mardi, juillet 5

5 reasons

Give me five reasons to get on that plane tomorrow, I said. Give me five reasons and the job and my cat don't count. The artist played funny. "Come back or this apple gets it" he said, & sent me a photo of a half-eaten red delicious. Then, "I haven't seen Fubar yet".

The Couchsurfer put in some effort. "We still need to make furniture together". "Berro (my girl) will be sad".

Only one person, though, had the one answer that I wanted, no, needed to hear. "You have to come back. You would be missed". Somehow, Mace always *always* knows.

mercredi, mai 25

the eff word

"So anyway, blah blah blah. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I know I'm just some random chick you met on the internet, but I hope you think of me as a friend, and know that I'm here for you."

"I do think of you as my friend. That is a fact. I feel like I can trust you, and am totally comfortable talking to you, which is clear because of the nonsense that's come out of my mouth during this conversation".

Vero says I'm just trying to deny my feelings. I don't want to like him, but I do. I know he's hooking up with other people. He's told me. I keep trying to do the same but I just don't want to. I can't help it. I'm distracted, fascinated, overwhelmed by the fact that my face hurts from laughing so much after we spend time together. I hate this. Why can't I just let it be?

samedi, mai 21

the eff?

It's six am. I'm awake. I drank 2+ bottles of wine last night and I'm awake. Plus my facebook account is temporarily unavailable. Maybe the rapture did happen, despite the fact that the BBC is still there? And only Mark Zuckerberg was raptured?


I'm actually supposed to be going hiking with the artist today. Yup, it's a day-date. I mean, we did that other day-date once before where we were supposed to go do fun things in the park and ended up doing a bike pub crawl all over town, but this is kind of the first non-alcohol related thing we've planned.  Even though I might take sangria in my water bottle instead of water, 'cause that's kinda how I roll. I'm not actually sure when we are going, though, 'cause he went all radio silent last night which I guess means he was exercising his right to eff other people, and then sent a cryptic garbled message which kind of made me think that "other people" is actually code for "lots of hallucinogenic drugs". So I'm not sure how to approach it and more importantly I'm not sure whether or not I'm going to get laid.

What I am sure of is that if *he's* effing other people (and when I say "other people" I do mean "other people") then I need to do it too, so I re-activated my OKC account last night and laid a little groundwork for some whoring around. Shit - what if the rapture is yet to come and I just totally blew my chances? God, if you are listening, I didn't mean "whoring around" I meant "meet someone wholesome and saintly and just hold hands across a very wide table until we are united in holy matrimony". Or something.

Fuck thank god - crisis averted. Facebook's back.

samedi, mai 14

it's like the night is taking sides

Ug I'm having trouble with the whole 'sleep through the night' thing again... I've been waking up at my usual time (2.30 - 3) and lying here obsessing about my state of eyes open 'til five am or so.

Not a big deal right now, but shit it sucks during the week. "Madness fills my heart and soul as if the great divide could swallow me whole.. oh how I'm breaking down"

So last night I had a girly date with my work bff - we went for cheep ass old school italian then hit up the adult superstore right next door. We ended up waiting for our table forEVER and amused ourselves by conducting a catty text message conversation about life, love, and mostly the other diners. As we were seated she said that I should text the artist and tell him she insisted he join us, so I did. She's never met him, you see, and jokes that I am actually making him up. He was out in the burbs but said he'd call when he got to his ultimate destination so that we could meet up with him... so when we moved on to *our* next spot I sent him a note. No response. Then when we were leaving to head home sent him another to find out what was up. Still no response. Of course I get pissed off. I've never dated a guy so NOT INTERESTED in seeing me. Like even the couchsurfer (unless he's balls deep in another female) texts me back within a couple of minutes. I don't get it.

Anyway, when I woke up 45min or so ago I noticed that he'd replied - lay down on his bed for a few min and passed out. Woke up after midnight in all his clothes. Acceptable, I suppose, but shit I hate the way it made me feel.

mardi, mai 10

TFLN - the Sundae edition

Quite possibly the best text message I've ever sent: "OK look, if it's really that important to you, we can use herring in the Viking games. It's gotta be external application only, though, and I'm standing firm on the no-Oakenfold".

There's a whole preamble to that, of course, but, seriously, why bother? Everything you need to know about the conversation can be summed up in those couple of sentences.

So last night I started a part time job. 'Cause, let's not kid, I'm chronically underpaid and am having a *LOT* of trouble adjusting to my newfound (you know, since October or so) limited means. It's just gonna be a couple of nights a week, but it'll put some shoe money in my pocket and cut back on the nights when I'm sitting at home watching Top Chef re-runs drinking $3 Malbec.

Not that there's anything wrong with that. *ahem*

Tonight was the first night of a class I'm taking for work. It's a pain b/c it's 3hrs right after work every Tuesday for 12 weeks, which I'm sure will get old quick, but at the same time I'm excited to be back in a classroom (even if it is work stuff, not interesting stuff). Anyhoo, between the class and the new job and the old job I'm setting myself up to be pretty busy. I like that. I don't want to be available anymore.

dimanche, mai 8

side note

Google Analytics is telling me that I get a lot of hits from people looking for "small ass". Oh kids you are *so* in the right place.

let's make this happen, girl

So there's a bit of a tradition here in the sundae sanatorium that we like to refer to as 'pants-off / dance-off', which is to say that I like to spend a lot of pants-free time in my apartment, usually half cut on cheap red wine, dancing around in the semi-dark whilst my cat looks on with scorn.

I've got a pretty good list of songs that make the PO/DO cut, but the most recent is a remix of a Two Door Cinema Club track that I really heart, so I'll leave it with you:   Two Door Cinema Club - Something Good Can Work (RAC Mix) by RAC
The artist is in vegas for work this weekend. And when I say 'work' I mean he spent Friday taking pictures of models and yesterday by the pool drinking. How do *I* catch that particular employment train, is what I want to know? Anyhoo, we seem to be spending a lot of weekends in different cities, lately, so at some point or another I started sending him semi-naked pictures of myself as punishment. When I was in TDot last weekend for the lil' brother's wedding, he sent me some back, though he's not as comfortable with the genre as me. Thank you, bloggity, for removing all sense of shame regarding internet nudity. Anyhoo, the first two pics he sent me this weekend were of the cheesy porn 'stache he grew for Vegas. I promptly photoshopped his head onto Inigo Montoya and Ron Jeremy and sent them back. I then began lobbying for pictures of him naked *and* vomitting (it's Vegas after all) but no love - just a kind of hot 1am mirror shot of him dressed and ready for bottle service at a strip club. Fingers crossed that lap dance shots are forthcoming.

On a separate but not-unrelated note, a couple of days ago I get a text from someone in my phone named M, asking if I want to get together on the weekend for a drink. Now, for some reason, in my head I thought it was the M who's a friend of my friend the sushi chef. He gave me a ride from the airport the other day, which was super nice of him. Anyhoo, I was kind of freaking out a bit because I wasn't sure if it was just 'hanging out' or if he wanted to 'hang out', you know? And, well, there's the artist and I'm all buh-jiggity about him etc. Anyway I thought to myself, goshfukkit, self, just go have fun. So I agreed.

Anyway when my doorbell rang at 6.30 last night it wasn't that M at the door but an entirely different M that I went out with a few times before Christmas. Colour me surprised. And vaguely irritated with myself because I scheduled a dinner excursion for the middle of the hockey game. Anyway - awkward, totally confirmed my buh-jiggityness over the artist, Canucks lost, home by 9pm and got drunk on cheep red wine. Yay Saturday!

Also - just as a point of interest, I've *already* written more blog posts this year than I did in all of 2010 combined. Told you I was trying to get back on the train... Maybe one of these days I'll remember where I put my balls and start posting the good pics.

samedi, mai 7

if you were a pill

I don't know why I can't just relax and take things at face value, but I have to over-analyze absolutely every inaction and obsess about words said or not said. I wonder if it's because I spent umpteen million years in university searching for hidden meanings in texts - subterfuge in the way that words lie on the page one after the other. Why would anyone actually say what they are thinking when there are so many voices messages thoughts to convey?

"You never ask me to do anything."
"I don't?"
"Well we'll have to fix that won't we?"

Something as simple as that - totally a him thing to just sit back and let the world wash over him, to go with the flow and let things be planned - but it festers in my brain and I don't know how to just let it be. Breathe. Just believe.

jeudi, avril 28

But you do have to carry it with you to Toronto

Things I have to do this morning:
1) carefully examine contents of suitcase to figure out what I packed whilst hammered on cheap (yet entirely drinkable) red wine.

Yeah that's mostly it. Oh I should prob eat something, too, because last night's dinner consisted of triscuits, hummus, and lousiana hot sauce and my belly is now yelling at me. Yay bachelorette me. (Why does blogger recognize bachelorhood but not bachelorette? Sexist.)

Told the artist via text last night that I might miss him a little while I was away but he didn't here it from me. What? I told you I was drunk.

Then I proceeded to send him seminaked (and not so semi) photos so that he'd miss me too. He said he missed me already.

mercredi, avril 27

Can't carry it with you if you want to survive

So tomorrow I head to Canadia-eh for the little brother's wedding. Which is crazy. I mean, it was one thing when the sister got married, but in my head my little brother is still wearing short pants and staging elaborate WWF battles (the wrestlers, not the animals - it used to be WWF, y'all) in our family room. Probably whilst making machine gun noises.

He did that.

Just talked on the phone to The artist (he of Monday night's sleepover). I have such mixed feelings about this guy - like I think I really like him but at the same time he scares the living crap out of me b/c I can't figure out if he's actually into me.

Which is, of course, kind of ridiculous b/c sometimes he is so very *clearly* into me.

I know it's just my brain caught up in the crashbangboom chemistry of lust and excitement of liking someone new. Or at least part of me knows.

Part of me just wants him to throw me down and fuck me 'til I can't think anymore.

OK lots of parts of me want that.

I guess we'll see what's up after the weekend, anyway. He's promised to send me semi-naked pictures while I'm away. *fingers crossed*

mardi, avril 26

I'm dying here

OMG I'm watching game 7 of the 'hawks  / 'nucks series and I may die from the stomach ache. Seriously - if it weren't for Crawford the game would have been over 20 (hockey) minutes ago.

"You are wearing *way* to many clothes," he says. "So take them off me,"  I reply. "OK, let's start here."

I woke up wrapped in his arms over and over again all night long. I might like this one a little. 

dimanche, avril 24

when i raise my trigger finger

All you fuckers hit the deck.

Man what a weird night last night ended up being. I don't even know how to begin to describe it really, but it did end with a (former) friend punching the couchsurfer in the face with a pint glass.

No real way for a friendship to come back after that. I mean, the couchsurfer has his flaws, but he is my friend and I love him, and he's held me while I was deep in the jungle of my own head and all I could think of was throwing myself off an overpass. Don't care what he said to piss her off - you don't hit your friend's friend in the face with a glass just 'cause they aren't your cup of tea. Fucked up, dude.

It's actually been an all-around weird day. I barely got out of bed, arising for dinner and the hockey game, and that was basically it. Don't talk about the game, please, I can't take it right now.

For some reason I decided it'd be a good idea to go through my archives reading and ended up watching my relationship with the architect unfold. I kinda relived all the good times and the excitement and now I'm feeling super blue. His new girlfriend is visiting this weekend, so he's not around. Plus, you know, his new girlfriend.

That combined with the clusterfuck of yesterday evening just leaves me feeling a bit anti-social. I'm not sure how to cope. Well you know, other than throwing myself off the aforementioned overpass.

I wish I could remember how to write. I need to practice more.

lundi, avril 4

28 hours later

So date four turned into 28 hours, countless bars, a crazy bicycle ride through the 'hoods, and at least 76% of his friends walking in on us having sex just to say hi.

I shudder to think how many near strangers have now seen my ass.

You know, more than before.  It's not as though half the world hasn't seen my ass, it's just usually it's through the comfort of a computer screen.

Sidenote - possible indication that I might be maturing.. I have this kinda sexy shot of the line of my spine, my ass is in the air, black thong. I keep uploading it and thinking about posting it and then deleting it. A few years ago I would have posted it and taken three more by now.

Postive step or am I losing my nerve? You be the judge.

samedi, avril 2

one life to live, but we're doing it wrong

Some Saturdays you wake up curled up with a fuzzy lunchbox of a cat instead of a cute boy and that's ok, except you look at your bloggity and wonder wtf happened to the rest of the week? How did we rocketship from last Saturday morning to this Saturday morning and what did we do inbetween besides eat sleep drink work go through the motions? Is there anything that happened that could be considered an anecdote worthy of your obituary?

(I mean, besides eating your weight in meat at Korean BBQ on Thursday & dying from beef-clogged arteries.)

I'm reviewing the week in facebook and I've got friends who are doing more or less than I, but what kind of standard for judgement is that? Shouldn't this be the only measure? If I can wake up on Saturday morning, either with or without a cat, either with or without a cute boy, and say to myself- "what did I do this week that makes me glad to be alive?"

lundi, mars 28

Let's play 'Hipster or Not?'

So I woke up yesterday morning luxuriating in the thought of having a Sunday off. A Sunday that came after a Saturday off. A Saturday that started off with a cute boy bringing me coffee in bed. Coffee that he made, even. There are worse ways to start a Sundae. Or a Sunday, even.

Of course, it was at this point that I looked over at my laundry pile and realized that it was now taller than me - no mean feat, my friends, as I am a towering 5'3". Towering, I say. I spent a solid 5.3 minutes pondering my choices - go buy new undiepants or actually do the laundry.

Weighing on my decision, of course, was the fact that I'm kinda broke. Also, I'm pretty sure I heard the laundry trying to lure the cat into the pile in the middle of the night. She's kinda plump, you see, and I'm sure would make a tasty tidbit when doused with buffalo sauce and blue cheese. Since I do honestly like my cat, I piled little Pearl (my trusty l'automobile) full with dirty delicates and set off to take care of bidness.

Now, I live in a fairly... eclectic neighbourhood. It's got cafes and restaurants and whatnot, but it borders on a fairly rough, lower class part of town. I wouldn't give it up for anything that didn't include an ocean view, a pool, and a cabana boy. Rawr.

Anyhoo, so I'm busy commandeering washing machines when this fellow walks in sporting a Magnum PI worthy porn 'stache, satiny shortyshorts, a bomber jacket, and a vintage ball cap. Tube socks pulled up, kicks. I ask myself - hipster, caught in an era I'd rather forget, or needs to do the washing worse than I do?

I kept catching myself staring at this fellow and he did bust me more than once. He may have been hoping for a love connection but manohman it was more like a horrific car accident with bodies strewn all over the highway - detached limbs and blood and gore and awful yet FASCINATING at the same time.

I tried to take a few surreptitious photos but couldn't quite do it. Seriously I'm pretty sure there's gonna be a Craigslist Missed Connections any day now, given the quality of creepster staring I was doing.

Ahhh Sundaes.

dimanche, mars 27

Days of Grace

So on Friday I was supposed to go to a work party thing at a club in the Gaslamp but when my work-bestie bailed the perils of navigating the San Diego equivalent of every irritating club district on the planet became too great and the smiley internet guy and I decided to stick a little closer to home.

Date three, y'all. Just sayin'.

Anyway, as longtime readers of the blog may know, I'm not the most graceful girl on the planet. I tend to drop things, bump into walls and/or doors, and fall down with a fair amount of regularity. Friday I had 2/3 of a bottle of pinot for dinner and was wearing 3 1/2" heels on some rough sidewalks. Hilarity ensued.

You know, if you define hilarity as watching me fall flat on my ass then be unable to get up because I was laughing so hard. Internet guy promptly laid down on top of me, told me it was too soon to be flat on my back, and hauled me to my feet. He is pretty sweet.

My hands are all scraped & bruised, though. So. Much. Class.

lundi, mars 21

You want a piece of my heart?

It's funny. I find myself more irritated than anything by the attentions paid to me by the internet boys. Well, that's not true - there's one that I kinda keep my eye on. He's not really my type, but he's got this big goofy grin and for some reason it really makes me smile.

I'm getting used to living by myself. I've never done it before, after all - one of the side effects of having a kid at 17. I've just always had someone around.. someone in the house making noise making a mess making me happy sad angry joyful frustrated comfortable. It's not like that right now. Right now it's me & the cat. Some mornings I wake up and the silence is deafening (though, let's not kid, those are the mornings that the couchsurfer's been by and shut off the NPR). Some mornings, though, the sun is shining and I take my coffee outside and look at the boat and the trees and I feel pretty good about life.

Today's not really one of those days. I woke up and it was vancouver weather, so I miss my family. Tomorrow's my wedding anniversary (if you can call it such a thing anymore) and the architect has already told me that he took it out of his calendar won't mark it's passing even with a glass tipped to the stars.

I'm probably gonna have to get drunk with my girls.

I'm such an emotional tool.


jeudi, mars 17

Perils and Pitfalls of Internet Dating

 So I've been doing the innerweb dating thing again, if for no other reason than I usually hang out with guys and it's hard to meet guy 2 when you are in the company of guy 1, even if guy 1 is a platonic, friendly guy . If you know what I mean. Guy 3? fuggedaboutit.

Anyhoo I've come really close to deleting my account these past couple of weeks, 'cause I've had a couple of those... shall we say.. experiences that make you question what little faith you have left in humanity.

Experience one was basically a guy trying to bully his way into my apartment so we could "get to know each other better". Luckily the couchsurfer had popped by for a visit so the presence of his car was enough to deter the creepster. Creepster let me know in no uncertain terms that the couchsurfer would have to go because the arrangement "didn't work for him". Riiigggghhhtt...

The second happened a couple of Saturdays ago. Went for dinner with this seemingly normal, if shockingly boring, guy. Not a bad time, but not what I'd consider a good time. I should have known better when I arrived and he was wearing one of those fake ed-hardy style dress shirts. Anyway, we had dinner, I dropped him off at his house (he didn't have a car), and he tried to kiss me goodnight. I declined the chance (again, boring). We made the 'let's do this again' noises - he said the following saturday and I said yeah maybe, let's keep in touch. We never kept in touch, I forgot about it, and that was that.

Well until Friday when he started ringing my mobile. I just didn't pick up - I had a really busy week at work, had already made plans for the weekend and, as I said, was NOT interested.  So Monday rolls around and I was thinking of firing off a note to apologize for not getting back to him and clarifying my lack of interest when into my inbox fires this horribly offensive email from this douche - basically calling me a loser and insulting my appearance and all sorts of other great things. Clearly intended to make me feel crappy. Helloooo Monday. I replied to call him an asshole and praise my luck at dodging a bullet with the crazy then promptly filtered his email to go directly to my trash.

Yesterday I opened my trash to find something and there's a WHACK of emails from this guy. Since I'm not really a glutton for punishment, I didn't open any of them but I did happen to see the preview for the last - the gist was basically how I'd totally missed out because he's got a giant cock.

However will I go on.

Anyway, I didn't delete the account and went on a perfectly lovely date with an interesting apparently sane human being, so while my faith is .. not restored, per se,  I've welcomed it back into the playground. For now, anyway.

mardi, mars 8

abandon ship

Tonight on the way home we hit up my fave tasting room for my fave beer which they have on tap oh-so-very-rarely.... Anyhoo I drank a couple, lamented the fact that my girlbits are broken to my bestie, and came home to take slutty photos. Anyone want one?

lundi, mars 7

On the fritz

So I'm beginning to wonder if there's something wrong with my girlparts. Like, if I met you before and have been attracted to you, it's all good - the bits still sing and dance at your presence. However, and this is a big however, no one I meet lately can get me hot.

Like perfectly attractive people and they want me and kiss me and I'm all "yahwnnn oh hey I'm going to head home drink cheap malbec and watch top chef".

It's as though my body is living in the past and my brain is lying on a beach somewhere drinking mojitos and has forgotten that it's got a responsibility motherfucker to send shockwaves of lust through my body and help get me nekkid.

Plus I'm almost out of past seasons of Top Chef. I mean, it's not the kind of show that you can watch over and over again - there aren't that many nuances. Not like a good Danielle Steele novel, my friends, not in the least. So what's going to happen after the next guy buys me dinner and tries to get me to take my panties off and I don't have any more Top Chef to watch? I won't have Tom Colicchio's sweet smile to console me at my lack of functioning libido. I guess there's always shark week.

Also, I'm really horny.

mardi, mars 1


This song, I said, makes me want to dance around my apartment in my panties. There are lots of songs that do that, he said. I know, I replied - I hate pants. Pants, he said, are the last thing I think of, when I think of you. Oh? I replied? and what's your first think? Supercute canadian rock n roll goddess, he answered. *heart*

lundi, février 28

True Confessions

So they say that confession's good for the soul. My soul could use some salvation and/or some salve, so let's get this out of the way, shall we?

1) I was on man hiatus b/c I had a really weird, uncomfortable internet date. I guess the confession is that I've been going on internet dates. Maybe the blog will get interesting again, hm?

2) The verb in that sentence is *was*.

3) I'm totally and completely addicted to Top Chef. I've watched 4 seasons in the past two weeks.

4) I'm terrified of my garbage disposal.

5) Also of escalators.

6) I keep buying underwear so I don't have to do laundry.

7) I've developed a weakness for shoes with 3.5" heels & higher. I ended up picking orders in my warehouse for 3 hours today. I can't feel my toes, but I'm sort of happy about this because I suspect that, when the feeling comes rushing back, the feeling will be pain.

8) The couchsurfer told me that the reason he doesn't want to fuck me is b/c I don't smell good. This has made me vaguely insecure about the way I smell, so when I meet you I will hope and pray that you smell me and enjoy the experience.

9) It's 8:05pm and I kind of just want to take my glass of wine to bed and watch more top chef.

10) I recently had an exceptionally filthy dream about Sam from Season Two. Look at him, though. Who wouldn't?

dimanche, février 27

Sundae afternoons....

So I finally met the blogfather. He said to me.. "Do you like Elvis Costello?" I said yes, but I'm disappointed that he married Diana Krall, because I love my Canadian girls, but she's as whitebread middle america as they come. She's no Canadian girl, thrust up from the permafrost screaming for sunshine and heat and passion. She was born in.... Arizona where the temps are a steady 98 degrees all day long - not hot enough for a boil. Just hot enough for a boy band.

So yeah, I met his highness and it's probably about time 'cause there's been a few craigslist connections, but shit doesn't happen 'til it's time, right.

It's probably time.

vendredi, janvier 14


So there's a comment two posts down that might be the best ever.
Can't really take it to heart, though, because a girl's gotta have hobbies and mind is self-immolation for your entertainment.

After Wednesday's epic shitty day I asked the couch surfer if he'd please spend some time with me yesterday. He's not nice and not cute but somehow he makes my head be still. He said he would, and when I got home from work he was here, but on his way out. "We'll hang out," he said, "but it'll be sandwiched between me doing something now and doing something later. I'm running myself ragged."

I told him to not wear himself out on my behalf and headed down the road to have dinner with a friend. When I got home I sent him a text... basically said that it'd be cool if he was here. Hours later he responded saying he was in the burbs and too drunk to drive. He's even giving up the pretense of wanting to hang out with me, which is fine, but it'd be cool if he quit using me as a place to crash at the same time. If I'd wanted to live with someone platonically I would have stayed married for pete's sake.

mercredi, janvier 12

Like water for

So I was bitten by a cute, dreadlocked circus performer last night. Three times, actually - once on the arm and twice on the neck. I can't remember how it happened, exactly. I do know that she was introduced to me by a (smokin hot) acrobat as his girlfriend. He then introduced her boyfriend, and his date. I commented that the situation seemed complicated. He said "Fuck no. *Monogamy* is complicated", and then proceeded to pet me all night long.


I was, however, in the company of a friend, so did not go home with said acrobat or his multitude of female companions. I would be SO ok, however, if he were to find a way to find me, as we do have certain people in common.

Damn. The things we do for love.

And when I say love I mean, of course, the verb, because I've abandoned hope (all ye who enter here) of the noun.

My couchsurfer (the one who is fucking with my head) told me he loved me. I have only seen him for a few minutes here and there since that moment. This could be construed as partially my fault because I opted to spend my evening last night with circus performers and other interesting characters but, let's not kid, I didn't expect him to actually spend any time at my house yesterday. Or at all. 'Cause, you know, tonight I'm home and he's told me he's probably not coming back this evening.

Which, by the way, makes me feel like crap, even though I'm pretending really hard that it doesn't. Except for bawling my eyes out the whole way home from my walk, of course, but I was wearing sunglasses so who cares?

samedi, janvier 8

A choir of furies in your head

I quit taking the lexapro after one month because it's $100/ bottle and who the fuck can afford that when there are things like wine and shoes to buy? Things are blacker than black, though, and I can't get out of my head so when I went to the dr about my fire ant eyes (yes I've got fire ants in my eyes, currently; dr says it's 'pink eye', but I know it's fire ants) I asked him to give me something else & he wrote me an rX for paxil.

Came home and did some research & found that paxil makes you gain like 20lbs in the first couple of months and makes you not have any sex drive or be able to have an orgasm. 'Cause, you know, exactly what an almost-40yr old with depression &  major self esteem issues needs is 20 extra lbs.

Anyhoo, promptly decided against taking that shit. The question now, though, is what do I do? Do I call him and ask him to prescribe me something else or do I just succumb to the horror?

The previous post is kind telling 'cause I'm going through the same shit right now. Last night I heard "I love you. You are my dearest friend and the kindest person I've ever met in my life but the thing that makes it so I can't keep my hands off you is missing". A) that's the first time I've ever had a guy dump me because he *didn't* want to fuck me and B) shit how the fuck do I get myself into these situations? Like what part of me decided that it'd be ok to half fall in love with someone who only ever wants to fuck other people and who can't give me what I need & what I deserve?

And it's not as though he's conned me into this - he told me straight up that this is who he is and what I should expect. "I will hurt you", he said. And he has. A lot.  So last night he decided it couldn't go on because he doesn't want to hurt me (for the above stated reasons) and I practically begged him to continue.


How much damage can I do to myself before I completely self-destruct? How much pain can I take before I'm nothing but pain - banjo-plucking on each tendril sending white hot shoots through my heart? Who wants to watch?

jeudi, janvier 6

I used to be a writer.

I kind of even remember how some days. (fr. November 3, 2005)

warning - pity part to commence in tminus seventeen seconds.

In 1915, The National Council of Teachers of English established the first week in November as Better-Speech Week. I'm not sure why this tickles my fancy, but it does. In honour of this, I shall construct one of my rare blog entries which actually conform to most of the laws of grammar - most especially capitalization.

I'm quite incapable of lucid thought today. I'm trapped in a werewolf forest constructed by my own ennui. The trees are falling and the only one who is around to hear them is me, but I'm tired of being a witness to the systematic destruction of my own faith in love and relationships and happiness. I need to call TNB and ask him to just get it over with - just say the sentence which is, inevitably, a variation of "You are the best person I know and I don't want to lose you in my life, but because of [insert random reason here] I don't think we can see each other anymore".

Do you know how many times I've heard that sentence? I'm wondering if I should try to be *less* of a better person - maybe be a bit more of a Judge Judy-style harpy. Would that be more appealing to the opposite sex? I seem to attract men who are at a crossroads in their lives. They meet me and have a lovely time - have their faith in women restored - then move on to the next one. I can't seem to shake the roll of the cool chick you shag for a while then keep around 'cause she's such a great buddy. Maybe if I were more of a selfish beeyatch guys would take me seriously and stick around.

See - you all think I'm kidding when I talk about my bright future surrounded by my cats and discarded tv-dinner trays, but I'm really quite serious. I'm losing my energy and my desire to even try anymore. 'Cause really, what's the point? It always ends with the same sentence. The only variable is how well I can pretend like it doesn't matter to me - wouldn't want to blow the charade, you know, but sometimes it's harder than others. Only you know how it takes little pieces away from my soul, how it steals the sparkle from my eyes. Only you can see the how my shadow is growing in the midday sunshine. The werewolves are circling, circling, and I'm just lying here waiting.

samedi, janvier 1


So I'm starting off 2011 car-less, phone-less, and half in the bag over a guy who really doesn't feel more than vague affection for me.

I'm trying so hard to put a positive spin on everything. I'm trying so hard. And I'm sorry that you get to hear the shit but if I have to smile and laugh on the outside then this becomes the only place where I can curl up and cry. Well you know, except for when I'm on my 10mile walk home from a party I didn't want to attend last night.

I would like to be curled up in my bed crying, but the aforementioned gentleman is there currently. Credit to him - he did spend an hour driving around looking for me after I texted that I was walking home. Unfortunately I couldn't respond to him b/c (naturally) I lost my phone.

Happy fucking new year.