Time on my hands.

This has been a gloriously unplanned and fun week without work. I was struggling at first on how to fill the time but it has not been an issue. After my Monday night romp I spent Tuesday with my happy Napa community (thanks to Miian) and a last minute trip to Sacramento for sweaty mariachi music.

Last night, with nothing to do, I traveled to the far land of Sonoma County and visited 3 men from my past, in sequential order by how long I have known them. It was spur of the moment, and another great day of my low-budget vaca.

First, a random stop at D's house, who was high out of his mind but happy to see me. Found out we now have the exact same car. It was great to catch up and have him back in my life. There is always an unspoken but palatable sexual tension between us... but I think D has a sexual tension with everyone, to be honest.

Next, a man from my past who is still very much in my life... and my vagina. Stopped by T's to give him his Christmas gift. His kiss goodbye felt really good and I felt like gobbling him up for some reason. But I restrained and headed to the next house.

Lastly, dinner with J and his roommate, which is always fun, boisterous and unexpected. Got an invite to cook at their house tonight for nye, and I might take them up on it since V bailed on me and decided to stay in Portland.

Drove home high on optimism and singing sexy lusty songs, taking my time on the road.

Tomorrow, dinner with an old dear friend.

Happy New Year.

So that's what it's supposed to look like

Attention, ladies and gentlefolk!

After 7 months of a sex with a partner that had the aggression of a floor lamp and the skill of an ottoman, (and the 3 months of emotional recovery following), I have been awaken! Slapped awake from a nearly 10 month period of hibernation!

I have been bounced, flipped, licked, bitten, pinched, invaded... and it was glorious.

Not only does he know where my vagina is, but he visited often. He stayed for tea and cookies, even.

Bon appetite!

Whip until soft peaks form

Ah, so long, so long since my last post.


Just finished an enormous Harry & David pear that changed my life for a few minutes. Perfectly ripe, sweet and juicy. I looked like a neanderthal eating it.


Time to get personal. I have a date with T tonight. This will be the first time it's just us - no restaurant to distract us or movie... he is house sitting and I will be cooking dinner with him and playing games. And maybe having sex. I'm kidding. Well... I've been good.


It's been three months since I've had sex (which is not that long in the scheme of things, I know) and T and I have been dating about a month and a half. We have not done the Deed and I have not spent the night. By this time I usually spread my legs. I have not technically given head either - I gave what I would like to call "Hesitation Head." (Men would hate me for this.) Usually I follow-through with the gesture, but T was never fully hard or kept losing his focus... maybe he was too drunk? Either way, I had to give up about 20 minutes into it with a sore jaw and ego. Part of it could be my problem as my head (no pun intended) isn't really into the game quite yet. T's dick is bigger than the last guy's and I need to get accustomed to it.

I had a disturbing dream last night too. Somehow I was convinced to make a porno with three girls and 5 guys, one of which was Steve Carell as Michael Scott from the Office. As soon as it was my "turn" to go down on Michael Scott, I gagged (literally, I could feel myself coughing something up) because his dick was completely covered with a really thick, white substance that looked like homemade whipped cream. (You know, the kind you make in a bowl with a whisk until your arm feels like it might fall off.) Only it wasn't whipped cream, and I knew that in my head.

I wonder if it was a premonition. I have been thinking of tonight a lot. This is the first time I will have time to just BE with a guy - neither of us have work tomorrow, no one else around, no other plans. It's exciting yet also very nerve wracking. This will be a test for T and me. If our conversation chemistry doesn't work itself out today then our future is doomed. It sounds melodramatic but it's true.

Getting back to work. You know I'll keep you posted - whomever you are!

V

It will come out in the wash.

I want to say thank you.

I am good at saying thank you.

To my losses, for teaching me how to be a winner.

To my downs, so I can be a pro at getting up.

To my mind and body, for showing me where beauty truly lies.

Regarding my hideous dating choices... thank you so I can spot a good one. And thank you universe, for allowing me to get back out there.

That night of sleep after a bad day. And the morning after.

Countless bad roommates. I'll make money writing about you someday.

A fuck it attitude. Sometimes, the best defense in the world.

To knowing that eventually, some shit doesn't matter. The one thing I wish kids would understand.

To my Mom continually sending her most significant gifts posthumously. Coping skills and a sense of humor. ....(Two very important things to be able to write a list like this one.)

To knowing what DOES matter.

To days without headaches.

To the day I had a flat tire and changed it by myself. On the street, in the pouring rain, while being sick. And refusing a man's help while changing my friend's 4 weeks later.

Or to the grease on my hands after changing the battery in my car.

To bad sex; and the greasy food you have the morning after... with your friends who have good sex.

To close calls and tight deadlines that give you butterflies so nice you do it over and over. And to still coming out on top, cause you knew you could do it anyways.

To pulling all nighters that stress you out so badly and that point at 4 in the morning when all that matters is sleep and you stop stressing over the paper and get that "fuck it" attitude (we all love so much) and you just want to get this paper DONE so you can sleep and you lose all inhibition and seem to spew out the best shit of your life and maybe it's because you're going mad you're so tired your brain is so gloriously calloused yet without a filter (?!) and there it goes you have 15 pages typed (where did that come from???) footnotes or endnotes print staple grande nonfat white mocha no whip and you show up to class looking like you stayed up all night and your professor ends up pushing the deadline back a week, the douche.

To looking at situations knowing that if you were involved, it would have changed everything.

To the mud, the rain, the gravel, the busted knee and mysterious bruise, the oil splatters and marinara driplets, chipped teeth and snag nails, split ends and cowlicks, burnt cookies and undercooked turkey, ripped jeans and broken shoelaces.

To being a survivor. Cheers.

Generation Gap

Been lax on writing, though I don't know who reads this.

It's supposed to snow in Napa tomorrow, which freaks me the fuck out. I don't need any black ice causing accidents! I commute to work. And I don't have snow chains.

It's funny the things we got excited about as children are now such a hassle because we look at it through our adult brains. Like Christmas. As a child, it was the most exciting time of year, mostly due to presents. My sister and I would wake up at 6 IN THE MORNING and drag our parents out of bed. Mom and Dad, I apologize for that. I now can appreciate that you were up all night creating that Christmas masterpiece and Heather and I ruined your well-deserved repose. As an adult, Christmas time is still nice and cozy, but fucking stressful. All I want is time off work where I can eat and sleep and spend all day in red, white, or green pajamas. Screw presents. Screw 6 am. I sleep til 10 now. And the first place I go is not the tree, but the coffee pot. Christmas gives the gift of time and sleep.

See, I work with children so I have a laundry list of these disconnects. Look at bedtime. As kids we never wanted to go to bed. Now, it is my favorite time of day besides meal breaks. Also, school. If I could spend my life sitting through class and learning, I would be a happy camper. I wish I could do school all over.

Running the mile? I used to fake sick at school so I didn't have to run it. I would also walk half of it so my time was around 20 minutes. Towards the end I would run, and my whole class had already finished, so they would cheer me on like it was the special Olympics. Now, I run at least 2 times a week. I can run a mile in 11 minutes. Send me back to middle school, give me an ipod, and I'll smoke my old time. Part of me wants to make the main focus of my 10 year reunion the fact that I run miles voluntarily, without stopping to walk, and I don't need to be cheered on.

Shopping? As a kid I would loathe furniture stores. I preferred the colorful mecca of Toys R Us. I love shopping for home now. Kitchen gadgets, bathmats, pillowcases, yes! I secretly plot the layout of my dream house. I sometimes play pretend in my head. It may look like I am browsing in Ikea; but I am looking at their pre-arranged living rooms and imagining myself making out with my fiancée on the couch or hosting a a chic cocktail party. Ikea is the happiest place on Earth.

Finally, boys. Childhood would show me hiding my face during the love scenes in movies. Now, it's my favorite part. Unless I'm around my Dad. If that's the case then I'll usually make an awkward comment about the movie lighting or get up and use the bathroom.

Secret Garden

I shaved my vagina tonight for the first time in a while.

I let it grow out a little, I guess as a part of my silent one-sided revolt against men. Since I have started dating a guy who has the least resemblance to a douchebag, I decided to hack through the thick undergrowth to reveal my glorious garden. It's like the plot of the secret garden (book, movie or play, take your pick) which I don't feel like describing, so go read/rent it.

A few other spotty updates...

Had the most surreal dream. Do not remember what exactly was going on, something reflecting on my real-life moving situation. I was in a dilapidated Victoria, completely corroded in the back, a giant hole eaten away. I walked to the hole and discovered the "backyard" housed a giant crater-like formation. growing out of the crater was a GIGANTIC tree with wispy, willowy branches that had a large girth, yet feathery greenery. The crater was dark, midnight. It was almost like twilight out, and the tree was a jewel like green, but I felt I was looking at it through a movie lens.. it was so dense and luscious yet it had a foggy glow about it. and there was a dark, ominous yet whimsical mood about it.

The weird thing was the tree took up everything in my vision. My peripherals, direct sight, everything. Almost like standing in an imax theater or one of those globe-like theaters that wrap around you.

I want to go back! This is the second dream of a tree that has haunted me both in the dream and afterwards.

Oh, and I have to move out by february. Did I mention that?

V

I threw it on the ground!

I learned some things about myself last night.

Firstly, as much as I try to deny it - I am a competitive person. I don't know why I hid that... all my life I swallowed it as I played board games or relays. I even get bent out of shape when a kid beats me at something. I feel myself going into this 30 second blackout zone... I know I am shouting something... be it at my teammates or to the breeze.. and I come out of it thinking "What just happened? What did I shout?" I got someone out at second base last night during my kickball game. I cheered so hard I had to tell him it wasn't personal... I just never get anyone out before.

Secondly... I am not as bad of a sports woman as I thought I was or made myself out to be. I guess I assumed that - because I am bigger - I suck at sports. But when I focus I can actually bring home the bacon. Whatever that may mean.

Must go shower.

Do I come off as bitchy here?

Happy Thanksgiving.

I'm taking a moment to myself to write while the men are in the sitting room watching football (for which I have no interest) and the women are in the kitchen talking about cats* (for which I have no interest).

In preparation for today's feastivities, I decided to go for a run and do some lifting with my dainty pink Reebok weights (with detatchable handles). I found a nice route to lap around in my Dad's neighborhood. Burn it off, burn it baby.**

I'm running while simultaneously trying to ebb the flow of snot that starts gushing forth from my nose and taking deep heaving breaths, as it has been 2 weeks since my last run.

I see this tall, trim man wearing state of the art running gear, sunglasses, and loping along like a gazelle. I start feeling Bad About Myself and adjust my pose so I look a little more legit. As he runs past me he gives me the little runners' *nod* and I *nod* back and he continues to smoke me.

Was that just an induction into the elite club of low wind-resistance and wrist weights? I felt like those motorcyclists who always signal to eachother on the road. "Pease, man. Yea, I know exactly how cool we are. I get you, brother." I am now accepted into the club of smelly piles of lycra in the corner ("Oh that's just my running gear... heh. Sorry. Did 10 miles this morning.") and sunglasses I can strap to my head.

I think for Christmas I am going to ask for as many zip-up runner's jackets and aerodynamic leg wear as I can get.

Peace, man.



*Is it just me, or does every conversation about cats inevitably turn into a conversation about how old they get and the disgusting diseases they incur. Cat diseases are so much more icky than any other disease. I believe this is because cats themselves are icky creatures.

**It was also good for me to get out of the crushing overbearance of too many family members in one house. Being an extrovert, one would assume I thrive in social settings, but family - themed social settings cause me to fold into myself like a clam, snail or any other similar crustacean. With this group, I can't take a moment to myself without it being overanalyzed or discussed or commented on. I can't bring up anyone I might be seeing without a multitude of questions and my stepmom reminding me I'll be the one to "pop out a kid" first. Actions that are customary and get little to no reaction from close friends are fodder for my family. If one more person wanders in here and asks me what I am doing while peeking at the screen, I will throw the laptop at their face.

Push it real good...

Last night I had an intensely linear dream.

I was living in San Francisco (I was aware of it being San Francisco, it looked nothing like San Francisco. ) Which is one of my 5 frequent recurring dream locations. (The best I had was one in which I visited a beautiful sprawling cathedral surrounded by lush greenery, and then visited a whimsical low-ceiling'ed ice cream shop and met up with my lactose intolerant friend Justin who freely enjoyed the frozen dairy treat with me. Glorious)

So, I was living in San Francisco, hanging out in something that could only be described as a construction site, and I was happy as happy gets. And pregnant. This is my second dream in the last 6 months or so where I am pregnant. I am always happy to be pregnant, natural, gorgeous, glowing, radiant, ecstatic.

This freaks me out for 3 reasons:

1. My step mom is sure that not only will I be the first daughter to wed, I will immediately "pop out a baby". This is disconcerting because I want to travel and lead a full life of debauchery before children. How could this happen to me first seeing as my sister has been in a relationship for three years... and it's a little ominous to us both that I, who has never had a boyfriend, will wed and "pop" out babies before her.

2. There have been a few days I have forgotten my birth control and taken it a few hours past it's allotted time. Sometimes I think that when this happens a baby will spontaneously grow like those foam capsules you put in water and it goes from a pill to an 18-inch replica of Saturn in like, 10 minutes.

3. I am seeing someone again. Re-read #2.

Darla's word isn't God... but I'm sure as hell not telling her about these dreams!

Not that I honestly think I am about to be knocked up. I am pretty smart about my sex, (when I have it) and I am going to be completely transparent and say I would get an abortion should I accidentally get pregnant.

This is a touchy subject. I feel horrible saying this with so many women around me who are proud single mothers, and also a few women who have tragically lost a baby or are trying hard to get pregnant. The more I think about abortion, the more truly horrid it seems, the very idea of it. I am 100% pro choice but for goodness sake I hope you did everything you could before you got to that point. I know I would.

Where did that soapbox come from? Out of nowhere.

Let's get back to me living in San Francisco, wearing a nice floaty dress from pea in a Pod or some such maternity store.

The End.

Return of the Mack

Starting to get excited for Thanksgiving despite the fact that I will be sleeping on an air mattress in the dining room. (It's a smaller house.) It will all be worth it if I can get my grandmother drunk again and find out more juicy family gossip. It was fantastic to find out that my mother socked her father-in-law in the face once. Riveting!

Hard to believe that 9 years ago my family was in a state of overwhelming grief during this time.Thanksgiving then was bleak and grey. Almost being angry at myself then, for thinking just two weeks earlier that my mother would be with us, just very sick, but still present.

Dark clouds have always settled over October and November for me. Financially, career-wise, and emotionally. They are the nadir of my year.

Happy to say this year, things are looking up.

Here's to sun! Goodnight.

UGH.

mortify
v., -fied, -fy·ing, -fies.
v.tr.
To cause to experience shame, humiliation, or wounded pride; humiliate.
To discipline (one's body and physical appetites) by self-denial or self-inflicted privation.

Sooo.... I'm packing right now.

I am moving to Napa tomorrow. After unceremoniously being "kicked out" (although she did say she wasn't 'kicking me out'... she merely informed me she was no longer comfortable and felt the 'space was off' and that she 'shouldn't settle just because she needs money') and being accused of drinking her wine (No.) I am now upstairs, packing, just six weeks after my last move. I am upstairs packing while the lady is downstairs giving a dinner party where her daughter performs dances in a clear "Look at me, Mommy pay attention to me" fashion,while the lady shows off her boyfriend to her old flame in a "Look at me, old boyfriend, I'm just as happy as you are" fashion.

And I'm upstairs, packing.

Earlier in a feat of self-indulgence I ordered some green beans and fried rice from China Dragon. After I paid, I shoved my 3.95 change in my pocket and realized there was a tip jar filled with assorted bills saying "Hey Vanessa, you forgot to tip this nice man running a restaurant in a bad economy." So I pull out 2 bucks and all my change falls out of my pocket at the exact time a man approaches the register to pay. So I am squatting, bending over, what have you.. while I try to pick up quarters and dimes, and realize yes I am wearing the blue cords with the hole in the ass.. thinking God oh God.. of course.

I mean in the scheme of embarassing situations this falls pretty damn low, but all I had to do was laugh and think "Of course."

And what is the point of sharing one embarassing moment without sharing others?! I mean why leave your audience wanting more.

Just a few weeks ago I was closing up at work. The kids had left and I had some emails to respond to in my inbox. My door was open (crucial) and I had been harboring some bad gas for the last few hours. I let out a good, juicy fart or two, which I neeeeeeever do in public. Felt good. I stewed there in my gasses finishing up the emails for five more minutes.

As I left the room, a teen staff, Julian, jumped at me from the left side where he had been crouching behind the door. ZOMG was he there the whole time?! Did I smell?! He made no mention of it and promptly challenged me to fly a paper airplane with him. So either he didn't hear, or he found it strangely arousing.

back to packing...

v.

marked man

More messing around with the duckie photo.

need a pick me up?

This is actually a picture I took of a rubber duck in my Dad's pool and messed around with on my compy.

She has a nice situation

My situation with Joel (I hesitate to tag it with the term "relationship) is speedily and unexpectedly becoming the second longest "situation" I have been in with a man. Though judging from the quality of time spent and the comfort I have been feeling, it might as well be the longest.

I am not going through the stop-start bumpy-ass hayride of a situation I usually encounter with men. My days and time are easily compartmentalized, as I don't prioritize my time for him with the fear of "Who knows when he will be available again???" I don't feel myself agonizing "Why isn't he calling?" or "What does this mean?" My time apart from him is not causing minor anxiety as to whether or not he is meeting other women or being harassed by his friends about me. Joel actually has a life outside of his job where he does things other than sleep. I feel visibly comfortable around him. I don't re-adjust my position to a more flattering one, I eat, I let my nailpolish chip.

Most significantly, I am not pressuring myself or him to define what it is we are doing or what we are.

Part of this can be attributed to the fact that I am slowly feeling more comfortable with myself and acknowleding the fact that I am worth a good man. I have a lot more going for me than I credit myself, and though there are always things to change or accept and move on, I am a gem. That also means pushing away some aspects of someone that I (or what I think my friends may) see as not as attractive at first, and then discovering what lies beneath is actually worth my time and energy.

And I cannot help but constantly regret the fact that I cared so much about a man who was utterly NOT worth it.

To switch gears.... my friends were all over the fact that sylvester was a douche. All my friends are nothing but supportive, in whatever way they can be. There was a pattern - the friends who were in relationships (happily so) gently pointed out what a fucking tool sylvester was. Those friends who were single tried to be more forgiving of my choices and his actions, constantly looking for ways it might "work out." I would put myself into that second category, for the mere reason that I was lonely and needed validation from a man.

There, I said the thing women are never supposed to admit.

I have a dear single male BFF who conversed with me on that very fact. We make choices - bad ones - when it comes to who we give little parts of ourselves away to. At first we think "Oh this is nothing..." But the little voice in our head repeating "You are compromising yourself" gets in a little bit, and by the end of the night/next morning we feel totally cheap. in our defense... we are compelled by forces greater than ourselves. Here are some such forces:

Couples (happy ones)
Movies (any.. really)
Beautiful days outside
Rainy days inside
Music we used to kiss to
Smells of the people we crave
anything marketing the ability to attract others
and, so it doesn't seem like I am displacing blame - the greatest force is the lonliness we feel when seeing these things and the disconnect that tells us we have to be like everyone else and grasp at straws to rectify this emotion, when we only feel emptier.

Sometimes these choices are best understood by the ones who are dealt the same deck. However I know it's necessary to really hear the advice you don't want but need - those gentle reminders from friends who truely see you. It takes awhile to sink in but it's nice to know it's out there and available.

as i wake

I just haven't ever really explored outside of the bedroom before. Most encounters were contained indoors, and now I am out there, seen as a kissing couple. A girl so moved by the movie she devours her date. Found staying in the theater, waiting for everyone to leave so she can have one more. If I kiss him standing up my knees get weak. I absolutely love it. I so long just NOT getting enough. It's like a dessert with no calories. It's like that first stream in a hot shower allll the time. Yum, yum yum.

all teacups all the time

A composite of four photos I took of a teacup in my Dad's garden on negative affects.

for all the pencils

I wouldn't write you a love poem for
all the pencils in the world. I think 'cuz your soul
is a blank page of my notebook. You are
a new pair of boots that don't fit
right I don't have time to wear you
in and I prefer the ones I found at consignment,
used and traded in yes, but gosh -
they feel supergood.

Full of It

this world is full
.......of Sex
people's Sex
walking talking bodies vehicles
of Sex
hands staple tape snap
making supper or
typing essays
shifting gears ............of Sex
holding shafts
invading canals...................... .....of Sex

stroke n' slap

man briskly walking
past me I wonder ...............of Sex
what does he fancy
in his offtime?

For the Love of Goth

Every morning I commute the precarious yet gorgeous route 116 to 121 to 29 in order to get to work. On one particular strip of road, somewhere between the turn onto 121 and Clover Stornetta dairy, there is a section dotted with a few businesses and the street is lined with telephone wires.

And every morning I see hundreds of small blackbirds perch on the wires, like beads on a thread about to be tied upon a waiting neck. The air fowl are concentrated in 100 foot stretch within that section. Today the image was especially potent and ominous against a cheerless gray sky; yet I could have watched this community sit, loop, rotate, and re-perch themselves for hours.

I think, if I could be any animal, I would be a bird.

Avert Your Eyes

I DON'T KNOW about other women, but when I am on my 'cycle', it tends to sneak up on my subconscious and become my dominant thought that keeps trying to slip out of my mouth, like a cat trying to dash out the front door while you're paying the delivery guy.

It's not an excuse, but more of a supplement to whatever it is I am saying or doing. Even after 156 'cycles' (13 years x 12 a year... yes I did the math) it hasn't become something I don't think about. I don't know about other women, but it's always there.

"Yes, can I have two iced coffees with room for milk? And I am bleeding from the vag. Actually, the cervix. Well to be more specific, I am shedding the inner tissue of the walls of my uterus. Thanks!"

"Alicia! When someone says stop, what does that mean?! SHEDDING TISSUE SHEDDING TISSUE SHEDDING. TISSUE. It means you stop. "

"I'm doing well actually, how are you? I am corked up. I am plugged and padded. And heavily medicated. Sedated. That's good to hear!"

"Can I have the Napa but without mayo? OH MY LORD THE FUCKING CRAMPS! UUUGHHHHHHHHHhhhhHHHhhhhhhHHHHOOOOOO MY GOOOOODDDDDDDD. Lettuce and tomato are fine."

You know when Tuesday is your Monday...

Weekend Nuggets: (not chicken)

+Sly calls me to come over Friday night. I sit for 15 minutes as a shell. Don't let him in, don't give him anything, get out. He mentions seeing a movie and my brain reels are we here again? This stop-start rush hour traffic relationship is exhausting. I leave, then remember that I am supposed to be more of an open communicator. I try to rationalize myself out of it. Does he really matter, is it worth it? I decide yes I don't feel good about myself right now, I feel like I am playing games and I hate games (unless it's Apples to Apples or a card game or something).

So I wheeled around, parked. Knocked can I come back in? Sat down. I wasn't honest with you. When you blew me off I was pissed. Your actions showed me you didn't really care and now, with you calling, it feels to me like you are using me when it's convenient and I cannot stand these mixed messages. I can't do this. I won't repeat the whole conversation, but I left feeling pretty confused, but really fucking amazing for "expressing my confidence" on someone for fucking with my emotions.


+After passing up the opportunity to hang with high schoolers in a warehouse-turned venue watching a few emo-punk-pop bands, Victoria and Peter and his buddies and I went to Trancas Steakhouse, drank, danced, and kareoked. Pete tripped around the dance floor with a drunken cougar, V and I blew out the eardrums of of kareoke dude whilst singing "More Than A Feeling," and striped-shirt guy stole my heart when he performed interpretive dance to "Turn Around (Bright Eyes)"

+Deliciousness .... brown butter sauce with crispy sage and herb ravioli. Homemade limoncello. J's birthday and just the right mix of folks. Craming in a taxi and feeling everyone's laugh. Cuuuute guy with a sleeve tat talking about noir comics and music across the table. Old Adobe Bar and Grill (dive dive dive) with a surly bartender finally warming up and releasing a mechanical mouse on us, skittling across the bar. Victoria and Peter saving my life and picking me up, so I can sleep in my own bed.

+O and I moving my set of furniture from its storage to my newish place. Realizing my desk was being used as a mail table in admin and taking that shiz back. Herro please.

+On a marvelous day that reminds me of when I was 8 and loved playing outside, walking a dog around Spring Lake and laughing with Sharon, one of the best people ever to laugh with. Darren, I can't wait until you find a lady friend who enjoys the peculiar kind of game that you spit.

+Being looked at in that way, and feeling beautiful, and knowing the right kind of guy just sniffed my hair when he hugged me, and delicately touches my knee when he walks by, and enjoying what it feels like to be sexy. Just for now. Watching Shatner and Spader make me love men again.

+Thrilled to be coexisting soon with one of the coolest ladies I've ever known.


Happy Tuesday.

Duh

So on a weekly basis, the children I work with come to me with some kind of complaint about who they hang out with. My advice is always the same, isn't it.

Well if you don't like how they treat you, don't be their friend.
If you're not happy when you're with them, don't be their friend.
Do you think it's more important to like yourself, or to be liked by someone else?
A good friendship is a friendship where you feel happy with who you are, not unhappy cause you feel you need to be someone else.

I think I should model the behavior that I preach.

Monday, my coworker friend J recieved a bouquet of flowers from this guy S she had been seeing for less than a week. I have been 'seeing' Sly for almost 4 months and ... (cue the whistling wind sound affect... tumbleweed rolls by... wind again..)

So I realized (yes, I understand most of my friends knew this already, and I knew it too. To quote V, I "just need to believe it.") that Sly first of all, SUCKS, and second of all, was not appreciatative of all I could offer as a person.

It's as if I'm this wicked piece of elaborate machinery, such as an iPhone(tm) . And here's SLY, with this awesome phone, and this amazing manual he could consult for all the possible ways he can appreciate the phone, and there are even CLASSES ON HOW TO GET THE MOST OUT OF YOUR iPHONE(tm), and he is SURROUNDED by people who treat their iPHONE(tm) SO WELL, and what does he do?!?! Nothing. He's just thinking, oh, I'll use my iPhone(tm) when I'm lonely, or need my back scratched, or my dick sucked.

I'm sorry, but the iPhone's(tm) were not just made for GOING DOWN ON YOU AFTER ONLY 5 MINUTES OF MAKING OUT WHEN I AM PRETTY SURE YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE MY VAGINA IS AND NO I WAS NOT KIDDING WHEN I ASKED YOU TO RETURN THE FAVOR AFTER I GAVE YOU A BACK MASSAGE. YOU. DOUCHEBAG.

I am of course speaking metaphorically.

One Friday Night

The last time I'll let him under my skin..

I accepted an offer to party in Napa with J. We met up with a possible interest of hers and his cousin. J lays down subtle and not-so-subtle suggestions that I should hook up with this cousin. He seems cute enough. The way he forces his humor on the group gets to me. It's as if he pulled out a heady air freshener and keeps spraying it above the table. Maybe it wouldn't be so obnoxious if I wasn't drinking. I get it. Ok. Haha. After a jaunt to a pretentious bar, and a visit to a dive bar that seems to sit on the complete opposite side of the class spectrum, I am 5 shots deep and falling asleep on J's couch while she cuddles with S, and his cousin E, asks me to spoon with him.

I am pretending to sleep while J is kissing face with S, and E is snoring in my ear. I am tempted to lean over, grab my phone, and record his noise. I have never heard anything like it. I shift my weight a few times to jostle him, but it only gets me a minute or so of peace before he starts 'er up again. I am cuddling with a buzz saw.

When J and S move into her room to get some sleep, I pop up like a zombie corpse and S looks at me like I am one. (Oh I thought she was passed out! Weird!) and I stake my claim on the abandoned couch. Muffin the cat is my only night companion and I couldn't be happier. And I stretch out and happily leave buzz saw behind me. And I don't let he-who-must-not-be-named enter my head. And I let myself smile and giggle as the buzz saw continues to drone on. And the lesson sneaks in. (I try to make every social situation as didactic as possible.)

I would rather be alone than make out with a power tool. I was just over getting cut up.