Post-Birthday Post

Recommendations for my future birthdays:

1. Don't devour two huge poppyseed muffins while laying on the couch. Also, don't lie and say it was two muffins, when you really know that it was three.

2. Wear comfortable shoes.

3. Forget the carbs and calories and stick to beer. It's your birthday and calories don't count on your birthday. Honestly, does it matter if you have 10 beers when you ate those huge muffins?!?

4. Remember where the bar you intend to go to is located.

5. Don't buy Tastykakes at 3:30 am.

6. Avoid getting into a taxi with a strange man named Ed. Boys who go out on a Saturday night in button down shirts are either Republicans or asshats. Sometimes both.

7. Stay away from flowerbeds with short fences around them. When drunk, they seem like great things to fall into.

8. Leave your phone at home. You'll only call/text people you shouldn't.

9. Do not, under any circumstances, decide to write a post on your silly blog when you can barely stand up.

All around, my birthday was fairly good. I ate to much, drank too much, and fell into a flowerbed. I did not find Boy Blue, or any boy that I wanted to take home, but I feel alright about that. I lost my best friend somewhere during the night, and I feel alright about that too. I had a good time and I did what I felt like, and after all, that's what birthdays are about. Here's to 24.

My [So Called] Best Friend

My best friend is nothing like me. If opposites attract, then we're the proof. She believes in one true love for everyone and in sexual abstinence unless you find someone who could be that one true love. And I don't begrudge her that. She is, miraculously, the only person that I can accept even though she feels completely different than I do about relationships, sex and love. For me, she is that one person that I can confide everything in. She knows about [nearly] every lover I've ever had; every disturbing though that crosses my mind; every insecurity I keep buried inside.

In the past, she's taken my escapades with a grain of salt, given me good advice,
and moved on. Lately, though, it seems like she's judging the parts of my sexual life that differ from hers. She wants me to give up my entire life here and move to Milwaukee to be with the Sweet Boy because that's what someone did for her. She wants me to love and fuck one man because that's what she does. She wants my life to imitate hers because she isn't secure in the choices that she's made and she wants me to reaffirm to them with the flattery of imitation. But, of course, I won't do it. At least not to attempt to satisfy the void of her unending insecurity. I won't run my life based on someone else's standards, and as my best friend, she should know that.

Since she's my bestest friend ever, she knows me better than just about anyone. She knows every bizarre neuroses that I have and every strange sexual encounter I've come across. Unfortunately, like The S, she uses what she knows about me to hurt me. She calls me a whore in front of our friends and coworkers, she makes comments that indicate that I like the disturbing level of sexual attention I receive on the street, she jokes that I antagonize the men in my life to fuck me over. Sometimes, she's right on target. And other times, like tonight, she's way off base. On my birthday, with no available, single, straight men in sight, there was no call for it. And I had no patience for it. I am not a slut. I do not enjoy being harassed on the street. I do not fuck or fight every man I encounter. I'm so pissed that someone who has a boyfriend and wore see-through shirt and spent the whole night flirting with someone else's boyfriend would judge me for my sexuality. Maybe I've always had no patience for it, but tonight was the first time I was able to say it. Fuck her. And fuck everyone else who can't put aside their own shit to be kind to someone else.

Meditations on Turning 24

This Saturday, I celebrate the passing of another year. Another year spent in the pursuit of a body I am comfortable with and appreciate. Another year seeking unique accessories that compliment my boring and basic wardrobe. Another year collecting ridiculous junk I don't need. Another year spent in search of at least one decent lover.

I don't think it's too sizable a birthday order to ask for one decent, regular fuck. At the moment, my lovers are either too sporadic in seeing me or too drunk to properly fuck me. Or both. That being said, I'm trying this new thing where I don't solely point out the negative in every aspect of my life. I appreciate each of the boys in my life for what they have to offer, but accept that unfortunately, they don't offer me enough.

People always tell me that you have to know what you want and be willing to ask for it if you have any chance of getting it. So what do I want for my birthday? I want Boy Blue to magically resurface as he's done so many times in the past. I want him most of all because of how simple our relationship was. He never got mad when I couldn't see him. He never gave or withheld affection as a means of punishing or rewarding me. He never made me feel bad about myself, or compared me to other women. He simply came here, gave it his all, and left. Each time was the same as the last: filled with the intimacy of a long term sexual relationship and the anonymity of our own choice. Is it strange to miss someone I hardly knew? Is it odd that in 24 years, the lover who gave me the most was the one who I shared the least with?

I don't know how to find Boy Blue, but I'd rather have him than a party, calorie free cupcakes with butter cream frosting, a weekend at the Friend of Friend's beach house. I'd rather have one great, guilt free, stress free mind-blowing fuck with my one and only zipless fuck.

Happy Fuckin' Mother's Day

I never posted this little factoid, but I guess now is as good a time as any. Last summer, courtesy of Boy Blue, I got pregnant and subsequently had a miscarriage. I don't talk about it, because it upsets me and I don't like to be upset. At any rate, The Roommate had to pick a fight with me no less than 24 hours after I successfully avoided crying on the holiday of mothers despite a birage of "Why don't have a baby?" questions. His topic of choice? Motherhood, abortion, and all things rightfully female. I stormed out of the bar, and hit him whilst he drove me home to emphasize how much I do not ever fucking want to discuss this with him, or anyone else, again.

Tips on Hosting a Pity Party

To have a really spectacular pity party, you only need a few key ingredients. Mix genuine self-loathing with crippling insecurities, add cake and booze. Simmer for 45 minutes. Ta-da!

I've been feeling pretty shitty about myself lately, I'm not completely sure why. I have a good idea, but no one thing explains how massively self-deprecating I've been in recent weeks. Literally everything about my existence is driving me nuts. My legs are too fat, my pores are too big, my breasts are too small, my arms are too jiggly, my stomach isn't flat, my voice is annoying, my hair is uncooperative, I never seem to shut up, etc. Though I normally have what, for women, would be considered normal to high self-esteem, lately I can't stop over-scrutinizing myself. Even the fact that I am being so stereotypically girly and whiny is making me want to punch myself in the head.

During times like these, I wonder if other people notice flaws as much as I do. Of course I can see every tiny detail of my person, analyze it twenty-four hours a day, and dwell on how screwed up it is while others only have a few brief moments to judge me before moving on down the road. Maybe other people are too busy engaging in self-hatred to bother noticing me. That seems logical, but part of me doubts that it's true of everyone. Take me for example. I freely judge people all the time and for almost any reason. Clothes are too tight or trashy, shoes don't match belt, hair is poorly dyed, boyfriend is ugly, nose is crooked, wearing a scrunchie, etc. I also secretly feel happy when people I hate get fat. I know that most of my hyper-vigilance and judgment of strangers is an effort to cope with my own insecurity. I also know that, in my mind, I'm comparing other women to myself and ranking us all accordingly. Perhaps there is a correlation between my recent spike in insecurity and what I perceive to be a drop in rank.

Fuck it. I'm going to get drunk. Nothing raises the spirits like a depressant.

Take My Good Fortune

When I broke my tooth on that fortune cookie three weeks ago, the fortune should have said, "Kill yourself now." because this has been the most horrific month. First, let's address my broken tooth. It took three weeks to get an appointment for a root canal. You'd think missing half a tooth and being in agony would be considered a relative emergency, but apparently not. The root canal itself was mostly painless, though the sound of a drill annihilating your tooth is not the most comforting. As a by-product of the root canal and my aforementioned extravagant spending, I am now utterly and completely broke.

Despite the root canal yesterday, I still went to work today. See the second shitty thing about my current situation. I work with kids (frightening, I know) and one of them definitely choked me in a fit of rage over his Nintendo today. Fan-fucking-tastic. For any normal person, this would be traumatic. For me, it conjures up an incredibly frightening reminder of when The S put his hand around my throat while fucking me.

Speaking of The S and his never ending ability to crush my spirit (and wind pipe), he was kind enough to let me know this week that he has a girlfriend. When he told me, I was so shocked the only thing I could think of to say was, "What's 100 minus 65?" I shouldn't have been surprised, despite him telling me for three years that he doesn't want a girlfriend. In November he almost got married, and yet I continued to have hope for him.

Everyone says good riddance. Everyone says that I'm better off if I just cut him out. But I'm so obstinate that I've refused to do it largely because everyone told me to do it. Part of me is addicted to the non-conventional nature of our relations. We fuck, we hate each other, we fight and are cruel to one another. Yet there has always seemed to be a passion, understanding and genuine love between us that I never found with anyone else. Our lives constantly took us in different directions, and into bed with dozens of other people, but eventually we always ended up back together. Perhaps I took for granted that it would always be that way. Mostly I took him for granted, and in that, I was very wrong.

As one of the people who knows me best, The S knows that I don't sleep with boys who have girlfriends. Because he knows me best, however, he believes that he is exempt from this rule. Wrong. So of course he pulls out his very favorite line, "We can still be friends." With friends like you and luck like this, I'll stick with my enemies. There I go, being mean again to protect myself. Truthfully, I don't want to see him with a girlfriend because I don't want to be reminded of my enormous failure. I don't want to feel that sick pain in my chest that comes with losing someone you love. If you're leaving me, then be gone; don't come back to haunt me.

What can a hussy do? Nothing, really. I can't change people's hearts or minds, great though my powers of persuasion may be. Maybe I could if I didn't let my fucking ego and stupid insecurities rule my decisions, but I know that I won't be any different than I am. The terrible truth about me is that I am afraid all the time. Afraid of everything, but most of all, terrified of feeling loved. Naturally, because of all this built up fear, I am cruel to those who are foolish enough to love me. Best that he's with someone who can express how much she appreciates and adores him, even if what she can only feel a tenth of what I do for him. If you care about someone, shouldn't you let them go and be happy? As for me, it's time to retire him to The Fuck It Bucket and kick myself for being too prideful and scared to be loved.

After all that, who needs a drink?

Look What I Bought!

Recent Frivolous Purchases My Pathetic Salary Cannot Support

Dolman Contrast Tunic
$68.00

Tight Jeans
$78.00

Braided Flap Handbag
$58.00

Linear Shower Necklace
$38.00

Alisa Patent Wedges
$88.00

Total: $330.00

Completely worth it to let a man know that I'm too good for him and won't be fucking him anymore. Shopping and manipulating men is a significantly better PMS cure than Midol.

Miracle Orgasm Gel
$39.50

Cremesicle Edible Massage Cream (Strawberry and Orange Flavors)
$9.50 x 2 = $19.00

Nipple Nibblers (Strawberry and Watermelon Flavors)
$9.50 x 2 = $19.00

Tasty Tease (Mint Flavor)
$8.50

Beaming Bullet with Buddy Sleeve
$16.50

Pearl Dolphin Vibrator
$48.50

Velvet Pleasure Waterproof Vibrator
$24.00

Turtle Shaped Cock Ring
$16.50

Feather Snapper
$15.00

Passion Feather Tickler
$2.50

Total: $209.00

Unnecessarily extravagant, especially considering I barely make enough to pay my bills, but again, so worth it. I'll be eating rice and black beans for the next two months, but at least I'll always have a smile on my face.

Relative Insanity

“I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.” -- Groucho Marx

Apply this sentiment to dating. I don't want to date anyone who would date someone like me. If you think I'm fascinating and beautiful, I'm flattered, but I also suspect that you're mentally ill. Part of this is always wanting what you can't have and never being satisfied with what you've got. Part of this is also my very real fear that no one normal could ever, would ever like me in a genuine way. Someday, I shall beat this fear and dance on its shallow grave. But for today, if you like me, you must be crazy.