A friend of mine ponders her experiences at H&M, and I do have to say that A) H&M is noted for small sizing and B)vanity sizes are more myth than reality. They occur on wedding dresses and some low end lines . . . overall, not so much. BUT . . .
Around the time C was eschewing her salad for a two bill shopping marathon, I went to NOVA and hung with a college girl friend all day. She's been on the "let's loose my depression weight" train--as I've always known her to be a four--and she had some size tens left over to give my shrinking ass. I should tell you, I am now six pounds heavier than I was in 2008. Booyea bitches. My size four freak needed some new pants, so I traipsed along. We ended up at H&M, and this is where I should not have to remind you that I am always inappropriate.
You might also want to know . . . in college a roommate, whom I was friends with for ions and we somewhat talk again now (read: she's on my FB page, and I'm on hers), always played the holier than thou routine. I walked to Kroger with her, on more than one occasion, for the pee test. She also did a lot, A LOT, of the "you aren't paying attention to me" shit. Case in point, on more than one occasion, she stood on our coffee table if the conversation in the room wasn't giving her enough attention. I particularly liked the one when she flashed me her new panties. I was sitting on the floor. See where this is going? Though, in retrospect . . .
So, little miss attention seeker is now burlesque dancing. Yup. Here's the thing. In the south we call a farm a plantation, as it rolls off the tongue a little sweeter. Hence, calling yourself a burlesque dancer just makes your stripping sound better.
My girl in NOVA, me, and several others have issues with it. But, we roll . . . Well, as Miss NOVA entered the dressing room and remarked on the state of her checkbook and body, I remarked that as long as she didn't start swinging from a pole--for which I then did a pole swinging move--I would be good. Two H&M employees nearly peed themselves laughing, and my NOVA gal doubled over. A few minutes later, as she debated her jeans, I told her that not only did they make her look hot, but "if I were to date women I would so do you in those pants." More laughter. A gasp. Someone's single digit age child heard me.
Like I said, always inappropriate.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Lie
Sometimes I get somber and write things resembling song lyrics. Not about the one I call Jackass.
Lie
I don't want to love you tonight,
I don't want to remember they way we were.
I only want to lie with you,
Like we used to before . . .
I won't call, I won't ask
About her or your life.
I don't want to know how pretty she is.
I won't even say her name.
I only want the memory of you
Wrapped up with me, one last time,
Like it was before you lied with her.
I don't want to love you tonight,
I don't want to remember they way we were.
I only want to lie with you,
Like we used to before . . .
In the morning I'll roll one way,
And you'll go the other shaking me off
Like the dusty has been memories we are.
When you call and tell her you love her,
I'll pretend we didn't lie
For one final night, like we did before.
I don't want to love you tonight,
I don't want to remember they way we were.
I only want to lie with you,
Like we used to before . . .
GB--10 Sept 2010.
Lie
I don't want to love you tonight,
I don't want to remember they way we were.
I only want to lie with you,
Like we used to before . . .
I won't call, I won't ask
About her or your life.
I don't want to know how pretty she is.
I won't even say her name.
I only want the memory of you
Wrapped up with me, one last time,
Like it was before you lied with her.
I don't want to love you tonight,
I don't want to remember they way we were.
I only want to lie with you,
Like we used to before . . .
In the morning I'll roll one way,
And you'll go the other shaking me off
Like the dusty has been memories we are.
When you call and tell her you love her,
I'll pretend we didn't lie
For one final night, like we did before.
I don't want to love you tonight,
I don't want to remember they way we were.
I only want to lie with you,
Like we used to before . . .
GB--10 Sept 2010.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Domesticity
For no particular reason, my mind has been pondering the effects of my station in life. More so, that I come from a family of conservative Republicans. I am not. Politics are as they are currently, and there is nothing ground shattering to have really rocked my boat so to speak. Yet . . .
I was the youngest, and throughout high school I was active in the church. Hell, I was even a Junior Deacon. At some point along the way, well actually at several points along the way, my path changed and I evolved (and at times jumped) into who and what I am. I might sew and crochet, but I am far from domesticated.
I love baseball; to be more precise, the only team I care about is the Yankees. I love yelling at the TV or radio during games, I love going to the stadium (which I don't get to do nearly enough), and I love the thrill of the game. I also like drinking beer with said games, or bourbon. If I ever had a significant other I am sure he would become a baseball widow, and I don't really care who I offend with the games.
I also like my space. I do not want someone up in my business all day, everyday. I'm the type of girl who isn't going to call you to see how your day went. I am not the type of girl to send text messages wanting attention. Don't get me wrong, I like my attention and all that jazz, but I am not the type to be the instigator every day. There might be a week before you hear from me. Hence, I like my freakin' space.
I like to drink bourbon. I prefer it on the rocks, but if I'm up to no good I drink it with coke. True fact.
I can be a beast in the kitchen, but that doesn't mean I want to do it every single day. Fuck that noise. I do my laundry when I run out of panties, which really means I'm down to wearing the thongs that act as dental floss on my ass. I frequently leave my dirty clothes in a pile on the floor. I drink my beer from a bottle. I've been known to smoke. If there is a coffee table nearby, my feet will be on it. And, if you haven't figured it out, I cuss. Heh.
That being said, my parents would be less shocked and appalled if I were my sister. The person she was twenty years ago better suits elements of my personality now. I am loud, obnoxious, liberal, and single in my mid-thirties. Snort.
On the opposite end of this spectrum is my sister. Ten years ago she marched in gay pride parades, saw the AIDS quilt on one of its last showings, wore the lambda symbol around her neck, had dolphins tattooed on herself, and her truck spoke of gay pride. Now? Um . . . she's a self-proclaimed born again Christian, conservative, anti-homosexuality, and . . . (I shudder) a Republican. All I can say is those have to be some good drugs she is on for various mental issues, but that leads me to other things.
As in, what the hell would happen to me if I were on those drugs? Would I suddenly become domesticated? Would I wear pearls and vacuum, cook on the daily basis, and no longer be a loud-mouthed Yankee fan? Would I eschew my bourbon for pink colored fruity drinks? Would I become a Republican and embrace the Palin love? I shudder. Absolutely shudder.
And now that I've about sent myself in convulsions. . .
I was the youngest, and throughout high school I was active in the church. Hell, I was even a Junior Deacon. At some point along the way, well actually at several points along the way, my path changed and I evolved (and at times jumped) into who and what I am. I might sew and crochet, but I am far from domesticated.
I love baseball; to be more precise, the only team I care about is the Yankees. I love yelling at the TV or radio during games, I love going to the stadium (which I don't get to do nearly enough), and I love the thrill of the game. I also like drinking beer with said games, or bourbon. If I ever had a significant other I am sure he would become a baseball widow, and I don't really care who I offend with the games.
I also like my space. I do not want someone up in my business all day, everyday. I'm the type of girl who isn't going to call you to see how your day went. I am not the type of girl to send text messages wanting attention. Don't get me wrong, I like my attention and all that jazz, but I am not the type to be the instigator every day. There might be a week before you hear from me. Hence, I like my freakin' space.
I like to drink bourbon. I prefer it on the rocks, but if I'm up to no good I drink it with coke. True fact.
I can be a beast in the kitchen, but that doesn't mean I want to do it every single day. Fuck that noise. I do my laundry when I run out of panties, which really means I'm down to wearing the thongs that act as dental floss on my ass. I frequently leave my dirty clothes in a pile on the floor. I drink my beer from a bottle. I've been known to smoke. If there is a coffee table nearby, my feet will be on it. And, if you haven't figured it out, I cuss. Heh.
That being said, my parents would be less shocked and appalled if I were my sister. The person she was twenty years ago better suits elements of my personality now. I am loud, obnoxious, liberal, and single in my mid-thirties. Snort.
On the opposite end of this spectrum is my sister. Ten years ago she marched in gay pride parades, saw the AIDS quilt on one of its last showings, wore the lambda symbol around her neck, had dolphins tattooed on herself, and her truck spoke of gay pride. Now? Um . . . she's a self-proclaimed born again Christian, conservative, anti-homosexuality, and . . . (I shudder) a Republican. All I can say is those have to be some good drugs she is on for various mental issues, but that leads me to other things.
As in, what the hell would happen to me if I were on those drugs? Would I suddenly become domesticated? Would I wear pearls and vacuum, cook on the daily basis, and no longer be a loud-mouthed Yankee fan? Would I eschew my bourbon for pink colored fruity drinks? Would I become a Republican and embrace the Palin love? I shudder. Absolutely shudder.
And now that I've about sent myself in convulsions. . .
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Weird Sex
In what seems like a million years ago I posted this on MySpace. Shush. I was cool for like five seconds. I've added some more to the list.
Random happenings, in no particular order or year frame. I’ve changed their names. And these priceless tid-bits are the reason that (as my friend PD says) I am the reason two soldiers should not have children. The system made me so fucked up.
1. While having sex Stoner said “thank-you.” Really. Then he said it afterward and the next morning. He kept kissing me saying “thank-you.” I had no idea what to say in response. I think I finally said “you’re welcome.” I later learned he wanted to say "I love you."
2. Another while having sex, Gyspy-boy said “fuck yeah, oh fuck, fuck yeah.” I still have no response to that one.
3. Dirty-boy never looked at me. Two rounds of mattress dancing never got me looked at, but he sure as hell made the noises of enjoyment (as did I). Weird. Dirty-boy he is. Actually, he never did look at me while we mattress danced. Perhaps that comes from the now knowledge that he was banging other chicks, and his now wife, while with me. Classy. Super classy.
4. This one is Deflator Mouse number one. Yeah, there’s been two. Deflator Mouse’s grandma came in to get his dirty laundry (ironically, I bet I fall into that category). My hair was still red, and he said all you could see was red curls sticking out from under the covers. He tickled me the whole time, but after she took my clothes I made him go get mine. Deflator Mouse . . . you can figure out the name. Too much whiskey and beers lead to that malfunction. This occurred during college, and after the first deflating occurrence he didn't call for a few weeks. I broke down and talked to a buddy about it. He coined him Deflator Mouse.
5. While watching some court television show my Dad asked a dumb question. The case was about the return of sex toys (I shit you not), and my Dad wanted to know what the hell was so important about a Beaver. I, forgetting where the hell I was, told him. You should have seen his face when he found out. I thought he was gonna die as he said “God-damn” and nearly feel off the couch laughing.
6. Another priceless Dad moment. While driving along I-95 in Virginia one day he decided to give me shit about my lack of a dating life and lack of a marriage. Yeah, I bet you can figure out that that one went over real well. Well, I matter-of-factly told him that he already had a highly dependable son-in-law that is a doctor. He turned and looked at me in disbelief, started to ask why he hadn’t met him, and that was when I said “And he runs on double A batteries.” The Sarge nearly wrecked the car that day, but to this day he hasn’t brought up the marriage subject with me.
7. On another ride with my Dad we were passing through a raunchy area of Richmond, and there was Pricilla’s Lingerie Shop. Okay, Pricilla’s is a porn shop . . . I asked Dad if he wanted to go in and get another son-in-law. He didn’t speak to me for nearly two hours. Priceless.
8. A friend of mine recently told me that she closes her eyes and superimposes me for her girlfriend’s face. Okay, that was/is unnerving.
9. A certain drug-ridden actor, that I used to dig watching, was given a BJ by my brother. I still can’t watch that guy on screen. As to why my brother told me that story . . . If you got a Ouija Board please ask him for me.
10. At a departmental party (for the History Department) a few years back two grad students (I was not one of them) got together and made Boobaroni and Peckeroni Salad. The look on the chair’s face when he realized what he was eating still sends me into fits of laughter.
11. Musical Condoms. Need I say more? No, I’ve never used them, but they certainly sound fucked up. Really, if I ever heard music emanating from me while I was getting my groove on you would see my naked ass running down the road.
12. I’ve never done this one, but . . . I have the flag belly ring, a friend has the flag tattoo, flag blanket, and service. So, perhaps we should get one of those musical condoms (as in “The Stars and Stripes Forever” because they come in that tune too) and have patriotic sex. Then I could use it as a source for something about patriotism.
Okay, that was even a bit much for me.
13. Someone I used to know told me that she joined the Air Force for “the free pussy.” Yup. She’s also had more pussy than I have pairs of panties.
14. An acquaintance asked the nurse if flavored condoms make your pussy taste different: as in snacking after intercourse. Why, why, would you ask that question?
15. A friend’s quick fingered kid found my vibe one day. I told her it was a bed warmer, and she said “So you hold your legs together and put it there to keep you warm?” He he he.
16. A girlfriend tells me that her senior year in college her roommate had sex with her in the room one night. Afterward, she slept with her camera every night, as to ward off the hanky-panky. I hear she woke up a couple of times from tossing and turning and took pictures.
17. A delicious one hummed during sex. Okay, that one isn't so bad. I want to keep that memory for the good file. There are other things with him that piss me off--like us being friends once, or so I thought, and now we aren't because of the naked night together. That was a good night though. I long for the day I have that kind of chemistry again.
18. The salesman . . . Salesman talks ALL through it. Seriously. Why in the name of god would you talk so damned much? Honestly, it kills the mood.
19. Larry the Carpenter from Ireland. Apparently, sex with me was so awesome he wanted to marry me. There is a Genevieve shaped hole in South Boston on his account.
20. Back to Deflator Mouse. One night he said "You can call me Tim, if I can call you Faith." As in the country singers. Probably wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't been in the middle of it . . .
I should stop now. I think this entry is foul enough.
Random happenings, in no particular order or year frame. I’ve changed their names. And these priceless tid-bits are the reason that (as my friend PD says) I am the reason two soldiers should not have children. The system made me so fucked up.
1. While having sex Stoner said “thank-you.” Really. Then he said it afterward and the next morning. He kept kissing me saying “thank-you.” I had no idea what to say in response. I think I finally said “you’re welcome.” I later learned he wanted to say "I love you."
2. Another while having sex, Gyspy-boy said “fuck yeah, oh fuck, fuck yeah.” I still have no response to that one.
3. Dirty-boy never looked at me. Two rounds of mattress dancing never got me looked at, but he sure as hell made the noises of enjoyment (as did I). Weird. Dirty-boy he is. Actually, he never did look at me while we mattress danced. Perhaps that comes from the now knowledge that he was banging other chicks, and his now wife, while with me. Classy. Super classy.
4. This one is Deflator Mouse number one. Yeah, there’s been two. Deflator Mouse’s grandma came in to get his dirty laundry (ironically, I bet I fall into that category). My hair was still red, and he said all you could see was red curls sticking out from under the covers. He tickled me the whole time, but after she took my clothes I made him go get mine. Deflator Mouse . . . you can figure out the name. Too much whiskey and beers lead to that malfunction. This occurred during college, and after the first deflating occurrence he didn't call for a few weeks. I broke down and talked to a buddy about it. He coined him Deflator Mouse.
5. While watching some court television show my Dad asked a dumb question. The case was about the return of sex toys (I shit you not), and my Dad wanted to know what the hell was so important about a Beaver. I, forgetting where the hell I was, told him. You should have seen his face when he found out. I thought he was gonna die as he said “God-damn” and nearly feel off the couch laughing.
6. Another priceless Dad moment. While driving along I-95 in Virginia one day he decided to give me shit about my lack of a dating life and lack of a marriage. Yeah, I bet you can figure out that that one went over real well. Well, I matter-of-factly told him that he already had a highly dependable son-in-law that is a doctor. He turned and looked at me in disbelief, started to ask why he hadn’t met him, and that was when I said “And he runs on double A batteries.” The Sarge nearly wrecked the car that day, but to this day he hasn’t brought up the marriage subject with me.
7. On another ride with my Dad we were passing through a raunchy area of Richmond, and there was Pricilla’s Lingerie Shop. Okay, Pricilla’s is a porn shop . . . I asked Dad if he wanted to go in and get another son-in-law. He didn’t speak to me for nearly two hours. Priceless.
8. A friend of mine recently told me that she closes her eyes and superimposes me for her girlfriend’s face. Okay, that was/is unnerving.
9. A certain drug-ridden actor, that I used to dig watching, was given a BJ by my brother. I still can’t watch that guy on screen. As to why my brother told me that story . . . If you got a Ouija Board please ask him for me.
10. At a departmental party (for the History Department) a few years back two grad students (I was not one of them) got together and made Boobaroni and Peckeroni Salad. The look on the chair’s face when he realized what he was eating still sends me into fits of laughter.
11. Musical Condoms. Need I say more? No, I’ve never used them, but they certainly sound fucked up. Really, if I ever heard music emanating from me while I was getting my groove on you would see my naked ass running down the road.
12. I’ve never done this one, but . . . I have the flag belly ring, a friend has the flag tattoo, flag blanket, and service. So, perhaps we should get one of those musical condoms (as in “The Stars and Stripes Forever” because they come in that tune too) and have patriotic sex. Then I could use it as a source for something about patriotism.
Okay, that was even a bit much for me.
13. Someone I used to know told me that she joined the Air Force for “the free pussy.” Yup. She’s also had more pussy than I have pairs of panties.
14. An acquaintance asked the nurse if flavored condoms make your pussy taste different: as in snacking after intercourse. Why, why, would you ask that question?
15. A friend’s quick fingered kid found my vibe one day. I told her it was a bed warmer, and she said “So you hold your legs together and put it there to keep you warm?” He he he.
16. A girlfriend tells me that her senior year in college her roommate had sex with her in the room one night. Afterward, she slept with her camera every night, as to ward off the hanky-panky. I hear she woke up a couple of times from tossing and turning and took pictures.
17. A delicious one hummed during sex. Okay, that one isn't so bad. I want to keep that memory for the good file. There are other things with him that piss me off--like us being friends once, or so I thought, and now we aren't because of the naked night together. That was a good night though. I long for the day I have that kind of chemistry again.
18. The salesman . . . Salesman talks ALL through it. Seriously. Why in the name of god would you talk so damned much? Honestly, it kills the mood.
19. Larry the Carpenter from Ireland. Apparently, sex with me was so awesome he wanted to marry me. There is a Genevieve shaped hole in South Boston on his account.
20. Back to Deflator Mouse. One night he said "You can call me Tim, if I can call you Faith." As in the country singers. Probably wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't been in the middle of it . . .
I should stop now. I think this entry is foul enough.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Things that cross your mind
First, I axed the Social Spark experiment. Not really into being a product junkie.
Onto the things that cross your mind and the things that you just need to "get out" there to get them out of you.
Why is it that assholes and players can be the best lovers? Seriously, the best one I've ever been with doesn't want me. Hell, I have a track record of Dudes not wanting to be seen in public with me. No joke.
It is funny how we think we have time. That there will always be another shot, and that we can still be that one we let get away. I always thought I would. We evolve, revolve, and know mutual friends. I always thought. Guess I was wrong. Dead. Fucking. Wrong. You don't think a single year is enough time for someone to permanently move on, so to speak. A part of me thought the late night dialogue would come true, and that we would finally--after all of these years--give things a try.
In light of my having Lupus and my family's history how will I find someone? Let's face it, having a sick (or what everyone but me sees as sick) girlfriend isn't the ideal. Then, if she has a sister who is a schizophrenic, and uncle of the same (but lesser on the scale, so to speak), and a brother who killed himself several years back . . . Yup, run now if you may. For the record, I generally just say the sister is bi-polar. She is. I just don't disclose much. I'm private like that. I am also practical because people will turn on you on a dime.
On that note, I have a beach date with a gal pal today. I am officially dating this lovely city because men have not been good to me, in a parody of the Johnny Cash song "Love's Been Good to Me." It has not.
Onto the things that cross your mind and the things that you just need to "get out" there to get them out of you.
Why is it that assholes and players can be the best lovers? Seriously, the best one I've ever been with doesn't want me. Hell, I have a track record of Dudes not wanting to be seen in public with me. No joke.
It is funny how we think we have time. That there will always be another shot, and that we can still be that one we let get away. I always thought I would. We evolve, revolve, and know mutual friends. I always thought. Guess I was wrong. Dead. Fucking. Wrong. You don't think a single year is enough time for someone to permanently move on, so to speak. A part of me thought the late night dialogue would come true, and that we would finally--after all of these years--give things a try.
In light of my having Lupus and my family's history how will I find someone? Let's face it, having a sick (or what everyone but me sees as sick) girlfriend isn't the ideal. Then, if she has a sister who is a schizophrenic, and uncle of the same (but lesser on the scale, so to speak), and a brother who killed himself several years back . . . Yup, run now if you may. For the record, I generally just say the sister is bi-polar. She is. I just don't disclose much. I'm private like that. I am also practical because people will turn on you on a dime.
On that note, I have a beach date with a gal pal today. I am officially dating this lovely city because men have not been good to me, in a parody of the Johnny Cash song "Love's Been Good to Me." It has not.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Um . . .
I'm not sure what I should say . . .
The LA Times did call him one of the most innovative writers of his generation.
I write like
David Foster Wallace
David Foster Wallace
I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!
The LA Times did call him one of the most innovative writers of his generation.
And They Only Get Stupidier.
Yea. . . as the ball rolls we all know I don't converse about my relationships until they have gone down the crapper. Well, since I'm telling you now you should know what to listen for: the rapid flushing of the toilet. Snort. More so, dating confuses me more (in my mid-30s) than it did when I was in middle school and Andy held my hand at a dance. Pfft.
Here's what I don't get. I thought we were just having a fling, of sorts, and that was it. He's a two-time college dropout, salesman, pot smoker galore, and on a side of lazy I don't like.* So when he started to act upset that I wouldn't be here for his birthday, that I didn't call him for a week or so, that I got a place in Astoria, and others oddities I was a little confused. Even more so, that when I asked him to help me with a dresser he said no. Actually, I should back track.
When I went to Kentucky for work I asked him to drive me to the airport, and he said no. Said he didn't want to and yada yada yada. Then he posted on Facebook that he would have taken me. Seriously. The dresser . . . the other night at his house he tried to tell me that no doesn't mean no. Are you kidding me? This dude is officially the craziest of the bunch I have been with. Granted, Jackass still remains the biggest ass and jerk-off of the bunch. This insanity gets even better.
This fling dude sent me messages tonight asking about my interview yesterday, which was good, and then when I mentioned that I'm still worried about money he was all "you had to live in Queens." I responded that I'd lived on Long Island for years and paid more out there. Then . . . he's all "I'm not trying to argue with you." This, after tonight's comment amongst others. The more I think about it I think he wanted me to move in with him. Not. Gonna. Happen. A) he lives on the island, B) I don't want to, C) he's a slob, D) his Momma still pays all of his bills. She does that so he won't be back at her house, and it started when he lost his job last year (before getting a new one).Seriously, not including his car payment, car insurance, rent, cable, and utilities he put 1500 on credit cards last month. She called him more than pissed.
Did I mention that last weekend he texted me and tried to pick a fight with me that I needed to be with him and not at my best friend's wedding? He claimed that he was drunk and joking. I swear.
Anyone seeing where this is going . . . insanity-ville. I just don't get the whole "no doesn't mean no" crap. I need a drink because clearly this dating thing only gets dumber as I get older. On an upside, I got hit on by no less than three men in the neighborhood today.
*Don't get me wrong, I like being lazy from time to time . . . just not ALL the time.
Here's what I don't get. I thought we were just having a fling, of sorts, and that was it. He's a two-time college dropout, salesman, pot smoker galore, and on a side of lazy I don't like.* So when he started to act upset that I wouldn't be here for his birthday, that I didn't call him for a week or so, that I got a place in Astoria, and others oddities I was a little confused. Even more so, that when I asked him to help me with a dresser he said no. Actually, I should back track.
When I went to Kentucky for work I asked him to drive me to the airport, and he said no. Said he didn't want to and yada yada yada. Then he posted on Facebook that he would have taken me. Seriously. The dresser . . . the other night at his house he tried to tell me that no doesn't mean no. Are you kidding me? This dude is officially the craziest of the bunch I have been with. Granted, Jackass still remains the biggest ass and jerk-off of the bunch. This insanity gets even better.
This fling dude sent me messages tonight asking about my interview yesterday, which was good, and then when I mentioned that I'm still worried about money he was all "you had to live in Queens." I responded that I'd lived on Long Island for years and paid more out there. Then . . . he's all "I'm not trying to argue with you." This, after tonight's comment amongst others. The more I think about it I think he wanted me to move in with him. Not. Gonna. Happen. A) he lives on the island, B) I don't want to, C) he's a slob, D) his Momma still pays all of his bills. She does that so he won't be back at her house, and it started when he lost his job last year (before getting a new one).Seriously, not including his car payment, car insurance, rent, cable, and utilities he put 1500 on credit cards last month. She called him more than pissed.
Did I mention that last weekend he texted me and tried to pick a fight with me that I needed to be with him and not at my best friend's wedding? He claimed that he was drunk and joking. I swear.
Anyone seeing where this is going . . . insanity-ville. I just don't get the whole "no doesn't mean no" crap. I need a drink because clearly this dating thing only gets dumber as I get older. On an upside, I got hit on by no less than three men in the neighborhood today.
*Don't get me wrong, I like being lazy from time to time . . . just not ALL the time.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Beauty Shows
Right now I'm watching "Little Miss Perfect," like a deer caught in the headlights. Why? Good Lord, I can't really tell you why I haven't turned off this crap, but I can tell you the winds swirling in my head right now.
I will never understand why people* feel the need to pour pounds of makeup on little girls. Seriously, no self-respecting woman wears that much make-up. I would dare say Tammi Fay Baker never wore that much make-up. Good Lord, land of the living. Some of these little girls have so much make-up on that I can't really see how they can hold up their little heads under all the weight of that goo.
Then there is this business of the flipper, and these aren't the flippers you swim with. These are flippers to put over little girls teeth to make them perfect, straight, and shiny ass white. Um, little girls are supposed to have imperfect teeth as they are still growing into them.
The poor girls have hair extensions, spray tans, and starve themselves the day of a show. Seriously.
On another note, why is is that so much of this insane hoopla with making little girls look like hookers in the land of Texas?
For the record, I once competed in a beauty pageant in Texas, in a lavender dress with ruffles, and curls in my hair. No, I will not show you pictures. Yes, I will pummel you if you ever bring it up.
*Notice I said people and not women. I attempted to not be sexist or stereotypical.
I will never understand why people* feel the need to pour pounds of makeup on little girls. Seriously, no self-respecting woman wears that much make-up. I would dare say Tammi Fay Baker never wore that much make-up. Good Lord, land of the living. Some of these little girls have so much make-up on that I can't really see how they can hold up their little heads under all the weight of that goo.
Then there is this business of the flipper, and these aren't the flippers you swim with. These are flippers to put over little girls teeth to make them perfect, straight, and shiny ass white. Um, little girls are supposed to have imperfect teeth as they are still growing into them.
The poor girls have hair extensions, spray tans, and starve themselves the day of a show. Seriously.
On another note, why is is that so much of this insane hoopla with making little girls look like hookers in the land of Texas?
For the record, I once competed in a beauty pageant in Texas, in a lavender dress with ruffles, and curls in my hair. No, I will not show you pictures. Yes, I will pummel you if you ever bring it up.
*Notice I said people and not women. I attempted to not be sexist or stereotypical.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Anatomy of a desktop.
In the midst of writing about Piper and Vaughan, revising a scholarly article, and catching the game I looked up to realize my desk could probably tell it's own story. I also needed a break.
I make no apologies for the top of my writing area, as the rest of my space is good . . .
Ignore typos . . . there are a couple in the pic.
I make no apologies for the top of my writing area, as the rest of my space is good . . .
Ignore typos . . . there are a couple in the pic.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Laid, or not.
In the middle of packing my clothes for a month of long needed respite from the crappy economy, shitty work environment, and yada yada yada I got excited about wearing my shiny disco shoes, dresses, going to bars, a Yanks game, and maybe having an adult encounter of the civilized kind. That is when I thought it prudent to pull out my condoms. Okay, I didn't have to look far, but my being a nerd and all I did check them for expiration. Dude, I have six weeks before the laytex gods say they are less useful than a bucket of chicken. Tasty, huh? And did anyone get the low brow pun there?
I am shamelessly wrong.
Since I'm on a roll of being inappropriate, here's one a couple of folks have seen . . . not many.
i need to get laid
two months is too long.
having to write
to pay for batteries.
i should take stock.
doc j isn't cutting it anymore.
saddly nasty,
i know.
I need to get laid.
talked to carl yesterday
long email today.
does he want me?
i think i want him.
he's weird
i'm weird
maybe we will combust again—
would be warm.
he’s never cold.
he invited me over,
maybe he'll carry through this time
i need to get laid
he's fun,
misses me,
was glad to see me,
but i think he's got a girlfriend.
they might be fighting.
who knows.
his hair was spiked.
his beard wasn’t groomed.
he smelled of beer
and last night’s room.
it was all i could do
not to eat him up,
and him me.
i need to get laid.
a friend eyed us
and wanted to know why we aren't dating.
she doesn't know him . . .
only me.
i need to stop missing him.
just when i am fine,
he comes in.
next time i'll make him buy
beer and cigs.
i need to get laid.
talked to charlie today—
a friend of carl.
he came first,
but not for long.
carl came next,
but left before dawn.
charlie stayed
until i left town.
he's weird.
i'm not weird enough.
i lost weight.
he gained his back.
looked jealous of me
in my new body.
i am sexy.
his face is hot.
his body is not.
his gut was over his belt.
wonder if he can see his dick.
i don't need to get laid that bad.
we had a civil conversation.
that was weird.
what planet am i on?
i need to get laid,
but do i need it that bad?
i wondered why i missed him.
oh, i remember.
he got me laid.
we joked about laundry and beer.
he said something about the laundry mat.
think it was a lame ask out.
i passed.
like i said,
i don't need to get laid that bad.
two months has been long,
but not long enough.
i need to get laid.
dick number one
dick number two.
i need to get laid.
i think i’ll hold out
for dick number three.
i need to get laid.
I am shamelessly wrong.
Since I'm on a roll of being inappropriate, here's one a couple of folks have seen . . . not many.
i need to get laid
two months is too long.
having to write
to pay for batteries.
i should take stock.
doc j isn't cutting it anymore.
saddly nasty,
i know.
I need to get laid.
talked to carl yesterday
long email today.
does he want me?
i think i want him.
he's weird
i'm weird
maybe we will combust again—
would be warm.
he’s never cold.
he invited me over,
maybe he'll carry through this time
i need to get laid
he's fun,
misses me,
was glad to see me,
but i think he's got a girlfriend.
they might be fighting.
who knows.
his hair was spiked.
his beard wasn’t groomed.
he smelled of beer
and last night’s room.
it was all i could do
not to eat him up,
and him me.
i need to get laid.
a friend eyed us
and wanted to know why we aren't dating.
she doesn't know him . . .
only me.
i need to stop missing him.
just when i am fine,
he comes in.
next time i'll make him buy
beer and cigs.
i need to get laid.
talked to charlie today—
a friend of carl.
he came first,
but not for long.
carl came next,
but left before dawn.
charlie stayed
until i left town.
he's weird.
i'm not weird enough.
i lost weight.
he gained his back.
looked jealous of me
in my new body.
i am sexy.
his face is hot.
his body is not.
his gut was over his belt.
wonder if he can see his dick.
i don't need to get laid that bad.
we had a civil conversation.
that was weird.
what planet am i on?
i need to get laid,
but do i need it that bad?
i wondered why i missed him.
oh, i remember.
he got me laid.
we joked about laundry and beer.
he said something about the laundry mat.
think it was a lame ask out.
i passed.
like i said,
i don't need to get laid that bad.
two months has been long,
but not long enough.
i need to get laid.
dick number one
dick number two.
i need to get laid.
i think i’ll hold out
for dick number three.
i need to get laid.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
70s Disco
Sometimes things have no meaning . . . they are what they are. In that regard, two weeks ago friend and I were chatting and clowning around. L is getting married in about two months, and she was asked if she bought her undies for the big day. She joked back that she wasn't planning on wearing anything.
Well, a few hours later while waiting in the car for her somehow the conversation got back to her not wearing undies. One of her bridesmaids remarked that she needed to talk with her, since she would be helping her get dressed. I, being a delightful jackass and pointer of the absurd, remarked that she did. Why? Because "there are somethings you don't want to know. Like if she goes bikini, Brazillin, or 70s Afro." At the 70s Afro comment, J doubled over laughing. We asked her why, and . . .
"I've got an image of a 70s disco dancer in my head."
At that I started singing "Stayin' Alive" to a chorus of laughter. At some point, reference was made to Miranda's character on a recent episode of "Grey's Anatomy" talking about keeping her "area" clean with "soap and water like God intended." There may or may not have been a chorus about "thank goodness that got admitted on TV." All should be good, sides aching from pain, and . . .
That night Afro 70s man haunted me in my dreams, as my vagina morphed into the head of said 70s dancer, in white polyester, singing "Stayin' Alive." Oh. Dear. God.
Well, a few hours later while waiting in the car for her somehow the conversation got back to her not wearing undies. One of her bridesmaids remarked that she needed to talk with her, since she would be helping her get dressed. I, being a delightful jackass and pointer of the absurd, remarked that she did. Why? Because "there are somethings you don't want to know. Like if she goes bikini, Brazillin, or 70s Afro." At the 70s Afro comment, J doubled over laughing. We asked her why, and . . .
"I've got an image of a 70s disco dancer in my head."
At that I started singing "Stayin' Alive" to a chorus of laughter. At some point, reference was made to Miranda's character on a recent episode of "Grey's Anatomy" talking about keeping her "area" clean with "soap and water like God intended." There may or may not have been a chorus about "thank goodness that got admitted on TV." All should be good, sides aching from pain, and . . .
That night Afro 70s man haunted me in my dreams, as my vagina morphed into the head of said 70s dancer, in white polyester, singing "Stayin' Alive." Oh. Dear. God.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Back from the virtual dead, I presume.
Yea, yea . . . the pen name hasn't been working so much lately. Why? We'll will get to that in the next few weeks.
In the meantime, just note that I've been teaching in several prisons. I have learned several things.
1. I hate teaching in prisons.
2. I do not enjoy being told that some students must pass even though they can barely read.
3. If someone ever tells me I am "advertising" again I might go insane.
4. I hate teaching in the prisons.
5. If I don't get back to the north shortly I will loose my sanity and self-respect.
6. I hate teaching in prisons.
7. I miss wearing perfume, jewelry, and cute fucking shoes to work. No pun intended on the "fucking shoes" part.
8. Community College classes in the prisons are what they are.
9. I would rather die ugly and alone than end up a with a prisoner.
10. I HATE teaching in the prison.
Now . . . I bet that will suffice for a reason I've been MIA since September. That and I'm still processing the whole sister surfacing after five years. People who do not take responsibility for their actions, and those with multiple mental issues they try to pass off on you are not my favorites.
It is two am. One paid article written. One blog done. Now, I'm off to sleep and dream of wine bottles and mojitos. Seriously, why am I out of these things?
In the meantime, just note that I've been teaching in several prisons. I have learned several things.
1. I hate teaching in prisons.
2. I do not enjoy being told that some students must pass even though they can barely read.
3. If someone ever tells me I am "advertising" again I might go insane.
4. I hate teaching in the prisons.
5. If I don't get back to the north shortly I will loose my sanity and self-respect.
6. I hate teaching in prisons.
7. I miss wearing perfume, jewelry, and cute fucking shoes to work. No pun intended on the "fucking shoes" part.
8. Community College classes in the prisons are what they are.
9. I would rather die ugly and alone than end up a with a prisoner.
10. I HATE teaching in the prison.
Now . . . I bet that will suffice for a reason I've been MIA since September. That and I'm still processing the whole sister surfacing after five years. People who do not take responsibility for their actions, and those with multiple mental issues they try to pass off on you are not my favorites.
It is two am. One paid article written. One blog done. Now, I'm off to sleep and dream of wine bottles and mojitos. Seriously, why am I out of these things?
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