS still religious, isn't it? Just not Christian. Easter was a pagan holiday first. Paganists are not athiests. Generally they're polytheists, actually.

Easter was a pagan holiday on which fertility and new life was celebrated. Hence the bunny (for fertility) and the eggs (new life). "Eastre" was the goddess of spring. I suppose it's just as good a time to celebrate the resurrection.

Spell THAT five times and tell me if that still looks like it's spelled right.... resurrection. resurrection. resurrection. resurrection. resurrection.

I should probably mention that I do appreciate the resurrection... I do. I wish I could feel stronger about it. I don't get warm fuzzies when I remember how my God died for me. It's all I've ever known. Jesus died for you. Jesus died for you. Jesus died for you. You hear it enough, it becomes something that you take for granted.

Like if I were to become a millionair. You're rich! You're rich! You're rich! Eventually it's not all that special any more. I feel terrible saying that. Of course it's still special. But maybe I just don't feel it the way I once did. Does that make it mean any less?

I know the meaning of what my Christ did for me cannot be diminished. It will always hold its power. He will always hold up his side of the deal. But will my heart forget why it matters? And will that somehow make my end of the deal void? By taking Christ's death and resurrection for granted, can I lose him?

Also, First Easter without peeps. (think: gelatin. + vegan. = no go.) My world is imploding.

Pot Brownies

Every workplace has at least one anal, uptight worker. Mine is no different. This coworker of mine has told me off many times. She has wire spectacles which make her glares all the more severe. She doesn't smile very often. I'm always nervous working with her because I don't want to get told off again.

For the longest time I hated her. Avoided her. Checked to see which days I was working with her so I could mentally prepare myself. After a while I grew to accept her anal-ness, and always greeted her with a smile. On occasion she returns it. Still. Pretty anal.

Today my whole opinion of her changed.

I made brownies (vegan brownies) last night JUST so I could lick the batter off the spoon. The batter was delicious, but at the end of the night I had a batch of delicious brownies that I didn't really feel like eating.

So I took them to work. I like feeding my coworkers. It makes them like me better, and I feel like my chances of getting fired or laid off are much less when the boss likes my cookies. (heh. no, not THOSE cookies. The delicious peanut butter/potato chip cookies. (DON'T JUDGE until you have TASTED!))

Anyway, my anal coworker asked if there was pot in the brownies. Come again? But the best was yet to come.

I laughed (nervously. like I said she makes me nervous) and assured her there was no pot in the brownies. Then she regaled me with a tale from her youth.

When she was a young twenty-something, she had several up-tight, prudish older women for coworkers. And one day she baked them brownies. With pot in them. They just loooved those brownies, she said. And had no idea they were high. "It was so funny!" she told me.

My mouth hung agape for a while before I started laughing. If I were like her at that age, she'd be the uptight coworker I'd feed pot to.

And the world will never be the same to me, and I will never look at her the same way again. She is now the most awesome person I know.

Of note:

My friend is writing a public service announcement about vegans. >.<

The difference between vegans and hippies

There is a difference.

My friend is seriously prejudiced against vegans. She had a vegan room-mate for a while. Apparently the roomy smelled weird and always left the window open (even when it was literally freezing outside).

I do not smell weird. Nor does goth guy (the only other vegan I know). My vegetarian friend knows a couple of vegans, and apparently neither of them smell weird. I suspect that my friend's room-mate actually suffered from a lack of proper hygiene.

Which brings us to one of many differences between vegan and hippie. While a hippie can be a vegan, a vegan is not necessarily a hippie. Hippies always smell bad. Also, they wear beads and vests, which ironically often look like leather. (animal rights, eh?)

You don't meet a lot of clean hippies. Does it hurt animals to take a shower? Or does taking their gross home-made clothing on and off too often make it fall apart?

Hippies are generally pot smokers. Also, they dress in homemade or hand-me-down clothing. It's all thrift-store jeans and tie-dye shirts. Also, they like fringe. And tinted glasses.

There's plenty of vegan goths.

And goths are never hippies. NEVER.

Now I suppose sometimes vegans are artists, and supposedly often hippies are artists. Now I've only talked to one hippie (on purpose) in my life. He was nice enough. Didn't smell too terrible. Was an awful artist. I know this because we were in an art class together. He also worked with glass. Made beads and gages (for ears. you know, the earrings?). They were interesting, but really sloppy.

Hippie art is another term for unprofessional. I know. That's a horrible thing to say, and yes, there probably are some really great hippie artists. But remember, I'm just outlining the stereotypes.

Now vegans don't have to be all that. In fact, I don't think vegan is really the subculture that hippie is. It's just a way of eating. I mean, come on! Vegetarian isn't a stereotype! It's something that any kind of person can do. And so is veganism. It's just a way to eat.

I admit that many hippies probably take the vegan way of life because they care too much about animals. If you're big on animal rights, you really should be vegan.

But my main point is this: I AM NOT A HIPPIE.

(my friend insinuated that vegans and hippies are the same thing. LIES.)