The Anxiety, It'll Kill Ya

So this year did not start out as I had expected.  This year started on a down, and I'm the only one who can change that.  But I don't know how just yet.
I'm still reeling from losing the man I love.  When that happened to me back in November, I was crushed.  I am still crushed.  But now I'm wondering why I haven't picked up the pieces of my broken heart and started to move on with my life.  Usually at this point, a month or so later, I'd be making progress, gaining back my "Whatever, I'll just take on the world, again," attitude.  I'd be patching up my wounds with mascara and lipstick and lacing up my shit-kickers, each act a symbol of getting stronger.  I'd be even more inclined to keep pushing forward to prove to everyone that I am surviving and will come out of whatever it is trying to hold me down stronger, and more determined than ever to live an amazing life.
But I'm no where near that point.
The other day I realized that I'm not racing towards "the end."  If I had to describe it, it feels more like waiting.  That's the point I've gotten to.  Who in their right mind, at 30 years old, decides to sit around and wait to die?  Especially someone like me, a 30 year old woman that has an amazing group of supportive and loving people around her at all times, who has yet to notice the ravages of time on her body (save for the dark circles under my constantly puffy eyes as of late,) and in fact worked very hard to get to where she is now in life?  Who took an entire year to better her mind, her body and her career and had some damn good success?
Yeah this woman is the one doing it.  And it I need to stop.  I worry.  Constantly, about things not in my control.  I stress over the future instead of letting it become the present and dealing with it in stride.
[I understand everyone stresses over their future.  I think a little bit is normal.  But I take it to the extreme - my concerns and anxiety are downright paralyzing.]  
My mother made a valid point the other night - I am so stuck in my own head that I'm missing out on everything going on around me.  I've become an observer of life, and not a participant.  So guess what has been to added to my seemingly never-ending list of worries?  Just that.
How did this happen to me?

I had the opportunity to be in the crowd on this night. It was only the second time, in all the years I've followed these guys, that I've had the chance to witness this beautiful song played live.  And right now, at this point in my life, the lyrics have gained incredibly important meaning.

Me & My Fat Girl Mentality

Something has been bothering me lately that will probably follow me for the rest of my life.  It's the fact that no matter how much weight I lose or how in shape I am, I will always maintain my Fat Girl Mentality.  Back in 2008, I was a Fat Girl.  I weighed in at over 200 pounds and that was a lot for my frame to being carrying around, so the 60 or so pound loss I experienced over the next couple of years, coupled with incorporating a gym routine over the last year has changed my appearance and mind set drastically.

My own personal Fat Girl Mentality really came to light when my boyfriend and I went to Six Flags last week.  As we were getting on the Ferris Wheel, I became slightly panicky thinking, "Oh no, the side I'm sitting on is going to droop more than his because I'm a Fat Girl and he is a Skinny Guy.  This is so embarrassing."  Then it hit me - my boyfriend weighs more than I do.  By at least 20 pounds.  My paranoia was completely unfounded.
I walked around the amusement park all day, sucking in my gut and pulling my shorts down over my thighs because I was maintaining my Fat Girl Mentality, regardless of the fact that I was disgusted by a lot of other people walking around - men with giant bellies protruding over waistbands, people literally squeezing in and out of the seats on the rollercoasters, little girls in skin tight tank tops clinging to their chubby rolls.  (I no longer have rolls when I'm standing up, but I definitely do when I'm sitting down - but we all do, it's pretty much a fact of life no matter what shape or size one is.  Plus I was taught to dress to flatter my shape and hide the unsavory parts - something a lot of people must have forgotten how to do.)
I felt pangs of guilt as I munched on a chicken panini sandwich while my boyfriend, who wasn't feeling well, tried to choke down a soft pretzel.  I felt pangs of guilt as the sweat trickled down my neck and back while waiting in line for the Batman ride, because we all know that fat people sweat just because they're fat.  I felt pangs of guilt as I chugged a bottle of Coke to get some sugar in my system when I started to feel lightheaded because of the heat.
It leads me to wonder if these feelings will ever go away.  Will I ever be able to be 100% confident about who I am and how everyone else perceives me?  Part of me wonders why I even care - most people seem not to.  I walk around wondering if others are dying on the inside the way I do sometimes.
When you've been a Fat Girl or a Fat Guy at some point in your life, it's hard to be happy about the healthy changes you've made, no matter how many people tell you how great you look or ask you what your secret is.  Now I'm starting to understand why people succumb to eating disorders.  The media bombards us with the notion that we will never look good enough, we will never be pretty or attractive or thin enough, and it's easy to forget that Photoshop is king in the advertising world.  (I have plenty to say about that, but another time.)
Sure, I go around saying that I don't deny myself simple pleasures on occasion like a bar of Hershey's chocolate or a fresh, crusty roll from Serpe's Bakery here in Wilmington, because if I did I would go insane.  I go around saying, "Don't take my carbs away!  I can't live without them!"  Even my boyfriend tells me (jokingly, I hope) that if I lose too much weight he would break up with me.  He was attracted to me from day one, as were plenty of other men - when I was twenty or thirty pounds heavier.  And he supports my quest to be healthier, my quest to be able to run up the stairs to his apartment without becoming winded, my quest to be able to chase my nephew around and not want to collapse from exhaustion.
But the Fat Girl Mentality is still ruling me and I wonder if it will ever go away.  I don't want it to be the reason I strive to maintain a healthy lifestyle.  I want to maintain a healthy lifestyle so that I'll be around for a while, so that I won't succumb to weight-related diseases when I'm older, so that I can climb on top of my boyfriend and rock his world without thinking twice.  I want to do it for me and no one else.

The Tale of the Dark-Haired Goldilocks

Okay so while driving home from the bar last night, something dawned on me.
If you know anything about me, you might have picked up on the fact that I have been (technically) single for almost five years.  Damn, has it been that long?  So I am accustomed to just doing my own thing.  If I'm in the mood for some dirty, no-strings-attached fun, it's at my fingertips.  If I'm in the mood for some strange, that's not usually hard to find either.  But lately, I haven't been bothered to partake in any of that, and I know why.
There's someone on my mind.  Someone I'd rather be with than my Drugstore Cowboy - you know, the one with the bedroom eyes, or my heavy metal lover - the one who blasted into my life out of nowhere around Memorial Day last summer.
Part of me is okay with this, part of me is terrified.
When I think about it, it's very similar to the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.  Except I'm a brunette and we're not talking about beds and porridge, we're talking about relationships.
The Drugstore Cowboy is 25 - too soft around the edges, immature, pretentious, seemingly intimidated by women, only ever calls after midnight and I was usually responsible for getting myself off.  Hey honey, the same two positions have gotten quite boring. 
The Heavy Metal Lover is 44 - a little too rough around the edges, with a been-there-done-that kind of attitude, not interested in relationships because he's run the gauntlet already, and while the sex was always fun and hot, he never really took the time to find out what blew my mind.
But one who is on my mind is 34 and he knows when to be soft and when to be rough, his sense of humor is a good mix of sarcastic and genuine, we share common ground on lots of things, and he takes the time to figure out what gets me off.  More like makes it his mission.  We compliment each other, in and out of the bedroom.  He texts me in the morning with a "Have a good day!" and a kiss.  We do things together.  I spend the night at his house so often that I have a toothbrush in the medicine cabinet and pajamas in his drawer.  I've met all of his friends and his entire family.  He gave me a Cuisinart food processor for Christmas.  There's a jar of Splenda next to his coffeemaker for me.  He constantly tells me how beautiful I am, he can't keep his hands off me, and the feeling is mutual.  He's out of town this weekend and asked if he would be seeing me tomorrow night when he gets back.  He's the one whose porridge is just the right temperature and the bed that is perfect for sleeping in.

Most Of Us Really Are Living On the Edge

I'm living in a world where every one gets a trophy just for showing up.
I never got a trophy when I played baseball because I wasn't good at it, and that was okay with me.  I got my trophies singing my heart out all throughout my school career, from dedicating much of my time to practicing, rehearsing and performing.  When I got a varsity letter my freshman year for being on the swim team, I felt it was entirely undeserved, but the swim team is considered all around varsity.  
We spend an absurd amount of money on fancy, gourmet birthday cakes for babies while teaching them it's okay to verbally assault people over the internet.
Seriously, what are they going to think when they find out one day that daddy consistently called mommy a whore or that mommy trashed daddy for not paying child support?
Because, let's face it, we're living in a world where having a baby is not a big deal anymore.  The next generation might as well be called the "Oops Generation."
Which is one of the main reasons I make it a point to take my birth control and practice safe sex.  And when it comes down to it, I don't sleep with people I wouldn't at least consider having a child with.
I'm living in a world where, if asked whether or not I believe in God and all I say is yes, my response is immediately taken as a threat and I'm bashed for even having faith.
On the flip side, I'm living in a world where evangelists and right wing maniacs have distorted faith and religion so much that they now carry a nasty stain.
In my world, I go to work every day.  I pay my car insurance.  I pay my health insurance.  I make about $100 too much to qualify for government assistance.  But I still work, and I still pay my bills, with little or no money left over to put into my savings.
It must be nice to sit on your ass all day and know the government will take care of you.  I bought my iPhone with money from the same checking account I pay my bills out of.  You know, the one my paycheck is deposited into.
I'm living in a world where Nicki Minaj and Justin Bieber are considered "talent."
Enough said.  Where's the noose?
We are living in a world where young people demand respect from their elders without giving it first.
Remember the phrase "You have to earn respect before receiving it?"  Yeah, that's been lost in translation.

I'm tired of seeing the same status updates on Facebook, down to the most unimportant detail of someone's day.
I don't care what side of the bed you woke up on.  Unless it was in the middle of street in downtown Wilmington and you seemed to have lost your pants, I'm not interested.

I don't care what you're making for every meal of every day, either.
We are living in a world where shit like that has become the basis for our entertainment.
I'm stuck in this world where fact-checking has gone down the drain and people immediately believe what they see or read without looking into it first.
In today's world making the commute to work is enough to drive one insane.  We seem to have forgotten common courtesy and the fact that we will all get to our destination one way or the other.  You're not going to be late if you let even just one car merge in front of you.
We are all racing to the red light.
I'm living in a world where if I were to play Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London, it would be mistaken for that Kid Rock song.
I'm shaking my head.
In my world, asking someone to sit up straight is like asking them to shove bamboo shoots  under their fingernails.
Doesn't your back hurt from being slumped over all day?  Oh, and by the way, close your mouth.  You look like you're missing a chromosome.
I'm living in a world where it is expensive to eat healthy and cheap to just not care anymore.
I've been over this before.
I'm living in a world where the word judgmental has become a common adjective to describe someone's character.
Maybe if we stopped and put ourselves in someone else's shoes for a second, we'd think twice.  Maybe if we got to know our neighbors the world would be a nicer place.  Maybe if we weren't so quick to shove our beliefs down someone else's throat they would be willingly to listen to what we have to say.
We are living in a world where children are abducted and found murdered over car parts, or they are abused by someone they trust at a day camp.  You can't send your kids to school, vacation bible school, or sports camp without worrying whether or not they will be returned to you mentally intact or intact at all.
What is provoking this sickness that is rearing its ugly head in our society?  We are destroying our children, one by one, leaving them to grow up jaded and desensitized with no faith in humanity at all.
I am living in a world where evil is overshadowing good.  Drug cartels have taken over Mexico and leaving severed heads in front of elementary schools as a threat to teachers if half of their wages are not paid to cartels.
Excuse me, but what the fuck.  That makes the shit hole schools in run down neighborhoods I sometimes work in look like first class private academies.
The bottom line is that we're living on the edge.  Everyone is on the edge.  I feel it too.  Some days I want to flip out on the person in front of me in line at the store because they're paying for their goods with $20 in change.  But I don't.  Because I don't know what their situation is.  Maybe they scrounged up all they had left to buy a gallon of milk for their kids.
It's easier to be a dick than to be nice.  It's easier to keep walking instead of hold the door open for the person behind you struggling with an armload of stuff.  It's easier to cut the old person off to pull into the parking spot they were waiting for.  It's easier to discriminate rather than open our minds to something we're not familiar with.  We're all guilty of it; it's how we handle it.  Let's face it - we're living on the edge, but Steven Tyler says it better than I can.

That's Funny, I Thought It Would Take More Bleach Than That

It's hard to clean up your act when at times it seems that the world is teeming with potential lovers.  For a while there I made it my goal to turn all of the those potentials into actuals and was always surprised (sometimes amused as well,) by how easy it was.  But I'm a little older now, I'm a little more mature, and I finally have a clearer idea as to what I want out of a relationship.  Getting to this point wasn't easy, but I have no regrets.  Everything I have done in the past I did fully aware of any repercussions that could result from my actions.
So the mess I had made of my love life is starting to sparkle, shiny and new, after taking a few gallons of bleach and a wire bristle scrub brush to it.  The decision to do that didn't come from my want for something real, I made it as a result of discovering, "Hey girl, you need to respect yourself a little more.  You can't live your life waking up in a different bed every morning or kicking a different man out of your's every night."
Do I miss those nights of sleazy, rock & roll debauchery fueled by alcohol and hormones?  Sometimes.  A lot actually.  But the nice thing is knowing I can still have them without putting my mind, heart and body at risk.
Reaching for that bucket of bleach was not easy.  I hesitated several times.  And just because I finally did it doesn't mean that I'm a reformed bad girl in any way.  I'm a bad girl at heart and always will be.  It's just finding someone who enjoys being bad right along with me.  Part of me thinks I found that in my Parkesburg Boy...

The Baby Boom Is Getting Old

I'm writing this as little feet are pitter-pattering around the kitchen.  And hearing the occasional grunt of frustration as my nephew tries to peel magnets off of the refrigerator and stick them to the sliding glass door to the sunroom.

If you have any clue, you know that I absolutely adore my nephew.  When I'm having a bad day, all I have to do is think about his pudgy little smile and when he reaches for my hand to walk me into another room to show me something.

But when my brother or my sister-in-law picks him up, and either my ma or myself are cleaning up the tornado streak he leaves behind, I realize how not ready I am to have children.  I was watching him nap on the couch this morning, (seriously, passed out in his tracks from playing too hard, all sprawled out and everything,) and I started thinking, How do people do it?  I can barely take care of myself, how will I ever be able to raise a child?  My mind started running through all kinds of scenarios...for instance, it snowed a pretty decent amount here last night.  Now, if I had a baby, and I had to shovel myself out, how would I do it?  I can't leave a baby alone in the house, but the driveway has got to be shoveled.  Because, as I've learned in the past, you can't depend on anyone but yourself. 

Sure, ideally I'd have Baby's Daddy to take care of all of that manual labor kind of shit, but let's face it, with my track record, that ain't gonna happen.  Ideally I'd wake up, the driveway would be shoveled, my car would be cleaned off and there'd be rock salt put down so I don't slip, fall, and bust my face on the concrete.

I wish my biological clock would shut the fuck up.

"Just Keep Your Pants On"

So one of my boys put it into some sort of perspective for me the day my dirty laundry was aired to my Mama.


Me:  So after our conversation at the diner yesterday I now realize how much of a trainwreck I am.
Him:  Why baby??
Me:  Cuz you're right...I got my issues and my craziness and if I keep on going this way it's only gonna get worse.
Me:  -That one- got his official welcoming to the band last night.
Him:  Awwwwww
Him:  Listen this -anonymous- shit taught me NOT to second guess myself. You KNOW you. No one else does.
Me:  That's the problem. I USED to know myself. It's hard to believe but I used to have my shit together!
Him:  Well my darling, it's NEVER too late to make ANY changes you want or need.
Me:  Easier said than done. While it's all fun and games in the moment at the end of the day it kind of sucks.
Him:  -sad face-
Me:  Don't you feel that way sometimes?
Him:  Yea....I do.
Him:  A lot actually.
Me:  I wanna be a lil rockstar all the time and drink and fuck and party but it seems I can't do that and have any self respect at the same time.
Me:  Does that make sense?
Him:  Yes, it does, just STOP the whore-y stuff. Hang out with us and JUST be our drinking rock 'n roll friend. :)
Me:  Ha! I thought that was part of my charm! lol jk
Him:  No! We LOVE YOU! For YOU! You're one of US! Forever baby, forever!
Me:  Do you know how sweet that is?  It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside haha.
Him:  I'm NOT kidding, I'm DEAD serious.  You ARE -his band's name here- JUST like us.  Seriously!
Him:  You're NOT a fan, you ARE a part of our organization.
Me:  I'm not kidding either!  I LOVE being a part of the band!  Why else would I trudge my ass all over the tristate area when you guys play?
Him:  :)  You found a HOME baby :)
Me:  I did.  :)

The real test will be just being the drinking rock 'n roll friend.  Stayed tuned...

Talk About A Wake Up Call

Define irony.

Right after this post was published, someone very close to me, someone who I choose to not share my sexual exploits with, discovered way too much for her own good.

My beloved Mama read a few pages of my journal.
Yes, I keep an actual journal.  That I write in with an actual pen.  That has actual pages.  I have since my senior year of high school and it's the only form of therapy I can afford right now.
She confronted me the other morning, one of the mornings I had happened to stumble through the front door around 5 am, after engaging in yet another night of risky behavior.
At first I was angry.  Very, very angry.  My mother has never, ever, been a snoop.  But honestly?  I can't blame her.  It's one of the downsides to still living at home.  She's there when I leave at night and if I end up not coming home, she deserves a phone call.

Let me run down the list of things I'm okay with my mother knowing:

• I drink alot.
• I dated guys 10+ years older than me.
• The man I was with for five years and I were, in fact, having sex (she's not stupid.)
• That occasionally I do sleep with a guy that I'm into

And a list of things I am not okay with her knowing:

• It's usually different guys (too late.)
• I was involved in the BDSM scene for a while.
• I drink alot more than I let on.
• I am, in fact, in someone else's bed, naked, when I don't come home (too late.)

She said to me that she knows I don't tell her everything in order to protect her.  But I cannot imagine the heartbreak she was going through sitting on my bed reading those pages, thinking that her daughter does not respect herself or her body in the least.  To see my mother, who does not cry, break down in tears right in front of me, was a knife in my heart.  The fact that she came over to me, put her arms around me, and said, through her tears, that she cannot fathom what it must be like to not have a father to look up to or lean on, twisted that knife hard.

Maybe I do need to do some soul searching.  Clean up my act, per se.  Maybe I need to realize that I can't fucking do it on my own.  And that my addictive personality will catch up with me one day.

I Wanna See It!

This post is about cock.  Yes.  That incredible, pleasure-and-pain-inducing, body part that has the power to make me scream and the power to destroy my mind.  You've been forewarned.  Cock, and that wonderful place called 'The Land Of Fuck.'

You know what they say about tits?  The same goes for cock.  Once you've seen one...you want to see the rest of them.

I used to beat myself up over my promiscuity.  I had my reasons - it was pretty bad there for a while.  But I haven't jumped into bed with a complete stranger (my Drugstore Cowboy doesn't count, even though after a year we still don't know shit about each other,) in a while.  As fun as the take-down-and-capture can be, I like to stick with my rotation.

The only real problem I have with the cock is the power it sometimes manages to exercise over me.  My sexual mentality is so much more male than female, (for lack of a better description; I hate to dumb it down by contrasting the males and the females.)

"What is my best option tonight?"
"Okay, -this one- is telling me he wants it later, but if that falls through, who can I have lined up?"
"Why isn't -that one- answering his fucking phone?"
"Sure, if I get woken up by -this one- I will crawl the fuck out of bed and be on his doorstep within a half an hour."
"Just because you succeeded in making my brains ooze out through my ears when I orgasmed doesn't mean I want to cuddle, baby."

I want it, I need it, I love it.  And I become a real bitch if I don't get it.

Driving Home From Port Richmond On No Sleep Is NOT A Good Idea

The other night one of my boys and I were talking, and I pointed out his love of crazy bitches. More specifically, the love most guys have for those psychopathic, unstable women that will turn around and slash your tires out of the blue. 

"I may be slightly crazy, but I am not about to throw a brick through your front window."  (I said this specifically because I was referring to a story we both knew well.)
Unless you give me a valid reason to make sure your big, pretty truck somehow how manages to wind up at the bottom of the Christiana River.  Whatever.  That only happened once. 
He looked at me with wide eyes and replied, "You and I are the same!  We are huge sluts and that means we automatically have huge issues!"  He made a big, sweeping gesture with his arms to emphasize the word huge.  At least, I'm pretty sure he did.  I was a couple of drinks in at this point.

It's a concept I will never understand.  Granted, I used to be much worse off than I am now.  But I've realized that wasting crazy energy on men is simply not worth my time.  I'd rather utilize that energy and put it into writing, partying, or any kind of physical labor that leaves my muscles sore and gives me reason to be proud of myself.  Because truthfully, no one out there is worth my mental stability.
So why do the boys always go crawling back to the tire-slashing bitches?  I really want to understand this.

One guy I dated started seeing this psychopathic, fucked up, raging bitch of a...woman, who I believe was an alcoholic and I'm pretty sure she was some form of junkie, right after I severed all ties with him.  (Yeah yeah, we eventually started "seeing" each other again...)  Apparently she had him arrested on more than one occasion for terroristic threatening.  I remember pissing this guy off quite a few times, but terroristic threatening?  Nah.  Did I hate his guts and want to hurt him after he scorned me?  Sure.  But to fucking call the cops and deal with going to court and all of that bullshit?  No thanks.
"Why do you put up with her?"
"She's good in the sack."
"So you'd risk having your cock fall off (because she was, let's face it, skanky,) and going to jail just to keep sleeping with her?"
No response.

Another guy I was involved with had a psycho, alcoholic girlfriend who would get trashed in public and make an ass of herself and he was the poor sap who had to deal with her.  She was the brick-throwing bitch.  One time she wrecked the entire front end of his truck.  Another time, we were stripping down to get busy and I noticed claw marks across his chest. 
"Dude, really?"
He gives me this stupid, sheepish look.
"Yeah she came at me the other day.  I know, I know, but it's kind of...hot."
Oh sure, destruction of personal property and physical harm to one's significant other is hot.  But I must say here that the claw marks I left on his back after a particularly intense round of fucking were so much hotter. 

Am I the only one that sees something wrong with this picture?  I don't want to go off the deep end, (even though I'm pretty much there already,) just to keep some guy around.  Sometimes I feel like throwing up my hands and saying, "You want crazy?  I'll give you fucking crazy."
Even though I will keep you on your toes and there will never be a dull moment when you're with me.  You know, minus involving the police and making your life a living hell.

The Hardest Part Of This Will Be Saying No

The thing that sucks about the fact that my relationship with Buzzard will never be wholly restored is that I can't just call him up at 9:30 in the morning and ask him to bring me a pack of smokes.  Or call him up and tell him that I haven't eaten in two days so that he'll take me to get some food.

He's got ulterior motives, and I knew this hadn't changed the second I looked at my phone the other night and saw that he was texting me.

Because, you see, I made the mistake of texting him on the way home from Baltimore the other night while I was still a shit-faced trainwreck.  (Thank God Chrissy was driving.)

I hate you because I'm hearing songs that make me think about you and I'm drunk as fuck [sic].

Oops.  His first response, that came at 4:00 Sunday morning, was "You want my cock [sic]."  Ugh.  NO.  That's not what I meant.  But when I discovered on Saturday that I had made the awful mistake of drunk texting him, I knew that was how he was going to take it.  I figured it best to just let it be.  But he wasn't having that.  So we spent all day Sunday afternoon going back and forth:

Him:  You texted me the other night do you remember?
Me:  Yea I found it the next day.
Him:  What's up you ok
Me:  I'm fine it was just a moment of weakness and lapse of judgement on my behalf.
(I was 4 Jagerbombs and 4 Bud Lights in at that point, remember.)
Him:  Laps [sic] of judgement lol so professional.
Him:  What are you doing
Me:  Laying in bed.
Him:  I'm lying on the couch playing with my cock
Him:  R u asleep
Me:  No sorry I'm on the other line with Tyler
(I was really talking to my friend, and I named him specifically because I can push Buzzard's buttons just by casually mentioning other males that I interact with, and Buzzard doesn't need to know that my friendship with Tyler is purely platonic.)
Him:  Who's Tyler
(Exactly.)
Me:  One of my friends
Him:  U should cum suck my cock
Me:  Really
Me:  I want to hot tub
Him:  It's not clean right now
Me:  :(
Him:  Sorry my cock could use you
Me:  Where's [your girlfriend]?
Him:  Home
Me:  Why do you want me to suck your cock
Him:  Cause you suck it so good
Me:  Mhm
Him:  I'm watching porn and rock hard
Me:  What else is new
Him:  Lol
Him:  Do u still like eating cum?
(Seriously?  I can't believe you're bringing this kind of shit up, you asshole.  But what do I do?  I play along, like an asshole.)
Me:  You could say that
Him:  Well if you hurry you can eat mine
(Ew.)
Me:  I just rolled out of bed

It goes back and forth like this for a while, as I keep delaying it, hoping he'll just finish jerking off and stop asking me to come over.  Because seriously, I was not going to get out of my pajamas just to go over there and suck his dick.  I managed to throw it in his face, that I thought he might actually want to hang out as friends since we haven't seen each other in almost five months, and I received a real-time picture of his dick in response.

I attempted to clear some shit up though -

Me:  I'd rather just hang out than suck your cock.
Him:  Thats cool too, has to be between us
(??)
Him:  Be a good little slut and drink me and go home
Me:  (after seething for a good ten minutes) Good to know you still think so highly of me
Him:  Of course I do, goes both ways right
(Yeah except if I actually did want to use you for sex, you wouldn't be able to get your dick hard because your emotion towards me is still frighteningly strong.)
Him:  I don't think I can wait much longer
Me:  I'm not sucking dick unless I get something in return and I still smell like strippers
(I did, I was at a strip club the night before getting wasted and throwing dollar bills at questionable dancers.  Good times.)
Him:  Lol.  What do you want
Me:  I dunno
Him:  How about one day this week I do some really nasty shit to you, want to?
Me:  (after more hesitation and deliberation) Sure what the hell.

He's breaking me down and he doesn't even know it.  Or, he does and he doesn't give a shit.  I don't know what the fuck I want, a friendship, a fuck-ship, or nothing at all.  I spent five months realizing I could breathe again because he was no longer a part of my life.  But I am the type of girl who will disregard everything I've told myself and plunge headfirst into a sea of regret.

Don't Piss Off the Wrong One

I'm living two separate lives over here.  Dr.  Jekyll and Mr.  Fucking Hyde.  How long am I going to be able to keep up this facade?  I go from one personality, The Angel, to the other, The Devil, in the blink of an eye.

To break it down, we have -

The Angel

• Typically hangs around during the week
• A school portrait photographer that works with the kiddies and gushes all over them when they are absolutely precious
• An aunt that adores her nephew and plays with him, sings to him, and smothers him with kisses whenever he's in her arms
• Wholesome and nice
• Tee-shirt and jeans or sweats, minimal makeup and jewelry, hair pulled up 90% of the time
• Frugal with her money and balances her checkbook to the penny
• In bed by 10 or 11
• Generally unrecognizable to those who are more acquainted with The Devil

The Devil

• Comes out to play at night, usually on the weekends
• A trashy, brass, and generally slutty rock & roll groupie
• Will sleep with the guitar player, or the bass player, or the drummer, or all three at the same time
• Loud and obnoxious with a drink always in her hand
• Dressed to kill, in stilettos 24/7
• Makeup and hair done to a T, loaded down with jewelry that usually gets lost or left on someone's nightstand
• Did someone say shots?  Can be found stuffing money down the bartender's pants or throwing dollar bills at the ladies
• Stumbles in the front door around 5 am
• Generally unrecognizable to those who are more acquainted with The Angel

This past Saturday night I engaged in absolute debauchery with a few band members after the show.  (Gimme some credit though, I've known these guys and have been partying with them for a while now.)  Then I stopped off at another one's house for some more even later night action.  The other night one of the regulars at the bar did a double take after asking me my name for the 100th time because I was wearing yoga pants, a hoodie, my glasses, very little makeup, and my everyday jewelry.  *shrug* It happens.

Nice To Meet You, Please Call Me Deranged

I've come to realize that I've been conditioned to think that all men are whores.  Nothing but big, fucking sluts.  I don't know why or how this happened, but I cannot help it.  I do not like that I think this way, because I always end up refusing to give any man the benefit of the doubt.
It's not necessarily in a bad way, though.  Because I'm a whore.  A big, fucking slut.  Is that why I expect my lovers to be the same?  When my drugstore cowboy tells me that he hasn't had sex since the last time we hooked up, do I  believe him?  I don't really know.  (Actually I do kind of believe him because he's relatively shy; the only reason we ever made contact in the first place was because as soon as he walked into my bar I went right up to him and worked my charm as best and as hard as I could.  That was about a year ago, and we're still going at it, so I think I did a pretty good job.)  The other day P told me the last time he had sex was with me.  That was almost two months ago.  And he has a girlfriend.
When these boys of mine tell me this stuff I keep my mouth shut.  In my head I'm thinking, Really?  -This one- fucked my brains out last night.  Or -this one- and I fucked for like, four hours the other day.  But all I do is say, "No way," giggling, and proceed to do what I do best, and that is go down.

I assume this is the reason I'm single.  I'm not complaining though.  My last attempt at a relationship failed miserably, bringing me to the conclusion that right now, at this point in my life, every member of the opposite sex, with the exception of my two best guy friends, are only good for what's hanging between their legs.  Or, better yet, how good they can make me feel between mine.

Am I wrong?  Am I deranged for having this line of thinking?  Really, please tell me, does this make me a heartless bitch that uses and abuses men just to get her rocks off?

Shape Up or Ship Out

It never ceases to amaze me that as we get to know someone, they shed those onion layers one by one and all of the sudden it's time for the break-up talk, aka, "It's not me baby, it's you."

I liked this guy. He was a decent one. Really fucking attractive. And good in the sack. But I abruptly learned that just because you need to be schooling the masses on the tricks and techniques of oral sex, doesn't mean we should get married and start popping out babies.

I laid out the Good, the Bad, and most of the Ugly on our first date. He returned the favor enough to satisfy me and lead me to decide to go home with him. (Yeah so? I'm a big girl and I can make my own decisions.) As we started spending more time together, (especially after I decided, Okay, you're my boyfriend now and you can call me your girlfriend,) all the things he seemed to be? Like, aggressive, motivated, willing to take on the world one battle at a time? Nowhere to be found.

I was very disappointed. I had friends tell me that if I really wanted to settle down with someone who A) doesn't have a rap sheet, and B) isn't married, then I should just accept his passive nature. "He's a nice guy and he sexes you good right?"

Not good enough for me.

If I'm going to be someone's girl, he better be head over fucking heels crazy about me and prove it, not be worried he's going to scare me off. I don't care how nice you are, grow some fucking balls and 1) Stand up and defend yourself when you've been wronged by someone, (especially your fucking employer!) and 2) Fight with me! I'm stubborn, I'm obnoxious, and I will swear the sky is purple so you better prepared to tell me I'm wrong, no matter how many punches I may throw.

Bottom line is, he didn't step up to the plate and keep me in check. If you act like you don't care what I do, where I go, who I go out with, then it seems to me you simply don't care about ME.

My personality is dominant and I am the shot-caller in my everyday life. Sometimes I want to hand over the reigns and just be pretty on his arm.

Oh yeah, and after I told him I didn't want to sever ties with him totally, I still wanted to keep in touch because things could change so don't be a drama queen and delete me from your Facebook friends, what did I discover this morning? The bastard de-friended me. Fuck you, fuck you very much. Grow the fuck up.