(via PostSecret)
Yep, pretty much. And not the good things, either.
Labels: Good luck with your hell demons, Guys Are Dumb, Romance
Monday, July 13, 2009
(via PostSecret)
Yep, pretty much. And not the good things, either.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
I've been reading and rereading many zines of late (THESIS OMG), and last night I came across a quote that took my breath away:
Well, yeah. I can relate to that, just a bit.
Things with Brisket, as you may have gathered, are weird. A few weeks ago we had The Talk. I hadn't intended on having The Talk, but a conversation about respecting me and my time morphed into that and let me just tell you, if I owned a TARDIS I would go back in time and prevent it from ever happening, just so I could continue being blissfully ignorant. We're on different pages. Possibly in different books altogether.
And yet...I can't bring myself to completely let go. I don't think he can either. There's too much I like about him. I can list his faults over and over and over: his immaturity, his selfish behavior, his unwillingness to grow up. But all I can remember is how well we connected, how attractive and special I feel with him, our stimulating conversations, our passion, how for months we couldn't get enough of each other.
I would give anything to get back there. Even if it was false.
We took a break for about two weeks, and I get the impression that since The Talk he's been purposefully holding back so as to avoid and prevent me from getting hurt. I also have a (completely unfounded and irrational) suspicion that he might have someone else he's messing around with — which is 100% allowed per our agreement from back in the day to "keep things casual."
Since The Talk, the ball has been in my court. He left it to me to decide if I wanted to Just Be Friends or continue Doing Whatever It Is We're Doing. I am in control. I've opted to try to continue Doing Whatever It Is We're Doing, because I am deranged. I know I shouldn't settle or compromise.
But I know other things.
I know that I am too emotional, and a serial monogamist. I've never casually dated anyone. I've only been in serious relationships. I know I take things too seriously, too deeply. I feel it all. I know that I need to learn to relax and not hold so tight. I think, on some level, all this bullshit is supposed to help me, to teach me how to be casual and simple when it comes to men. Get back to basics.
I also know I am unwilling to go back to where I was before Brisket: Lonely, alienated, the odd girl out. Celibate. Pathetic. I know how hard it is for me to find someone I like. I know my past follies and crushes and how disastrous they all turned out to be. I am unwilling to give up on someone I find to be intellectually stimulating, attractive, funny, and who (miracles of fucking miracles) actually finds me attractive as well. I haven't had that for FIVE FUCKING YEARS. Why should I give up on that so easily? I refuse to be that girl again, standing alone while everyone else is paired up around me, all happy in their love. Fuck that noise.
I'll take what I can get. I should be damned GRATEFUL.
I can hear you. I hear you ALL, shouting at me through cyberspace. Telling me that I'm a beautiful flower, that I'm awesome, that he sucks. Telling me that you love me, telling me that I'm wonderful. Telling me he doesn't deserve me.
You're right. He doesn't deserve me.
But I want him.
I should have him. If I'm so much better than him, I should be able to have him, right? He was supposed to be my reward. My reward for Prince Fucking Charming and for having to deal with lecherous men, for having to listen to men make careless and hurtful remarks, for all the nights spent alone, for all my doubts. I want him to want me. Why can't I have this thing, this one thing?
I know he's ultimately wrong for me. I know I don't want him to be my boyfriend.
I want it to be the way it used to be. Intense, giddy, saucy. Fun. I'm trying to let go, relax, to retrace my steps.
Whatever.
Here I am. Things are fine. I fall too hard, I'm setting myself up for disaster, I give too much, and I'm being stupid.
Deep breath.
Tomorrow I begin again.
For years I loved with heartbreaking intensity. Desperation. I opened up fast as possible. Quick, quick, see me before it is too late. — Doris 23
Well, yeah. I can relate to that, just a bit.
Things with Brisket, as you may have gathered, are weird. A few weeks ago we had The Talk. I hadn't intended on having The Talk, but a conversation about respecting me and my time morphed into that and let me just tell you, if I owned a TARDIS I would go back in time and prevent it from ever happening, just so I could continue being blissfully ignorant. We're on different pages. Possibly in different books altogether.
And yet...I can't bring myself to completely let go. I don't think he can either. There's too much I like about him. I can list his faults over and over and over: his immaturity, his selfish behavior, his unwillingness to grow up. But all I can remember is how well we connected, how attractive and special I feel with him, our stimulating conversations, our passion, how for months we couldn't get enough of each other.
I would give anything to get back there. Even if it was false.
We took a break for about two weeks, and I get the impression that since The Talk he's been purposefully holding back so as to avoid and prevent me from getting hurt. I also have a (completely unfounded and irrational) suspicion that he might have someone else he's messing around with — which is 100% allowed per our agreement from back in the day to "keep things casual."
Since The Talk, the ball has been in my court. He left it to me to decide if I wanted to Just Be Friends or continue Doing Whatever It Is We're Doing. I am in control. I've opted to try to continue Doing Whatever It Is We're Doing, because I am deranged. I know I shouldn't settle or compromise.
But I know other things.
I know that I am too emotional, and a serial monogamist. I've never casually dated anyone. I've only been in serious relationships. I know I take things too seriously, too deeply. I feel it all. I know that I need to learn to relax and not hold so tight. I think, on some level, all this bullshit is supposed to help me, to teach me how to be casual and simple when it comes to men. Get back to basics.
I also know I am unwilling to go back to where I was before Brisket: Lonely, alienated, the odd girl out. Celibate. Pathetic. I know how hard it is for me to find someone I like. I know my past follies and crushes and how disastrous they all turned out to be. I am unwilling to give up on someone I find to be intellectually stimulating, attractive, funny, and who (miracles of fucking miracles) actually finds me attractive as well. I haven't had that for FIVE FUCKING YEARS. Why should I give up on that so easily? I refuse to be that girl again, standing alone while everyone else is paired up around me, all happy in their love. Fuck that noise.
I'll take what I can get. I should be damned GRATEFUL.
I can hear you. I hear you ALL, shouting at me through cyberspace. Telling me that I'm a beautiful flower, that I'm awesome, that he sucks. Telling me that you love me, telling me that I'm wonderful. Telling me he doesn't deserve me.
You're right. He doesn't deserve me.
But I want him.
I should have him. If I'm so much better than him, I should be able to have him, right? He was supposed to be my reward. My reward for Prince Fucking Charming and for having to deal with lecherous men, for having to listen to men make careless and hurtful remarks, for all the nights spent alone, for all my doubts. I want him to want me. Why can't I have this thing, this one thing?
I know he's ultimately wrong for me. I know I don't want him to be my boyfriend.
I want it to be the way it used to be. Intense, giddy, saucy. Fun. I'm trying to let go, relax, to retrace my steps.
Whatever.
Here I am. Things are fine. I fall too hard, I'm setting myself up for disaster, I give too much, and I'm being stupid.
Deep breath.
Tomorrow I begin again.
Labels: Girlie behavior, Good luck with your hell demons, Guys Are Dumb, Romance
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
STEP OFF. He's either mine or Krista's. Just because you have blond hair and a teeny-tiny waist doesn't mean anything. Because here's what you also have: a beat face, a fake tan, and zero personality. Unless that personality is "whore."
Krista and I may not have blond hair and I certainly don't have a tiny waist, but you know what we do have? Intelligence, talent, wit, and legs that go all the way down to the floor, my dear. I also have (and correct me if I'm wrong) a rack that doesn't quit. Krista's got a wagon she's draggin' that makes straight girls holler. We also both possess a certain amount of self respect.
Which is why -- really -- you need to sit your sorry, wasted ass down. And also, it's why I felt the need to be a bitch and cut in on you and said gentleman. Because the two of you together was making my upchuck reflex hit overdrive. And of course, I was trying to be all up ons. Go find a vapid man to fit your vapid personality.
Bitchily,
8K
P.S. - I firmly believe that the 5 minute conversation he and I had was more stimulating to him than anything you said all night.
Upon reflection this morning, I realized that this letter was less than charitable. Thinking about it and remembering the conversation Krista and I had in the bathroom I came to the realization that the girl (annoying and cock blocking though she was) probably suffers from the same sort of insecurities that I do. So I feel kind of bad having posted this just because I was frustrated and I didn't get my way.
Labels: Girlie behavior, Guys Are Dumb, I got drunk and wrote on the interwebs, Open Letters
Friday, August 17, 2007
In an effort to not stress the fuck out so much — which, seriously, I'd love some heroin right about now. Anyone? — I've retreated into that wonderful abyss known as the internet. I spent an obscene amount of time on trashy celebrity gossip sites the past two days, because life may be slightly sucky right now, but at least I'm not running around town with greasy hair, no pants, and ill-fitting pirate boots while my loser skeeze of an ex-husband is making a better impression on the powers that be for child custody. You know. Unlike other people. Always look at the bright side of life.
Anyway. This morning I was surfing around Jezebel when lo, I came to their feature Crap Email From A Dude. The Redhead introduced me to this feature, and God do I love it. Mainly because it serves as a reminder that I am truly better off single since there are so many damn knobs out there.
Post-reading the Crap Emails From A Dude I thought it would be hysterical to see some of the responses from the females they are sent to, really cutting, sharp, witty responses that put these tools in their place.
And then I remembered. I may not have had a crap email from a dude, but I did have a crap phone call from a dude about a year and a half ago. And while I was polite and incredulous on the phone, I fired back via the internet in the passive-aggressive form of my blog. My blog then promptly broke. So no one saw it. Luckily, I managed to salvage it because I was cross posting to Xanga at the time.
The letter is from the Prince Fucking Charming debacle, a mere 24 hours prior to me discovering that he was using me to cheat on his girlfriend. The story of how I discovered this (for the three or four of you who still don't know the sordid tale) is for another time.
----
Dear Guy Who I Have a Date With on Friday,
You and I spoke for about 45 minutes last night. Allow me to give you a critique of our conversation:
1) When discussing our age differences (me being six years your junior), it is not proper to talk down to me, as if I am in junior high. I get it: I'm younger than you. But I also have a college education and have been living independently for 2 years*. I'm a grown up too.
2) While on the subject of our age differences, I asked if you were OK with dating someone who was younger. You replied with, "Being 24 means that you just haven't hit your prime yet." GWIHDWF, allow me to say to you now what I did not say when you said this to me: ew. You make me sound like un-ripened fruit or something. Not the way to my heart. Also: Asshole.
3) Still on the subject of me not being in my sexual "prime," you said about how you can "instruct me." Oh, okay, suuuuure. Allow me to give you some instruction: When you kiss someone, it is not an invitation to SUCK THEIR FACE, which is what you did to me last week when we hooked up. Ok, like the slow sexy lip suck can be very sensual, but dude, for real: Not every single time, and not with the power of a hoover. Gentle exploring with the tongue, please. And fuck off.
4) At some point in the conversation, completely un-ironically and not particularly joking like, you mentioned that you'd "put [me] in [my] place and show [me] who was boss." A note to you and to all other guys trying to woo a girl: DON'T EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT. Man, you know, I already felt how big your wang is through your pants on the dance floor. You don't need to continue to "prove" your "manhood" to me. Also, I am the biggest, most stubborn, brattiest, bitch. I fucking dare you to try to "put me in my place."
5) Yes, I hooked up with you on a dance floor in a bar while tipsy. Not my classiest moment. But, nor was it yours. Please, let's move beyond thunderdome and stop with the lame innuendos. All of your innuendos were predictable and kind of creepy. Innuendos should be sly, unexpected, and should make me smile and maybe blush slightly. Not roll my eyes, sigh, and cringe, which is what I did 80% of the time when you made them.
6) It is creepy, not to mention bad manners, to invite yourself over to my house. We were talking while you were driving home from work and you asked about where I lived, borderline asking for directions. When I continued to be purposely vague about it since you were so fucking transparent and I could tell what you were trying to do, you told me, "Well I guess I can't come over and surprise you right now." Damn straight. You know why? Because I didn't invite you over! Because I barely know you. And a alcohol infused fumble at a singles mixer does not a trusting relationship make.
7) Yeah, I'm bitchy, picky, and I have fucking high standards. I know what I want. Last Thursday I wanted a hook up. I got one. Today, I want to go back in time to Sunday and un-call you.
8) The more we talk, the less I am attracted to you.
9) I am only having dinner with you on Friday in the hopes that you'll redeem yourself.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Passive-aggressively,
EightK
---
*Hysterical Footnote: I discovered after the fact that he was 30 and still living with his parents. Lord, what a douche.
Anyway. This morning I was surfing around Jezebel when lo, I came to their feature Crap Email From A Dude. The Redhead introduced me to this feature, and God do I love it. Mainly because it serves as a reminder that I am truly better off single since there are so many damn knobs out there.
Post-reading the Crap Emails From A Dude I thought it would be hysterical to see some of the responses from the females they are sent to, really cutting, sharp, witty responses that put these tools in their place.
And then I remembered. I may not have had a crap email from a dude, but I did have a crap phone call from a dude about a year and a half ago. And while I was polite and incredulous on the phone, I fired back via the internet in the passive-aggressive form of my blog. My blog then promptly broke. So no one saw it. Luckily, I managed to salvage it because I was cross posting to Xanga at the time.
The letter is from the Prince Fucking Charming debacle, a mere 24 hours prior to me discovering that he was using me to cheat on his girlfriend. The story of how I discovered this (for the three or four of you who still don't know the sordid tale) is for another time.
----
Dear Guy Who I Have a Date With on Friday,
You and I spoke for about 45 minutes last night. Allow me to give you a critique of our conversation:
1) When discussing our age differences (me being six years your junior), it is not proper to talk down to me, as if I am in junior high. I get it: I'm younger than you. But I also have a college education and have been living independently for 2 years*. I'm a grown up too.
2) While on the subject of our age differences, I asked if you were OK with dating someone who was younger. You replied with, "Being 24 means that you just haven't hit your prime yet." GWIHDWF, allow me to say to you now what I did not say when you said this to me: ew. You make me sound like un-ripened fruit or something. Not the way to my heart. Also: Asshole.
3) Still on the subject of me not being in my sexual "prime," you said about how you can "instruct me." Oh, okay, suuuuure. Allow me to give you some instruction: When you kiss someone, it is not an invitation to SUCK THEIR FACE, which is what you did to me last week when we hooked up. Ok, like the slow sexy lip suck can be very sensual, but dude, for real: Not every single time, and not with the power of a hoover. Gentle exploring with the tongue, please. And fuck off.
4) At some point in the conversation, completely un-ironically and not particularly joking like, you mentioned that you'd "put [me] in [my] place and show [me] who was boss." A note to you and to all other guys trying to woo a girl: DON'T EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT. Man, you know, I already felt how big your wang is through your pants on the dance floor. You don't need to continue to "prove" your "manhood" to me. Also, I am the biggest, most stubborn, brattiest, bitch. I fucking dare you to try to "put me in my place."
5) Yes, I hooked up with you on a dance floor in a bar while tipsy. Not my classiest moment. But, nor was it yours. Please, let's move beyond thunderdome and stop with the lame innuendos. All of your innuendos were predictable and kind of creepy. Innuendos should be sly, unexpected, and should make me smile and maybe blush slightly. Not roll my eyes, sigh, and cringe, which is what I did 80% of the time when you made them.
6) It is creepy, not to mention bad manners, to invite yourself over to my house. We were talking while you were driving home from work and you asked about where I lived, borderline asking for directions. When I continued to be purposely vague about it since you were so fucking transparent and I could tell what you were trying to do, you told me, "Well I guess I can't come over and surprise you right now." Damn straight. You know why? Because I didn't invite you over! Because I barely know you. And a alcohol infused fumble at a singles mixer does not a trusting relationship make.
7) Yeah, I'm bitchy, picky, and I have fucking high standards. I know what I want. Last Thursday I wanted a hook up. I got one. Today, I want to go back in time to Sunday and un-call you.
8) The more we talk, the less I am attracted to you.
9) I am only having dinner with you on Friday in the hopes that you'll redeem yourself.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Passive-aggressively,
EightK
---
*Hysterical Footnote: I discovered after the fact that he was 30 and still living with his parents. Lord, what a douche.
Labels: Guys Are Dumb, Open Letters, Randoms, Romance
Thursday, February 01, 2007
As much as I am looking forward to VALENTINE'S DAY DEATH SHELTER '07 with Renee, featuring a box of wine, Clark Gable, ice cream, and perhaps too many pervy glances at this picture (shut up), I can't help but be hopeful of this:
Taurus
Even if you can't travel, Valentine's Day should be divinely romantic. With the moon in lovely-for-you Capricorn, and your ruling planet Venus ready to plant a big fat kiss on Mars, you'll be dripping with magnetism and charm. If you don't get a Valentine's Day card by email or snail mail, it won't be because someone didn't want to send one. Rather, it will probably be because one certain person was too shy to send a card. Next month you may find out the identity of that person, so keep your eyes open. For now, just know you are loved and admired - a lovely state to be in!
Sue Miller, I've doubted you before. For that I would like to apologize. I am now closing my eyes and wishing that you are right. Because as Miss J and Miss T can testify, after many giggly school-girl whispered conversations in their cubes, It Is Time.
Taurus
Even if you can't travel, Valentine's Day should be divinely romantic. With the moon in lovely-for-you Capricorn, and your ruling planet Venus ready to plant a big fat kiss on Mars, you'll be dripping with magnetism and charm. If you don't get a Valentine's Day card by email or snail mail, it won't be because someone didn't want to send one. Rather, it will probably be because one certain person was too shy to send a card. Next month you may find out the identity of that person, so keep your eyes open. For now, just know you are loved and admired - a lovely state to be in!
Sue Miller, I've doubted you before. For that I would like to apologize. I am now closing my eyes and wishing that you are right. Because as Miss J and Miss T can testify, after many giggly school-girl whispered conversations in their cubes, It Is Time.
Labels: Fates, Guys Are Dumb, Romance
