Trick or Treat

Ok, so it wasn't even Halloween yet when I wrote this... this is Tuesday morning I'm talking about here, and things have already gotten weird... Imagine what Halloween was like and maybe I'll tell you later.

So, it's not even Halloween yet and already all sorts of strange things are happening...

I know, I know, I haven't kept up with the blogging. Sorry. Life happens. I haven't kept up with a lot of things (like bills...) lately. No great surprise that journaling would fall by the wayside.

Let's start with the most recent, shall we? And by that you can judge the less recent past; tell me, have things gotten better or worse?

This afternoon, at a quarter to two, when I should've been on my way to work toting candy corn for the boss (we'll get to that) I was instead in bed. More importantly, I was not in bed alone. It was my bed at least, but that's where the similarities end. The other (obviously nude) occupant was a decently attractive if skinny man holding a crack pipe while porn played on his laptop in the background. He was in fact perched on my pelvic bone at the time. And all the while, I kept thinking, How on EARTH did I get from Point A to Point B?? What happened? Where did this train de-rail?

Now perhaps you're thinking I've dropped my standards just a bit. Well, you'd be wrong. Honestly, he's intelligent, charming, attractive, in the right age bracket and unattached (who wouldn't want such a catch, right?). He has a graduate degree in Biochemistry, he is well-behaved and well-groomed. I swear to God the crack pipe came out of the blue for me. Ok, he was a little tiny bit sketchy. I'll give you that. But we all know I like the crazy, and I was trying to figure out his accent... very Mark Twain, unlike anything I've ever heard before. But he had a car, an apartment, said the right things, did the right things (the rest of the naked time was FUN)..... how was I to suspect things would end up where they did?

From personal experience, borrowing a drug addict has it's pros and cons. Yes, yes, this is not something I should have experience in, and it shouldn't, from a moralizing standpoint, have pros, but it does. Tom with the Camaro in Nevada loved his meth. He adored the ground I walked on and never forgave me for not introducing him to my family, but he also loved his meth when he didn't think he would see me... Problem is, some of those nights, he did see me. And I went home with him like I always did. And I learned something interesting.... if they're too high, they cannot perform, no matter how much they want to. This stands to reason, given the "whiskey dick" phenomenon. But if they're not That high, not only can they perform, but they cannot finish despite wanting to and they really do have the energy to go all night... and long into the morning. It is endless. Really. You become afraid that something important might wear off in the tireless friction. There are bruises and swelling and limping and stumbling and dehydration issues to be minded that are not normally there. They really want to finish and will see a thing through to the end. It is impressive, if later painful. It's actually kind of fun (for the first 4 hours). Thus, if you can limit them somehow to 4 hour or less sessions, it can be very rewarding. But of course, they are not for keeping, no matter how many puppy dog looks they give you. And they are unpredictable. I say this as a woman who knows exactly what to expect from violent psychopaths, manic depressives and schizophrenics; they are unpredictable. Almost anything can induce great paranoia which you do not have the background of trust to deflect. And they will sink to great depths to get another high. Great depths. If they have to use you, steal from you, hurt you, abandon you to do so, they will without much hesitation. Do not be the obstacle between them and their next high.

So we had a good time. And he's going into Rehab soon (he says... he has started packing, that's a good sign) and by the time he gets out, I'll be long gone. The healthy thing to do. It was odd, but not really bad. Just really odd. I really did need to get laid. And I didn't lower my standards too far.

I'm not one for porn either, but whatever. He wanted it and he got it, he just had to bring it himself. It doesn't offend me so greatly that I could not bear to have him play it. I don't care for it, and in a real relationship, it upsets me substantially more than strippers, really, but when one is on a borrowing basis, it is understandable that a man needs more than your occasional and impermanent company. Besides, it's a feather in my cap at least when the porn is playing and no one pays any attention.... there are more pressing things to attend to. The movie could've stopped and we wouldn'tve noticed.

ok, off to bed with me or I'll be a zombie for halloween. more later.

On absence and it's inclination to make one absent-minded..

So it's been a while since I posted... In fact, I may just break this up into two or more posts, because I can...

What you need to know: I am... crazy (as usual). I was planning to move to Portland, that may have fallen through. It's too early and I'm too upset to tell. The plan was contingent on staying with Lloyd, who is being a MAJOR poo-head... after telling me from day one that he would LOVE it if I would "narrow the bandwidth" to just him, he is now retracting that statement and declaring that "us" would be a bad, bad idea (which I second...). After telling me constantly since he arrived in Oregon how much he misses me, how much he would like for me to come there, and how he wouldn't bother coming back to New Orleans if I'm not going to be here, he is now saying that there is no room for me in his life there.... busy, busy, busy, drama, drama, drama, etc, etc, etc. Silly me for believing him.

I didn't really want an us... I wanted something familiar. Lloyd=familiar. Portland=familiar. That's all I wanted. A little comfort in an unsure world... just temporarily... but Apparently, that's too much to ask... obviously, he is much more comfortable with the un-tarnishable image of me that lives in his head than with the reality of me in his house. Unfortunately, not surprising.

Also not surprising is the fact that neither of us have contacted the other since that conversation. I will forgive him, if he'll give me the opportunity. I should've known better than to believe him.

However, Melissa is planning to come stay with me for November and leave for Seattle the first week in December... Which was my ride to Portland... and a great road trip... How I'm going to pull that off now I have no idea. I don't have the money to get a place in Portland by myself and we all know how I feel about roommates. Sarah is unavailable and anyone else wold be untenantable. Spell-check hates me tonight.

I suppose I could just de-clutter my house and take a road trip to Seattle anyways... if I could get my boss to give me the time off... I'm tired of him anyways. I could fake an emergency, couldn't I?

I don't know. We'll see.

There are other plans on the table, and some interesting facts acquired. For example, did you know that it is distressingly easy to ex-patriate to Canada? (That means emigrate... look it up.) Apparently, there is a points system. Out of 100 points, you need 67 to get Canadian citizenship. You get 16 for speaking English, 16 for graduating high school and 10 for being between the ages of 21-49. You also get ten for having a job offer, which is good because if you don't have a job offer, you have to have $10K in your bank account. I don't have $10K in my bank account. You get 16 for having One year's work experience in a "qualified profession" of which cook is one... Yeah, if I had a job offer, I'd have about 82 points... Ex-pat here I come... Socialized health care, no litter, no Bush... now there's a goal I can go after... Besides, everything's easier for Canadians... travel, obtaining Chinese produce, visas, dental care, respect in the global community... yup. I could go work in Australia easy too... something about Commonwealth states... just need a plane ticket to australia, really. And I could say I expatriated because of stupid old Bush... that would be nice. I know, I know, Canada's cold. But Vancouver's not really that cold. But Vancouver is EXPENSIVE. Being named the best city in the world to live in for like 5 years running has made it ridiculously difficult to get an apartment.... But Victoria's not far away... and it's even warmer there... the water keeps it more temperate. I wouldn't mind living in Victoria for a while. I think you're not allowed to leave Canada for a long time though... but I could rent a boat and sneak over, I'm sure... it's not far. Or I could just make everyone visit me in Canada.... that's an option too.

There's a company in Dallas that's DESPERATE for talented female chefs.... I could go there. Although, having been banned from the city of "Big D, little A" once, I'm hesitant to go back. I don't like Texas much. And the public transit is total crap.

There's always Florida, of course...

And Jen says that if I want to stay a while longer and save some real money (moving to Canada money??), since I have to be out of this place by new years, I could move into the warehouse where she lives. It's not much, but it's cheap. And it would definitely make me want to leave here quicker... and they wouldn't mind the cats at all. But I would need less stuff. It's a one-room kinda deal.

So, I don't know. That's my official conclusion. I intend to put off decision-making until it becomes absolutely necessary.

In other news, Dennis is on vacation in Seattle after having worked an appalling number of double-shifts and having had no time/energy for me lately. I'm reaching new lows of sexual frustration. I have resorted to dating other people but so far none of them are making it to the putting-out portion... depressing really.

Thusly, I bought 5 sweaters at a rummage sale and am destructing them in record time....

I also knit myself a lovely pair of fall-colored armwarmers. pictures to come.

I'm devoting a fair amount of energy to knitting my hats for hookers, and that's going pretty well. Two lovely small hats, one right-sized hat for Melissa and now a slightly large hat for a hooker... I've promised 6 total, which means I need 5 more good-sized ones... The little ones i'll donate to the kids in Colorado. I should do that soon... meaning I should finish weaving in the ends and send them off... it's cold in Colorado by now.

My knitting group has by and large decided that we will form a happy hour knitting circle, which I'm delighted about. We now meet Thursdays from 7-11 at the Courtyard Marriott, which is about three blocks from my work. Ok, four and a half. Awesome. Beer, knitting, and me getting to join in because I usually get off work by 10 on Thursdays. I like this plan. I even stopped by for a while on Saturday and knitted with Lynn (the bartender; which is why we have this meeting now..).

I also created an entire (if smallish) black cat pinata for a pinata exchange... Pictures to come. I liked it very much. It was an adorable little black cat. I stuffed it so full of stuff it overflowed into the box. A lot. But that's ok, it was a flat-rate box. In exchange, I got a lovely skull pinata, which I've hung on my pot rack to await a bad day. It's full of lots of neat stuff (I peeked) and lots of spider rings. Which I've decided to use as stitch markers for a while. I think I will also string some on some black and purple fluffy yarn and make a Halloween scarf. just a little one. Hell, I have the time... I'm not getting any...

It's really appalling how much I'm getting done lately.

I've started to re-organize the house. But I've declared that Melissa is in charge of the actual removing things from the house, which means that I need to find somewhere to put the pile until she gets here.... which is the real problem.

I've reduced the bookshelf by a LOT, as well as the cookbook shelf (which is depressing enough...). I found the back of the closet today, and sent off my 30lb bag of beads to Jen who will use them for art projects. She's excited and so am I... one less 30lb bag to deal with. The rest of the closet's contents... well, let's just say, I would REALLY like to just shove it back in the closet. But I can't... so I have to deal with the pile of John's shit and some piles of mine. Presently, the bedroom is strewn with electrical cords I spent an hour untangling (did I mention the lack of action I'm getting??). The living room is strewn with an unraveled sweater I need to form into hanks, wash and then ball. I think I'm gonna have to borrow Jodi's ball-winder... I've been balling all the ribbon yarns so that they take up less space, and balling my box of string on cards instead of bobbins for the same reason. It's slow work, but it's effective and hell, I don't have anyone (uh, I meant anything...) better to do...

In book news, Do Not Read "Hustlers, Beats and Others". It fucking sucks. The author largely devotes the book to touting his method of research and denouncing current sociological methods... and then you get to his racist treatise... it's not pretty. It's like publishing the worst face of your ego... and calling it science... ick.

In house news, Jeanna is coming on Thursday, staying through Monday and we're all hoping she is having a good sanity day. Four of them. Cross your fingers for me, please. I can't deal with Psycho Jeanna right now.

One Brick is coming back 11/5-9 and there will be lots of people who want to see me. Should be fun. Sherry will be here, and she's bringing a friend. Tracy might be here, which should be interesting if Melissa's here as last time they got drunk and hung all over eachother... Or rather... maybe interesting isn't the word as they're both planning on staying at my house and I don't wanna see that. I think it's retribution for Lucinda walking in on me and Lloyd.

I've finally gotten to spend some time with Jen, which is great. I miss her. She's cool. She says I should get bonus points on my Canadian application for Gibson. She says that maybe if I send in a picture and a note about how cool he is they'll give us extra points to immigrate... they give extra points for well-educated spouses, why not awesome cats??

And I have to ball some yarn and mail it to Sweden today. Yippee. That's gonna cost some money...
And I haven't written my obit to send to wherever I'm supposed to be sending it... need to do that.
And I then there are other swaps to be dealt with... like this mess of red yarn that was a sweater... the knitting supply bag is almost done, but I was kind of hoping that the counter I want to buy her goes on sale so I can buy it cheaper... doesn't look like it's gonna happen though. Damn. And she wants replacement cables for interchangeable circulars and I need to ask her whether she has Boye, Denise or KnitPicks... probably Boye. My hands are tired from knitting armwarmers, untangling knots and balling yarn and string... I think I'm gonna call it...

G'night.

i fucking hate this place, but I love this bunny

So these are your gifts today...


And of course, the bunny . Even you Melissa, can knit this bunny.

In the Dark

Aww.. look.. I wrote a poem for my sweetie...
But it doesn't have a name yet...

Seemed like a good place to put it... I always did like expiration dates.

The Ride of Your Life

So it's been ages since I posted anything... the usual gentle wobbling and low din of my life suddenly went to roller-coasting roaring... and I'm afraid I found myself walking the tracks.

For a while there, I was happily riding along on the roller-coaster, thinking I was safe inside, but all of a sudden I realized I was instead simply lodged on the front car...

Lloyd is still gone. He says he will return when the gainful employment he is still in seek of has yielded enough savings to get a proper apartment. He is using me as an excuse, saying he wants to have me over sometime and can't now. It is a thin excuse as I never asked for such treatment nor will I prolong my stay here in New Orleans until such a thing happens. I'll likely never see him again.

I'm left with Dennis... who bailed on me the Friday before last, claiming poor health and a poorer mood. At the last minute. He then offered to take me out, and upon being reminded that I'd be spending my days off in another state, issued an IOU. He came over Sunday morning. The first time he's ever seen my apartment, and I swear, I cleaned like you wouldn't believe. He was not impressed by the cleanliness so much as the clutter. What can I say? We all know I have clutter issues. They are linked to abandonment issues which is funny because I'm usually the one that does the leaving... can anyone say "pre-emptive strike"?

He was... Dennis. It went well. Then I kicked him out, brought Jodi the house key, and left for Melissa's. Ahh... did we have fun in Wisconsin or what? Everyone thought I was mad to vacation in Wisconsin.... what a boring trip they imagined for me.... complete with weather and scenery... I barely noticed the weather and the only thing I can tell you about the scenery is that corn fields really do seem to loom. And apparently, dairy farmers do not encourage visitors. Especially not ones that think cows are made of tasty bits.

It was a wild adventure and I enjoyed every minute of it. Thank you, Melissa. Next time, you can come visit me and we'll do it up right again. You, of course, are welcome to start bar fights. I won't mind a bit.

So now I'm home and well, things are in ribbons again. No, the cats destroyed nothing in my absence, rather I destroyed them as soon as I came home. Dennis made it perfectly clear that he believes I'm his and his alone. I tried to gently disabuse him of the notion, but I don't think it quite took. I went over Friday, as usual, with cheese and a bottle of wine. Things went as usual. He was not feeling well however, so I was restrained.

Well, the text messages kept up... from when I left to long into his overnight shift... and he offered a "coffee soda" which to me sounded like pure magic in a cup... not so, really... as I discovered when I went to claim my prize. The streets of New Orleans have two things at 4 am: drunks and cab drivers. I did not see a single person walking that did not wobble wildly. I was repeatedly yelled at in an indecipherable manner by drunks in cars and out. I cannot tell you what they were yelling. It made no sense. I arrived, and through virtue of very poor security in his hotel, walked undisturbed into the kitchen. I should not have gone. I know that now and I had an inclination that perhaps that was the case when I left. But I've never been one to turn down a challenge. I got my coffee soda... not as magical as it sounds... and a tour of the kitchen. I then proceeded to stand around and watch him close down the kitchen.

I asked for, and was denied, a kiss. I waited for him to change and we left. Back at his place, the usual routine. But he'd been picking on me all night and at last my patience wore too thin. I said, enough, if this is how I'll be treated, I'll go home. At least my pillows there don't talk back. He didn't realize I was really leaving until he lifted his head to see me putting on shoes. He grabbed my hand, he pulled me to him. But all I wanted was a few kind words and he could not muster them. All he said to me was 'there's half a bed here' and 'with or without you, I'm going to get some sleep'. I told him that wasn't good enough. He gave me the sad look, he pulled on my arm and refused to let go. Are a few kind words so hard to muster up? Is it so much of a defamation of His ego to soothe Mine a bit? I wanted to stay. I stayed. I sat up. I paced, I fumed, I puttered, I smoked and I sat and watched him. I was tired. I curled up on the very corner of the bed and waited for him to react. He never did. He came closer a few times, but he never reached for me. I got up, I paced, I fumed, I smoked, I sat and watched him. I touched him and he made a low happy sound and held my hand. He didn't wake up. I climbed back in the bed. I didn't want to go. Going would've made it irretrievable. I stayed in the far corner. When I woke up and touched him he was so surprised he jumped up and grabbed my hand as though he'd forgotten I was there. Immediately, he realized it was me and he held me. I stayed all afternoon waiting for a reaction... a word, a gesture, an opinion, a reaction. Eventually I gave up and actually did go home. At that point, he'd had plenty of sleep and I could've woken him and had resolution or sex or whatever I wanted, but it was hollow by then.

It still feels hollow. I have a date Wednesday night and it's not with him. I cannot tolerate this monogamy. It is too heavy. Far too heavy. I am not so charming when I must take him seriously. He will take me out, and I will hate it as I always do when he's in public. But he'll likely be charming again. And he'll demonstrate that he knows how to treat me, most of the time.

a Missive on Joy and Simplicity as they apply to Cookies and Sex

Sent to Dennis early last Sunday:

For a couple of reasons, I'll e-mail this instead of texting it...

If you'll recall, the original premise of our... well.. our arrangement... was a massage in exchange for cookies. You agreed to it, I agreed to it, and really, I feel that keeping it that way makes things simpler. I know, I know, I'm making you fat or some nonsense... but I really do take great joy in the baking... and... at least from my perspective, odd as it may be, it keeps the relationship simpler. There's a give and take in it that keeps things grounded.

I know, I know, you and your highly ordered lifestyle... everything in it's place... alles en ordenung... But remember for a moment that if I shared your highly ordered lifestyle, I'd never have met you. I'll make the batches smaller, hell, I'll even make 'em low-fat, I've done worse... you can drop them off at the homeless shelter for all I care... hand them out to strangers like I do... But I Like baking. I do. Sure, sure, I suppose I could just make cookies for Eddy every week... but it wouldn't be the same. I gave him a batch of failed chocolate madeleines (they came out like little brownies) and he told his sister I made "the black ones" just for him...

I am an indulgent creature, pray indulge me... try a cookie just for show and then leave them on a random doorstep on your way to work.... I promise not to make you any more cakes... even though I was just thinking of making the best cake I know for your birthday. You'll break my heart to take my food away... you have no idea how much I enjoy having someone to cook for.

If you insist, I won't bring them. Can't say I'll be happy about it. Can't say that at all... but I won't bring them if you'll just snub them. To think how recently you told me that you wouldn't let me in if I didn't bring cookies...

Breakfast is whenever I damn well get around to it. I'm packing now and then I have some housecleaning to do. I have to catch up with Jodi around noon to give her the key, and then I have to go to the airport. Which means I'm not lugging breakfast to your house and then passing out and missing all the things I have to do this morning. If you care to join me, I suppose you can. You'd have to eat a waffle though...

i just can't fucking...

Ok, internet's been out for 5 days. It's finally back on and I'm having one of those days where I just can't process shit. I can't figure out what the fuck is going on so I can't tell you. Obviously, I can relate events, but I have no perspective today and i need perspective, so here...

My pirate name is:

Iron Anne Vane

A pirate's life isn't easy; it takes a tough person. That's okay with you, though, since you a tough person. You tend to blend into the background occaisionally, but that's okay, because it's much easier to sneak up on people and disembowel them that way. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

That's what you get, and that's all you get and you'll like it. I gotta go review my waffle recipe. Again. Oh, and sleep... it's 4 am and I'm running on 3 hours yesterday. Damn. not enough hours, I swear...

I'm excessively verbose... and the sanity is leaving in little annoying drips like a leaky faucet...

It's appalling really. And I have the urge to flee. It is a strong urge. I want to leave almost everything behind and just run. Run for the hills and hide in the arms of someone much stronger than me. In a cave. A bug and bat free cave. Preferably someone cute.

Yeah, I'm a lunatic. So that short story I was writing.... yeah, no, it's not finished yet. It's becoming a short book. The entire story takes place in a week. One week. And yet it has taken me about two to get through the first two days. I keep trying to pick up the pace... it's not cooperating. Nope. I'm on the second little tiny notebook. Oh yeah, diving right into the second notebook with no looking back... Remember, it's a seven day story.... two days in a little over one tiny notebook.... five more to go. Shit. I refuse to edit or transcribe it or read anything bigger than a sign until it's done. I'm terrified that I will lose the voice. It has a sad, quiet, calm voice and if I lose it, I may never get it back. Then it will permanently be just over one notebook.... and it will make me crazy. So I'm stuck finishing this fucking book... at least it's only a one week story. Maybe I can get it done in a month or so.... But I feel bad not reading the book Lloyd brought me. These notebooks aren't that tiny... I'm not talking Post-it's here... I'm talking 80 2-sided 3 x 5 pages... and I write small. All this is in pencil mind you... I'm tearing through graphite...and erasers. And I'm soooo scared I'll lose it. I only have one copy and it goes everywhere with me. Because I'm constantly working on it... whenever I can catch the voice, I work on it. When I have time, of course. Yeah, so second notebook, just made it to the third morning.... Jesus.... this is gonna take a while to type. But I'm so afraid I'll start editing and rewriting as soon as I start transcribing... so I'm not allowed to transcribe it until it's fucking done. Which I hope happens sometime soon.... although it doesn't look like it. It's 4 am and I'm in the throes of it.

Oh, and my brother is getting married in October. Because they want to have a baby and they want to be married first. Don't get me started. I'm totally freaking out about it. But I'm in the middle of writing now, so I have to get back to it. Jesus. I definitely need to jump out of a plane... maybe that'll clear my head a little....

The Lizard and The Mammal

We may have evolved into mammals... but somewhere we all have a lizard brain. There is the warm, cuddly, even rational mammal brain on top that does things like talk and pet the cat and pay the bills and go to work.... and then there's the lizard underneath that does things like smoke and drink and fuck and swear and grunt and roll around naked on the velvet comforter making happy noises.

And that's how it is with Dennis... lizard brain. I make a lot of noise at his house, but most of it isn't words. When it is there's this smoky hazy about it that makes it all into nonsense just to disguise that the lizard brain is active and has no use for words. I want what I want... that slippery, dark seedy underbelly of us all that seeks sensory comforts with no rationalization and no conscious thought. From the moment he walks up to that door to let me in, the lizard brain has taken over. I can see him coming and it's a gut level reaction. Hell, it's lower than a gut reaction. In five minutes, you can count them, I will have no clothes on and be flying through the air towards the bed. We try to talk, we really do, but it's difficult. Underlying every attempt at normal human communication is this overwhelming chemistry that evokes an instinctive reaction. Skin wants skin. Probably explains why things get a little wild.... And there's no cure... Four rounds later, we still can't talk, we're just exhausted and have evolved enough to sort of purr because we still can't separate the skin and we just need sleep.

But me and Lloyd, however, that's a mammal thing. That's a "my brain is attracted to your brain" and so the body follows... Lloyd's not really particularly attractive. Nope. But we have a good time. And it's a lot saner. Honestly, if I was the type of girl to hedge my bets, Lloyd would be a better bet than Dennis. Largely because I don't react to Lloyd like he's made of heroin.... and thus can deal with him on a much saner level. But then we all know I don't make decisions based on things like that and if Dennis ever pinned me to a wall and said "Mine and no one else's." Lloyd would be out on his ear in a heartbeat. Sorry, Lloyd. Let's stay friends. Seriously. Because Lloyd and I talk. We do. Usually, we wait until after the good part, but we do have deep and interesting conversations and share quite a bit. We both have colorful histories that we are not afraid to share, and colorful opinions we enjoy sharing. But it is definitely a mammal relationship. When I first brought Lloyd home, he actually asked if he could touch me. Granted, he was afraid I would stab him (how many times do I have to explain? except in cases endangering my safety, I always always give a verbal warning first.) but still... he ASKED. When I first went to Dennis', I climbed onto his bed in a short skirt under the premise of a massage and well, we all know how that story ends up... it's always the same. He knew the same threat existed... do something I don't like and I'll hurt you... but he never asked. He understood the implied invitation and he took it; it didn't require a conversation.

The other thing, however, is... I miss Lloyd. I always miss Dennis... lizard brain is jealous of everything he does that doesn't involve me, naked. But now that Lloyd is out of town... I miss him. The minute he got on that plane and I knew I wouldn't get to spend any time with him for a while, I found about a billion things that I wanted to say and a billion bits of time that he would've fit beautifully into. Not that I wasn't still deep in recovery on Saturday night (his Usual night, one of two) but still I would've liked to see him and spend time with him. He comes back tomorrow and I'll be waiting impatiently for him to knock on the door. Suppose that means I'll have to do something about the giant pile of clean laundry occupying his side of the bed. I didn't think I would miss him. It's bothering me. He's not the one that compels me like a drug addiction... he's my warm fuzzy... well, ok, not warm fuzzy... that's not right... but he's a lot closer... he's my SANE...well, ok, neither of us are sane... I don't know the word but it's different!!

In other news, I'm freaking out about this sky-diving thing. This is me, freaking out. Can you tell by the way I sit here expressionless and typing? Can you? Eip. Double Eip. Also, dirt poor, way behind on my bills, gonna go spend $200 jumping out of a plane. Oh, well, not like I'm good with money anyways.

And, I knit a cupholder this weekend! Yeah, how exciting is that. I know, I know, a cupholder?? Well, I finished the scarf, I finished the lap blanket, I wanted a break from the baby sweater, and I haven't figured out what to do with a lot of the mountain of yarn in the other room... so logically... I found a pattern for a Fair Isle disposable coffee cup holder (the coffee cup is disposable, not the holder) knitted on DPNs on Knitty and I decided to try it. I can work DPNs, I'm just not good at it. And as I've now gotten rather good at colorwork from from some other projects, namely the lap blanket, I figured I'd give it a shot. It came out lovely. Pictures will appear whenever I get new batteries for my camera. I'm very proud. It's red on top with a wave pattern going into the white bottom. The wave pattern makes little sense on a coffee cup, but I like the waves so there. I don't know what to do next and today is a long bus ride day so I have to have something to knit.... I dunno... guess I'll work on another scarf. I still have several pieces of the baby sweater that I have to work on, but given the fact that the gauge in the pattern is obviously insane.... (when I started knitting the back according to their gauge, the sweater could've fit ME and it's supposed to be for a one-year old) I'll have to figure out what I'm doing. Guess there's gonna be another scarf on the bus... Oh, well, they're for charity.

you have no lag time today. Lucky you.

Actually, Virginia, Hell is Meted Out in Bruises

If you sin, you get bruises. Not eternal damnation by any means, just bruises. I know, I have lots of bruises. I really don't mind them so much. Could be worse... could be that I didn't get to do all those things that leave me with bruises... that would be really sad.

I'm very tired, but I can't sleep. And my hands hurt so I won't knit. Since knitting day is... well, technically today. And I have so much pretty new yarn it's ridiculous. Pretty pretty yarn all over the fucking house...

Well, I did it. I finally finished the lapghan. I bet that's not what you were expecting me to say. But that's what I did. And a scarf. In three different stitches (I get bored easily). And I translated the scroll scarf pattern that I'm making for my aunt into a chart because I like charts better... especially since I have to read every other line backwards since I knit funny. and I'm finally embroidering beads on the little pink purse I knitted for no apparent reason. I feel good about finishing the lapghan. It's the single largest piece I've ever knitted and damn if it wasn't hard to get all the way through with a single two-line repeat. It got so boring after a while... if I never knit that stitch again, I'll be quite fine. I mean, there are only two things to do and they're only three stitches long. Repeat one set of three stitches all the way across, then the other set of three stitches all the way back... then do it again in the other color, then do it again in the first color...etcetera...

My british houseguest Lucinda was great. A really nice lady I plan to keep in touch with. We didn't get to spend a lot of time together. She does crazy things like sleep at night. But we did get to talk some and that was great. She was fun to talk to and I like her a lot. She has moved on to another house here in New Orleans now, but I will see her tomorrow. We're getting together for coffee before she leaves.

Lloyd is in Portland now. (yes, remember, it's Lloyd, Matt and Dennis) He came over Tuesday, met Lucinda, was perfectly charming and spent the night. I will not go into detail, but we had a very good morning, repeatedly. Perhaps a little too good for having company in the living room. Sorry, Luc. His best friend died of flesh-eating strep last week and his other friends all banded together to fly him home for the funeral. He's looking forward to seeing all his friends and trying to put on a brave face about losing a good friend. He has needed a fair bit of attention and distraction over the last week and I've gladly provided both. I remember all too well how hard it is to lose the family members one has chosen instead of having been provided with. We all have two families: the one we got when we were born, no options there; and the one we've hand-picked over the years from all the people we've met... and in most of our cases, the latter is more precious. He left yesterday and will be back on Wednesday. Hopefully seeing his friends and having some comraderie in his grief will have helped a little. I expect that he'll be here by Thursday night.

I'm working incessantly on this little story of mine... it's about an unfaithful minister's wife who doesn't entirely understand why she feels compelled to stray. Something has to give, and of course, it does. It's working its way along nicely and should come to an end one day... just not necessarily any day soon... or within the confines of the tiny orange notebook I started writing it in. It really is a tiny notebook and I'm quickly running out of room, but not story. And then there's the fact that the story is moving very slowly. I'm trying to convey mood without describing it. It's working, but it's slow. There is a slow turning of the wheels of her mind towards an inevitable conclusion, and thus there is a slow turning of the story's wheels towards that conclusion. I'm also trying to tell a lot about the characters by the little things... the husband drinks a ridiculous amount of orange juice and her mother in law thinks she's too pretty... I have managed, very delicately, not to name her... not even after 70 little tiny pages. And, she has managed, in the course of the stories two days, not to speak to her husband, without seeming angry or distant or aloof. It is a tightrope but I want to see how long I can walk it. Right now, however, I'm too tired to write it. And simply not inspired to do so as I'm really having a hard time deciding on this inevitable conclusion. I think I'm simply in too good a mood to write a sad story... and this is largely a sad story.

Yes, yes, I am in a good mood for the reason you think I am. Yes, yes I was at Dennis' house last night. Yes we did go four rounds and it was fucking awesome. Or perhaps I've got those last two words backwards... The nice thing about dating younger men is that two of those rounds were back-to-back... wow. Haven't done that in a LONG time. Older men can't do it. Simply can't. He can and did. Ok, I know that's too much detail, but I'm very very happy about it. Took me almost an hour to wobble my way home... less than a mile. I am mad about him, we all know it. Thank God I have distractions or I would go completely nuts over him.

So... I finally booked my ticket to Melissa's house for next month, set in stone and paid for. I'm going and I'm coming back with cheese. That's final. And Chad and I are set to go sky-diving next weekend (scary!!). Remind me to make sure he has a car or we're not going at all. I think he does, but I'm not sure. The sky-diving place is, of course, way out in the boonies and we need a car to get there. And I'll call them this week and make a reservation or whatever it is you do when you want to go sky-diving that Sunday. Gibson has decided that I need kneading. He loves me. He's purring his little furry heart out and claiming me for himself for the night. He does this by sitting on me so I can't see the keyboard. Fortunately, my high-school typing instructor taught me not to look at the keyboard, so I can still type. So, sky-diving, Melissa's house, then tattoo, then Jeanna comes to town, then leaving.... Busy, busy, busy.... in there somewhere is knitting a lot of charity scarves, visiting Aunt Flossie in Tennessee and various other adventures. And of course the boys.... always boys.

Lloyd will leave town when he gets tired of it, or when someone breaks his heart. Matt is going back to school this week and is still a brat about time for me. Dennis is already saving up to move to Seattle in November. I like Seattle, just not enough to follow him 3000 miles in the wrong direction. Don't get me wrong, I like him too... we all know that. But we also know that if I follow him, I will regret it... we both will. My track record is absolute on that matter. Hahaha... I stole the cat toes. MINE!

Ok, I think it's almost bedtime. I'm hungry too. (the stomach says "roar"). Oh, and Jodi and Steve didn't work out. Oh, well. That's life. He hasn't called me or anything. I heard it from Jodi a week later. I think I'll leave it at that. Good night!

You have no lag time today. Lucky you!

I like big words... and I spent so many years in therapy I can use "passive-aggressive pre-emptive strike" in a sentence..

Ok, so I'm on a marathon... Three boys in three nights. And I don't forsee any empty nights for a few more days. Yeah. Ok, so explain this to me.... three boys in three nights and just one stuck in my head. Grrrr...

You know me, it's the worst kind of passive-aggressive pre-emptive strike. I know that I can't make things work with Dennis in the long run because well, because I'm no good at the long run. Therefore I try to stop the heart by distracting the body. And that's going so well that I'm sitting here still naked three hours after Matt left, unraveling an afghan and rolling it into balls to keep from chain-smoking, waiting for Dennis to wake up and tell me when he's free this week. Yeah, I'm a dumb-ass. Yes, he's a valuable male.... yes, the sort I should probably attempt to keep. Yes, he likes me a lot. I know, I know, he's well-trained (mostly), he's sexy, he's funny, I even like talking to him... although I swear I get stupider when he looks at me... a lot stupider. I can talk to his back easier than I can talk to his face. I don't get that. He's everything I should want.... including emotionally unavailable and soon to move across country. Ok, I say he's emotionally unavailable because a)I want him to be, and b) he told me he didn't want a "romantic relationship" with me.... despite the fact that I think we have one. Damn. How did that happen? Both of us keep finding ourselves doing nice stuff for eachother... the kind of nice stuff we don't usually do for people... he cooked for me, I gave him a massage. I haven't volunteered a massage in AGES.... he says he hasn't cooked for anyone at home in 8 years. Yeah, bad sign for a casual relationship. VERY BAD. I swear, if I'm not careful, he's gonna send me running screaming for the hills. Or worse.

I have this feeling that he thinks he's the only one. Makes sense.... why would he know that there are others? I mean, I talk to him all the time, he leaves OBVIOUS marks on me and doesn't find any from anyone else... because they know better than to leave marks and because they're Gentler with me.... although as a side note, he left some nice ones on me Friday night and No one, not Lloyd and not Matt, has commented on them, not even to acknowledge that they exist. Lloyd I expected that from... despite all his volunteering to be the only one, he has a pretty good idea that he's not. Matt however... I don't know what Matt thinks. He ought to have a fair idea that he's not the only one... but then men never seem to assume that. I know, however, that I'm the only one in each of their lives.... because they've told me so. And that's not the sort of thing they need to lie about. At least not with me. They know well enough that I'm not going to ask and they don't have to tell, but they make it a point to tell me that I'm the only one occupying their social calendars. And I make a point to say,"That's nice, dear." instead of "Yeah? Me too.... right..." But Dennis more specifically I think is pretty sure he's the only one. I really think that he'd be deeply offended if he found out that he's not.... more and more so as time goes on. And I'm not looking to queer the deal over an arrangement he agreed to... over my passive-aggressive pre-emptive strike.... and if he finds out any way other than me telling him and telling him early, I won't get a chance to explain it. But I'm not about to bring it up. No way. He's happy, I'm happy... it's doomed, but at least it's happy.

Ok, technically, not an arrangement he agreed to... I told him I really like him, but that he's free to see other people.... we never discussed what I'm doing. And we know he's not seeing other people. Yeah.... I'm pretty sure he's assuming that since he's not, I'm not. Although that's silly... I mean, what kind of girl immediately jumps into your bed and doesn't ever do that with anyone else?? Yeah, faulty assumption right there... I am slutty so I'm quite likely being slutty outside your bedroom. When I'm seeing other people, I just tell him that that night's bad... or that I'm busy. And of course, I refer to everyone as my "friend". Simpler that way. I was with my "friend" last night... might mean Jodi or Dennis. Never know. Never mention what sort of friend or what sort of benefits they have... and although I tried to bring up the subject when I had a houseguest and he asked if it was anyone he should "be worried about" he quickly dodged and said he just needed to know if it was ok to leave marks on me.

Maybe I'm just being crazy... maybe he's dodging this as much as I am. I like to think that. That he's as scared of us as I am and he'd understand that I'm running from it too. Because he acts like we're together, and I act like we're together... especially when we're together... a random man at a bus stop told me the other day that I don't seem single, I hope that was just a fluke.... and yet we both say we're not together... so maybe I'm just over-reacting and we're both dodging the same conclusion. That's ok with me. I don't mind him dodging the same thing I'm dodging... I can't mind that, too hypocritical. But I still think he'll be offended when he finds out there's more than just him. And it is a when, not an if. I'm not stupid. If I'm not really really careful something will happen like the dumb bitch at work will say something wildly inappropriate if she ever meets him. And I plan on bringing him in for dinner. But I'll be there. And she'll have no reason to come out and say hi. I could bring him back to the kitchen ever so briefly... and then grab him and run for the door before she gets a chance to say "Which one are you?"

On the plus side, I've started writing again. It's a "short" story about a minister's wife. She's married to the kindest, gentlest man and is sleeping with the plumber for no good reason. In fact, she's not even happy about it, just less unhappy... but something has to change and she knows it. I know how I'm going to end it, I just don't know how to get there yet. So far, she is nameless, has gone two days without a word to her husband and very few for anyone else, is depressed, distracted, listless and has a secret garden out in the country. Eventually, she's going to find out she's pregnant, and being unable to identify the father or face the music, she's going to leave them both without a word and go off on her own to raise her daughter. She'll become a major hermit, and a loner the rest of her life, but in a quiet, peaceful, watching the waves crash kind of way. Like I said, not sure how to get there yet.... especially since my "short" story, written in pencil every time I get a chance, has now consumed the better part of an admittedly very very small orange note book.... and I'm inclined to let someone read it, but for no apparent reason, the only person I'm willing to let read it is Lloyd. I'll have to have him read it when he comes over on Tuesday. As it is in progress, I cannot let it out of my hands. If I do, I'll think of something and it won't quite fit... or I'll never get it in quite right. I have to let it keep flowing out at it's own pace. I got out of bed last night while Matt was sleeping and wrote 8 more tiny pages.

and I've been balling a lot of yarn. I'm in a swap that calls for a dismantled sweater. So I had a sweater largely dismantled and sitting around the house in great messy piles of yarn... and I've now managed to ball the entire thing. Not easy. Now I'm working on the blue afghan. I've been unraveling this blue afghan for quite a while. I also have to ball the dark green hanks that were sent to me as the other half of this swap.... They're lovely and I'm thinking of knitting an 80's style off one shoulder cabled sweater. Something with a simple cable up the middle and the sleeves and nice big bell sleeves... or maybe those cute ones with the thumb hole... I could make a thumb hole... i think... Of course, that would require me committing to knitting a whole sweater... and god knows I can't commit to save my life. Please note that I have half of two, not one but two, shirts knitted and sitting around, and a scarf for my great-aunt on a holder and a scarf, a baby sweater and a lapghan on the needles.... so it's odds aren't good. At least not by this winter. Melissa, I know you're reading this... weren't you going to send me sock yarn to make you socks? Right now I need busy work for my hands.... I'm losing my fucking mind, I need to do something with these pathetic nine fingers.

Ok, I'm back... after an eating and smoking and knitting hiatus with Jodi, I'm so much saner! Sometimes I just have to listen to someone else talk, anyone else... it gets to wear my brain is stuck like a broken record and it makes me crazy.

Whoo... much better. Definitely. Well, I'm planning to go work on a ship, which means that I'll have lots of time for knitting, right? Right. And I have all the yarn... so much yarn... and I'm getting the needle set... eventually. Mom says she lost two more bids (she's probably bidding like $12 for a $60 set). So now she's just gonna send money. Which is ok, right now I can make do with the needles I have and I need the money more.

I have to be out of this apartment by New Year's... which isn't very far if you think about it. But I'll make it, I always do. I think I'm gonna toss a lot of stuff this time... I mean, I'll be moving in with someone and I'll never be there... I don't need this much stuff!

I have a houseguest coming tomorrow... which reminds me that I need to call her and tell her that she can't come to the house and meet me at 4pm tomorrow... because I won't be at home! I'll be at work! We'll have to figure something out. But I have to call her and tell her that. And I have to do laundry! Right now! So I'll talk to you later.... at least I've temporarily recovered the sanity.

Your lag time today is... let's see, it's presently two hours into Sunday, and I wrote this Monday night... so about 6... or is it 5 days?

Weekend Marathons

The landscape is filling out nicely. Matt has not wandered off in search of a nicer woman... he lost my phone number. But he found it. Or at least that's what he says, and I've chosen not to argue. Seems like a good plan.

So this weekend is one man after another after another... if all goes according to plan... which we all know it never does. Worst case scenario, Lloyd and I spend the weekend together. Oh, no....what a tragedy that would be..... I know you can hear the sarcasm from wherever you're sitting.

And I get to go see Melissa! And that's if I live through sky-diving! Let's hope I live. I miss Melissa.

Oh, and I have two new dates this week. I know, I know, I know... I have my three, why am I trying to juggle five? Why? I might just die of exhaustion and dehydration.... but wouldn't it be a nice way to go?? Besides, you know me, I love the attention. And sometimes one comes along that's just so much better than the ones you have..... it makes you kick one out and replace him. Not that I think that's what's gonna happen.... I think the three I have are pretty decent and it would take some doing to replace one of them. But you know, with occasionals like Matt, a girl can have more than one occasional if they're fairly well spread out.... and one of the new ones and I have been trying to get together for the better part of a month, so he could easily be another ocassional. Of course, that's how it was with Lloyd, before we started seeing eachother a couple times a week.... he volunteered for that though.....

I dunno. Maybe they'll suck and I'll throw them away and keep the three I have. I'm not really an "out with the old, in with the new" kind of person so I won't throw away something perfectly good and functional for something unknown and new.... we'll just have to see what happens.

I've juggled five before... briefly. A long time ago. So it is possible...

My finger is broken. I need my tattoo. I'm poor!! I need more money. Quickly!! But I've started writing again and that's nice. If only I had more hours in the day!! Hours for writing and knitting and sleeping and sleeping around... There aren't enough hours. or enough money. I vote we go to the 36-hour day. minimum 36 hours... 40 in the summer. That would be great. Imagine all the things I'd get done.... I think it would actually require moving to a planet farther from the sun, but I'd be so damn efficient it would be scary.

Ok, I'm gonna catch a few hours of sleep. I have to be up early and I'm not gonna get a lot of sleep in the next 4 days. Certainly none of it alone.... wish me luck, strength and hydration. I'm gonna need 'em.

Your lag time today is 9 days. Sorry, it was a busy weekend...

TIme is Fleeting and Fingerbones are Delicate

You must, and you will of course, excuse the trouble I'm having typing. I seem to be reasonably well able to conquer it with only a small amount of pain. You see, I have badly damaged a finger. No, it is not the middle finger from flipping people off... it is the ring finger of my non-dominant (right) hand. So I have taped it to the middle finger in hopes of speeding it's recovery. However, I'm now typing nine-fingered. And with a small amount of pain and swelling. Too small an amount of swelling for the fact that it will not bear weight. That's what makes me think it's broken. I've broken a lot of bones in my life and badly damaged ligaments, muscles, tendons and other bits of soft tissue.... and the really bad ones usually seem ok for a while. And they don't swell as much, but they won't bear weight. Not good. Apparently, one cannot fall down in a puddle of water and oil and land on one's finger. It will not bear the weight and allow one to type ten-fingered.

To catch you up:

1.) I have found a sky-diving partner. Chad, the incredibly cute bartender with the really nice girlfriend... the one I was ogling months ago, around the time John left, and haven't seen much of.... Apparently, he turned 35 last month. He is also terrified of heights and trying to stave off maturity, so we found a place in Mississippi that will charge us a mere $180 to coerce us into jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. We intend to find a way to be at least a little fucked up (apparently, they won't take you if you're dead drunk... even though they strap you to someone more responsible) and to bully, insult and egg eachother on until we're both in the plane, at which point there will be a lot of whimpering and sheer unadulterated terror, followed by the reality that we are jumping out of a perfectly good airplane and may well die. Then we'll let the trained person handle things until we land trembling and rather safe on the ground. That's the plan. From whence, there may be some cookie-tossing and some bonding over post-insanity drinking. Sounds like a plan. At least I'm realistic about it.

2.) Lloyd came over again last night. We had the big talk about the C-word and the R-word and why I don't like them and I think we came to an agreement. Also, I've been tormented by some particularly nasty nightmares lately, and felt like sharing both my discomfort and my rationalizations for sleeping alone and at night as little as possible... so I shared. And he, in turn, offered to come sleep next to me any time I want. I'm sure you'll hear the sarcasm when I say, How generous of him... The sex was great. Really. That part's not sarcasm. He even agreed that it's not so much of a stretch to say, well, ok, we'll just hang out and have sex... oh, damn, how limiting....

3.) Now that my internet connection is back on again, I heard from Dennis. Apparently, he thought I was angry with him since last he heard from me, I was buying a discontinued wine for an unknown shipping charge late Friday... The irony is that I was mad at him, but it's not his fault. He was a featured antagonist in one of the bad dreams. One of the ones that sticks with you all day and is tough to tell from reality. Another bad sign that I'm too fond of him... I care enough about what he thinks to be upset for hours that a dream version of him insulted me. I don't like being insulted though. Damn this typing with nine fingers is annoying. I keep trying to move them independently and it's not working. I think I'm doing extremely well for being down a finger though.... Yet, despite being mad at him over the asshole things the dream version said, the other night when I went to wash my hair and realized it smelled like his massage oil, I made a happy sound. And I didn't want to wash that nice smell away. Now you must know that we're doomed. The better I get to know him, the more we are doomed. The more I like him the more I know we were always doomed. That's the way of things. I like the ones that can't work out. I was trying to explain to Lloyd last night... he made some comment about himself being "perfectly acceptable... eminently serviceable.." and I told him that if he was any more so, I would have to run away immediately. He was confused... you rational people always are.... and I, generous soul that I am, explained... I do not want to settle down. I have bad taste in men and I would very much like to keep it that way, because if I ever had good taste in men, I might be forced into keeping a good thing going and that would never do. I much prefer the ones that will never work... because it will never work and we can go on about our lives without any big drama about our little thing.

4.) So I sent an e-mail to Ken the other day... Ken was Adam's father and I want that piece of Adam's work tattooed. I had lost my copy and needed a new one, so he e-mailed it to me. And of course, I got it when my connection started behaving again tonight. And with it was a note updating me on the family... and Ken's HEART ATTACKS. Yep... he had TWO heart attacks last week. TWO. Jesus, I thought my heart stopped when I read that. Like that family hasn't been through enough.... Ann is a quadriplegic who's been in a hospital with her MS as long as I can remember, Adam was blown up in Iraq and now Ken's having heart attacks???? Too much!! But his wife Carrie says that after TWO surgeries, and FIVE heart stints, he seems to be doing much better and should be ok. Fucking tragic. And at the bottom of the note it says, if you ever need anything, just call us.... If I ever need anything?? I need them to do well because I value them so highly, that's what I need. So Mom is creating a special heart-healthy gift basket and mailing it later this week. I'm paying her on Friday. She doesn't come cheap, and it better fucking look nice because I'm her daughter and I care about these people, plus I'm paying her. Life is fleeting. Personally, I make sure that at all times, everyone knows how I feel about them, my affairs are settled and you, Melissa, know that if anything happens to me, you're taking care of the cats. That includes dying in a sky-diving accident. Clear? Good. Gibson is here now, laying on my arm, taking a cat-bath and looking happy to have me all to himself for the evening, even if I am nine-fingered.

I do not mince words about my feelings. I do not conceal them and I do not wait to tell people important things. I've never been guaranteed a tomorrow and I don't intend to start believing in it today. It may never come, and if it does, I may never see it. So live for today. But not like tomorrow won't come, because then it will and you'll be hung-over and people will want the money you promised them....Murphy's law. Just say what you came to say and do what you came to do.

My mother still has not bought my birthday present, and I found this and thought it was interesting... Popeye's Or Death. It's funny because it's true.

That's what I have to say for the day. My finger hurts. I think Matt is done. He's not been very communicative, or nearly apologetic enough. Too bad. I liked him. But I do not wait by the phone for anyone. Never have, not about to start now. Jesus my hand hurts. No more typing today.

You have no lag.

Happy Birthday To Me!

I am afraid that at some point while I wasn't looking I became a grown up. Not a cubicle-dwelling, tie-wearing, tax-paying, home-owning, child-rearing type, but some sort of a grown-up nonetheless. I have the decided urge to do something immature and foolish. I want to go back to school or jump off of something... I don't wanna grow-up, I wanna be a Toy's R Us kid!

I never wanted to be a kid because it meant I was dependent on my idiotic and incompetent parents. I wanted to be a grown-up so I could be dependent on me and no one else. Well, I have that. I don't want all the things that come with being a grown-up.... the RESPONSIBILITY... does that echo to you? It does when I say it... with the big scary voice echo.... Not good. I don't want to be sensible or reasonable or compromise or any of that stuff. Not fun. I want to have all the fun I couldn't have as a kid because those sucky people were bringing me down. I need to do something irrational and fast! I could dye my hair purple.. that's quick and easy. I've got tattoos... sky-diving? But where do they do that around here? Living in a tent just sucks, no matter what any of those pot-smoking hippies say. I'm already sleeping around, so we got that one... Stay up all night with beer and Cheetos? I hate Cheetos. I don't know what to do.

So what brought on this fear of rationality, you ask? Not just my 26th birthday (I've passed the middle of my twenties now...) but the fact that a very nice boy whom I have no intention of keeping and who has no stated intention of keeping me just bought me a $250 birthday dinner. If that's not grown-up, I don't know what is. Now, it was sweet of him, and I enjoyed it. I let him pick the food and I picked the wine. And we ate and drank and chatted for hours. It was so grown up we spent most of it on opposite sides of the table playing footsies. When I was younger they only bought you fancy dinners if they wanted to ask a stupid question like, Will you marry me? or Can we try something "different" in bed?

He didn't ask any stupid questions. Nope. Just bought a lovely dinner, took me back to his place and did the same things we do every time we go back to his place. Ok, this time, he did tie my hands behind my back for a while, but he didn't ask and that's not what dinner was for. I'dve objected but I could very clearly get them free if I needed them.

So now I'm faced with having to make an irrational decision and fast. I don't want it to be a regrettable irrational decision though. And if you know me, you know I've made a number of seemingly irrational decisions over the years and they've turned out anything but regrettable. So now what? Do I... develop a silly hobby?? I have one... I knit. Do I.... what do I do?? Sky-diving seems the only rational decision. Jump out of a plane. Yup. Only thing to be done. Well, as soon as my connection decides to work again, I'll have to find out where the nearest sky-diving place is and go. The only problem is that I'm terrified of heights and may need someone to go with me and I don't know if anyone will... I'll have to bully someone into sky-diving with me.

Oh, on a side note... I sleep around. I slept with Dennis and Matt and Lloyd immediately, we all know this... and I got a fancy birthday dinner and lots of other perks. Jodi and Steve just started dating, no sex... they went to the movies, they each paid their own way and he wasn't even smart enough to walk her to her car. Now he's taking her out for dinner... to Ye Old College Inn... which is just pathetic. It's a little bar-looking place that has a huge sign advertising their sandwiches. Their sandwiches!!! Who's got the better plan now?? huh? Yeah, I think it's me.

The blinking lights are annoying me. Stop blinking, motherfuckers!!

Your lag time today is two days.

The Gentleman In Question...

I swear to god, no one is putting out in Orleans Parish. Or Jefferson. Except me.

I've filled the third spot on the roster. Of, course, it may need some shaking up after one of them is behaving poorly... But that's not the point. Below is a faithful copy of the e-mail I recieved from the third, after having spent our first night together and blown him off for a repeat performance with a lame excuse about having to catch up on some late-night phone calls. Will someone please explain to me how people can survive without a phone? I love phones. This gentleman has no phone...thus the e-mail. Please note: he has some idea about my views towards relationshippy-ness, having invited him over blatantly admitting that someone else had stood me up for the evening... see above about behaving poorly.. Dennis, it should be said, is behaving wonderfully and is taking me out for my birthday tonight, and then back to his place. There is something to be said for having sisters. However, apparently, the gentleman in question is paying little attention to the fact that I am seeing other people. I will, wisely, leave it at that and say Happy Bithday to Me, here is the e-mail:

"Re: Same Time next week

Amelia:
I thank you, also, for the enjoyable time I had. I am not worried about the 'needing your space/time' issue, as I understand it. After some review with my roommate, we are moving towards the 'we will not cohabitate together' venue, so my place looks less and less inviting for me, let alone anyone willingly inflicted as company. But, I can always find a new set of digs. But, my issues aside, I had a very good time.

Yes, you are scary; this was not a strike against you.

Mostly, I guess, because I enjoy being scared. Keep in mind the atrocious taste in movies I brought: Hannibal Rising, Dawn of the Dead and the creepiest of all, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. So, terror and good times are not distant, as with most men.

Also: I don't think I would want to inflict me on someone else such as yourself, currently, relationship-wise. But, if you change your mind, consider me someone gladly signing up for the tour.

You have both a beautiful mind, as well as anatomy, to say little of your views on life. Solid, independent and vicious women, moreso if busty and maligned in a good way ... well, needless to say, it is a thing of true and glorious wonder.

I would, however, like to give you a much better massage; I believe I owe you a far better exemplar of my capabilities.

In the meantime, please ... keep me in warm regards; you are in mine.

Ciao, for now.

-- L.
P.S.: next week. I believe this will work out. Anytime sooner, however: as you wish. I am your's to command."


**Questions:

1. Why do so many men find me scary?

2. How is it they can so blatantly disregard and "forget" the fact that they are one of three? "needing your your space/time..." yeah, with someone else...

3. HOW DO YOU LIVE WITHOUT A PHONE????

4. Am I a heartless bitch or what? Poor bastard, pinning his hopes on a girl like me...

Trouble with recipes...

This is terrible... I should keep the recipe, but it's impossible... Here it is, you make heads or tails of it....

Cookies and Valencia Cream Ice Cream:

2 cups cream, infused with the zest of 2 oranges

3 cups milk,

1/2 cup sugar

1 tablespoon vanilla

juice of 1 1/2 orange

1 cup orange caramel sauce ( reduce orange juice and sugar to a sauce consistency )

2 cups chopped chocolate biscotti bits ( Erika's recipe )

1 shot espresso

1/4 cup water

Mix espresso and Hot water, pour over chopped biscotti. Cool. Cool infused cream, add orange juice. Mix caramel sauce, vanilla, sugar into milk, combine with cream, mix well. Churn until frozen in ice cream maker. At the end, sprinkle with tons of soaked biscotti and let churn in. Biscotti should have a cake-like consistency before being added. If not, add more espresso.

An Email to Patricia....Thought I'd Share...

I'm having one of those weeks... thank you for the laughs.

Cooking is my.... well, my salvation and my perdition... If I don't cook, I don't breathe... but it's an art too, you know? It's not the science of the same exact plate every single day to me... it's a means of expression... if I can dream the combination and make it happen... and sometimes I don't get to do that as often as I'd like.

It's high-pressure and high-heat and there's a little sado-masochism in it, really, you have to like the ability to give and take real violence... because somewhere there's this golden moment like tonight when I took the crumbled bits from last week's chocolate biscotti that I saved for no good reason and start dreaming about Valencia mochas I drank seven years ago... and end up with the best ice cream ever.

It's a temporary pleasure, because ice cream is not a work of art that will be hung on the wall for a hundred years to come, nor a statue that will adorn a courtyard until it is worn away by time... it will be gone in a week and I will be forced to create some new sensation from other old crumbs... and that's a challenge I can and will rise to.

That's my melodramatic monologue for the evening. How're you? Glad to be home? Enjoying your long lunches? I hope so. Is the tour guide thing gonna pan out? Or is it Portland?

Have fun. (Everyone in New Orleans always says "Be safe." so I make it a point to say, "Have fun". Because the two are not always the same.... and one may have to take priority over the other...)

-amelia

Apparently, Boys Are Complicated

I don't understand boys. I know they are supposed to be simply motivated, but really, it gets more complex after that... I know that they are taught all the things that I think boys are taught... all those complexes about sex that I know they have... but it's the screwy logic that happens somewhere that I don't get...
For example...(you knew there was a reason for this diatribe, didn't you?) I've been seeing Dennis as we all know... and things got weird for a bit there. You see, he's been acting like I'm his girlfriend. Which has been creeping me out, to which I responded by hanging on to Matt and not telling Dennis. Neither of them has any idea that the other one exists, or worse yet, that I've seen someone else naked in the last several months. They both know the possibility exists, but not the reality. Trust me, it's better this way. I've been down this road more than once, and so long as they've both agreed to the deal, they don't need any more information. And, they have agreed to it. Neither of them are, of course, seeing anyone else. Boys never are, they just say "let's see other people" in case by some miracle they manage to get someone else to sleep with them... it doesn't usually happen.

So I had a few drinks and I did something stupid. Namely, I told the boy that I really like that I really like him. Precisely what I told him is that he makes me feel as though he has his hand on that one special spot on my back that makes every woman feel like following when a man is inclined to lead. Now, I meant that as a high compliment. In context, we'd been arguing, and I was trying to explain that I would find it very easy to forgive him if I was only given the opportunity to do so. I, of course, was forgetting that Dennis does not really know me. He does not know my history, he does not know my bone-chilling terror of commitment, he does not know a lot of things about me. I mean, I never used the phrase "i really like you" because that's so goddamn high school. I never used that bigger L-word either. And I did not mean to imply ANY L-word.

Please remember that we've been seeing eachother, what is it now, 2 weeks? And most of that has been spent naked. The talking we've done has mostly centered around bitching about work and how long it's going to take to get eachother naked again. And good food. So not a lot of, hi, I'm slutty and you're sexy... wanna do it all night and then forget eachother's names in the morning? Nope. So when I told him the above, he took it.... well, he didn't take it the way I meant it. I think he took it as a compliment, but he also took it as fishing for the big C-word. And I, as we all know, was not looking to become anyone's G-word. This is how set I am against these things... I don't even like using the words.... So he freaked out and told me something along the lines of maybe we should never have slept together, we should just be friends.... used an odd phrasing.... said i "wasn't the kind of person" he could see himself having a "romantic relationship" with.... I don't think that was very complimentary at all.... Continued to say he really likes me, doesn't usually sleep with girls at the beginning, thinks it was a bad idea, thinks I'm "cool people" or some such nonsense....

So I told him....whoa... slow down that train.... Uhh... I was trying to pay you a compliment.... a high compliment, really. That I find your company immensely pleasurable and you give me a particular pleasant feeling... and that you're easy to forgive when you're naked. I would really like to Keep sleeping together, if it's all the same to you... in fact, I'm free tomorrow. I'm not actually trying to marry you, as I'm afraid of the WORD, and can't handle it in a phrase without a negative, let alone a sentence. I barely know you, and while I'm greatly enjoying getting to know you, especially certain parts of you, I did not sleep with you immediately in an attempt to trap you into anything, and I am, in fact, well aware of the difference between Lust and that other L-word.... I realize that not all girls are like me, and hope, given that you don't know me very well either, that you can take my word for it when I say that I'm definitely not trying to be your girlfriend.

That went over well. So well in fact that he seems to have immediately forgotten the entire conversation.

That's what bothers me.

It's the things that don't add up.... it's not just that he treats me well, he does, but they all do or I toss them to the curb immediately.... it's the little possessive jabs, it's the comments that imply a future.... that's what I'm not used to. I cornered him on one today... I had a houseguest over the weekend and he asked me if this houseguest was "anyone I should be worried about?" Why should he worry about my houseguests?? Why should he worry about anyone I choose to spend my time with when I'm not with him? I asked him, and he mumbled something, and when asked again, said that he just wanted to know if it was OK to leave marks on me. He sounded jealous. I've been around a lot of jealous, and that was jealous. That was possessive. I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday and god knows I wasn't a virgin when I met him.... I'm not making this shit up, either. I'm an intelligent person and an excellent judge of character. Stop laughing, I am, I just don't always follow my own judgement. So, my question is, if I'm not "the kind of person" he could have a "romantic relationship" with, why is he acting like we already are?? I was perfectly clear about the fact that he's free to see other people, and that sleeping with him immediately was exactly my style... it's not a big leap to realize that I've done that before, and will do it again. Why is he acting so possessive? Why is he acting like we already are in a "relationship" (apparently I can handle the word better in quotes... especially if I keep telling myself that relationship just means interconnection of two people and not any inseverable ties) ??

I mean, seriously, he immediately forgot about the whole conversation. Immediately. Twenty minutes later it's "so i'll make dinner for us....i'll call you when I wake up and you can come over." like the whole thing never happened. I have a sneaking suspicion that one of us is lying to him/herself.... and I'm not sure which. Am I lying when I call myself free? Or is he? Or am I simply going ever crazier? If I am, he's driving me to it.
We are still sleeping together... and he did make me dinner. And I got my massage. And we even talked a little bit and took a nap. But he still does boyfriend things... not casual sex things.... and they bug me. A lot. But my eyes are closing of their own volition now, so it's time to take my nap..... arrivederci...

And Maybe I'm not the only one. I say, Never Trust Anyone.

Always the one that has to drag her down... maybe you'll get what you want this time around...
The trick is to keep breathing... The trick is to keep breahting.
I won't be the one that's going to let you down, Maybe you'll get what you want this time around..
The trick is to keep breathing ... The Trick is to keep breathing..

And still you call me complicated... somehow you lay the blame on me.
And still you call me codependent... somehow you lay the blame on me.
And still you call me contemplative...somehow you lay the blame on me.
somehow you lay the blame on me...

Some body get me out of here, I'm tearing at myself.
I've gotta make a point these days to extricate myself.
Some body get me out of here, I'm tearing at myself.
Nobody gives a damn about me, or anybody else.

This is what I get for staying up all night tearing out my hair over a worthless piece of ass. Jesus, this is why I always keep three around. You can't get too attached to any one of them because the other two will distract you. Now I'm listening to Garbage at 5am and thinking about cookie recipes and trying to avoid ironing. Not that I can afford to stay up tonight. But I've been juiced since last night. Jesus, ever since Dennis gave me that bit about trusting him in time, I've been on edge. I thought I had it under control. But here I am, fucking shaking and bruised and sore and sleep-deprived and my eyes are wide-open and my mind is going a mile a minute and all I can do is smoke and freak out.
I... I wanna fuck it all up. But I don't. I mean, God knows it's not likely, but it is possible, that this is something real. I don't often feel this way about boys, everyone knows that, especially not about boys who aren't on anti-psychotics, but I do. And I don't know where he's going with this. I don't know. And I don't know where I want to go with it. I just know that if I make a dumb statement right now like, I'm not the kind of girl you take home to mother, then maybe I'll lose something special. Maybe. Maybe it'll just be another asshole and we can have our wild ride and call it a day. Maybe he'll just go poof in the night one day and leave me wondering if I said something wrong. Maybe he'll go poof today. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know him worth a damn and god knows I'm too chicken shit to ask these things.

Years ago, back before Carl, and hell, during, I used to get confused. There's this look that boys get when they look at you sometimes... they're drunk on the idea, on the feeling. And their eyes sparkle and they smile at you like it's something real. That look used to screw me up bad. They look at you like you're the only woman in the world and the best one if there were any others.... yeah, it doesn't mean shit. I learned that lesson again and again. And I keep seeing it in my head, sometime in the middle of this morning, in his super-dark apartment, when he was staring at me and grinning and then he hugged me... hugged me of all things and made this little fuzzy noise like I was his favorite childhood teddy bear rescued from the attic in solitude. What the hell was that? I mean, sure, the sex was good and all, but a hug? And what was that look? It was dark... it's tough to tell. It's always tough to tell, but this one has had me baffled for a while now.

Boys are usually so simple. Why am I so confused? Boys are simply motivated. He did not have a cookie in his hand at the time, so the hug wasn't a thank you for bringing cookies. That I know. He had a naked, tired woman he barely knows in his hands, so why on earth would he hug me and look at me like a stuffed animal? It makes no sense. None. It's making me crazy. I couldn't sleep most of last night and apparently, I won't get to sleep at all tonight for being confused. Why am I so damn worried about it? Plenty of people hug me. Phil used to hug me and make a funny noise, but that was easy... Phil is a dirty old man and hugs were all he could get.
This is gonna drive me crazy. One of these days they'll take me away in a short bus to the funny farm in a jacket that makes Me hug me and I'll still be muttering, having pulled all my hair out, "why a hug?? Why a hug?"

I'm not used to getting treated like a stuffed animal. Especially when the person in question has known me almost a week and we've just had our second session of exceptionally wild sex. Yeah, he didn't even get a blow job, why the hug? Huh? Can you tell me that? Can you tell me what the hell is going on?? How did I pick up a skanky, macho, kinky, mouthy line cook and end up with all this warm fuzzy shit? Where the fuck did that come in? I didn't sign up for warm, fuzzy shit. If he'd belched and rolled over and passed out, I would've been perfectly comfortable. If he'd grabbed my ass and started snoring, I would've known exactly where we stood.

What the hell?? How is it that I always pick up the clingy ones? How do these guys get to be clingy? Is it even clingy? Or is it just some bizarre perversion that I don't know about? What the fuck? And second of all, where the hell has this guy been? He's got stretchers in his ears with some really nice art and nipple piercings and he says to me that he's never been with a girl who had her tongue pierced. Has he lived in a cave? They're everywhere. I know because I got mine on a lark since everyone else had one. I just kept mine longer. Because I never settled down or grew up.

And the calling my name during sex... what's up with that? I always thought, and I'm not alone on this, believe it or not, that it's bad form to do that until you're in a committed relationship. Especially not in the first week. Definitely not the first time. And yet, I've slept with three people this week and they've all done it. Even when they knew I wasn't looking for anything other than entertainment. What the hell is going on?? It kinda creeps me out when they do that. When I'm having trouble remembering their name... I'm all uhh... Rick, Dave, uhh, MATT! that's it, Matt! I'm happy with myself that I can manage to remember and here they are calling when they're all naked. And it's not that I'm paying that little attention... I'm trying to pay attention, really, to anything that might possibly matter. But we all know that most of these conversations are supposed to be idle chit-chat leading up to a point, and that point is the sex. So why are they paying so much attention?

Maybe, just maybe, it's New Orleans. There's a theory. All the girls I know in New Orleans are desparate, and we all know that it's easier for a girl to get laid anywhere than a boy... maybe they just haven't gotten any in a really long time and they're really really grateful that a slutty California girl like me came along. Did you know that spellcheck doesn't recognize the word slutty? Stupid spellcheck. So here I am at 5:30, having not done the ironing or the cleaning, again, and needing to go to the post office before I go to work at 2, and just fucking baffled by all this shit.

Ok, that's a good theory. That'll be my new theory. That it's New Orleans. That it is for some reason next to impossible to get laid in New Orleans and that's why the guys are being so weird. Dennis also has on his end of the weird scale the fact that he has four sisters and was in the military. That's a lot of crazy ideas about women to reconcile. But Matt was in the Navy for quite a while and all it got him was properly trained to do things like pay and take me home and flatter me and call to check on me later. And make sure to tell me about his vasectomy. I'm just full of interesting information tonight, aren't I?

This is what happens sometimes... I get stuck on the boys... they monopolize the brain, and right now I'm running through cookie recipes in my head because the next batch is Chef's choice and I'm the Chef. So I've gotta make a choice. About more than cookie ingredients. You know, he's barely said a word about chocolate. I find that interesting and probably says that chocolate is not his favorite. He has raved about snickerdoodles and pfefferneuse (now spellcheck is really angry) and things called rainbow cookies and honey balls that I guess his grandmother used to make, but almost no mention of chocolate... except of course in the dreaded opera cake. I'm not making opera cake. If I'm making opera cake, I get a 90-minute massage and dinner at Herbsaint. Period.
I already told him that while he sells his services cheap, a massage for a batch of cookies, if he wants a massage in return, he's taking me out. Of course, with our schedules... not going anywhere too special. I think he's off Thursday and Saturday this week and those are not my days off. Damn. I'm a complete idiot. And I've decided to stop freaking out and just do some cooking and some ironing and clean the bathroom like I've been meaning to for two fucking weeks now.

Right, cause Deciding to stop freaking out really works... it's like deciding to be straight or right-handed.... or to stop needing air. God damn it. Fuck this, I'm sure I'll get eleven fucking messages from him tomorrow just like I get every single day and I won't be here to pay attention to any of them, because I have to go to the post office and then to work and then Steve is coming over. That should be enough of a distraction. I hope. We're gonna watch Red Dwarf.

G'night. Maybe I'll take a nap, since Steve is coming over tonight.

I'm not due to see Dennis until Thursday. I'm sure I'll hear from him before then though. Matt will probably call too... I left him a message but I think he was asleep by then... he's old, you know. Drag brain away from boys... must drag away from boys.... argh.

Dennis is a Menace, and Rust is a four-letter word.

Boy, am I in trouble. I'm no good at trust, like I'm no good at relationships. This is a fact of life. I take calculated risks, but I almost never trust. I say, 'what can I lose here? can I afford to lose it? what are the odds I will lose it?' and if all that comes back ok, then I do it, and it looks like trust. But it's not. It's a pale imitation. Like my relationships.... there is no deep-down love, affection and real desire to spend the rest of our lives together... there is temporary comfort, refuge from the world outside. Like a heated awning in a storm, it is not salvation, you must go back out again and the storm probably won't be over.

I went to Dennis' last night. I know, I know, he called me at 3am and we all know there's one reason a body calls a person of the opposite sex at 3am. But I get over there and he wants to talk. He wants to get to know me better. He wants to tell me about his life and himself. And then, of course, comes the other stuff... But he... he watches me sleep. He stares at me with that goofy look. He listens when I talk. He holds onto me like... I don't even know what, but he wraps his arms around me and holds on tight and that makes no sense to me, it's not sexual, what is he doing? He wants to know about me.. things that won't just be relevant five minutes from now. He put my birthday in his calendar and he's already talking about Christmas. He says my name like it's... like he's glad he knows it. Not like he's happy he remembers, or like he's trying to remember through repetition, but like it's something special I gave him.

And he wants me to trust him. Like seriously trust him, not just the fall asleep with your back turned in his apartment trust, that's easy. Not even now, but "in time." In time?? You've gotta be crazy, what time? We don't have time. We're nomadic line cooks, there's no time like the present. He's planning to go to Seattle or Boston at the end of the year and I'm planning to hop a ship south by November. See? No future in it. Which, as we all know, doesn't mean I can't enjoy it while it lasts, right? Right. That is the plan. To enjoy the fact that he has an expiration date. We all know how much I like boys with expiration dates.

I haven't even brought him here yet. We've only been seeing eachother a week and you know me, we wasted no time finding the bed. But I get messages from him all day every day. Little jokes and things he's thinking about and so on.... and it's well, it's unsettling when you put it all together because I don't want a relationship. I don't want to commit. I don't want to settle down, I don't want to go back to Seattle and I don't want to freeze to death in Boston and I just want someone I can have a little fun with and then kiss good-bye when I hop a ship. This doesn't seem like that. But I'm enjoying it an awful lot. An Awful Lot. Like can't stop grinning lot. Like I don't mind the bruises and the sore muscles and the fact that my brain cells have flown the coop.

I'm putting off "The Conversation." We haven't talked about what we want in this sense or where it's going or not going, or other people or anything like that. We've both tap-danced carefully around the subject and right now I don't feel prepared to handle that conversation so I think that I will continue to avoid it. I know what I want in a general sense, but I really like him and he really likes me and if I'm smart I'll give it a chance. I know this... If I'm smart, I'll give it a chance. The question is, Am I that smart? Or will I say something to him on Thursday night about how we should see other people? Or will I ask if he is? Will I ask him where he thinks this is going and watch him turn around and ask me to answer the same question first and thereby color his answer with my jaded and terrified inability to commit? Will I say something stupid and ruin it? Probably. So maybe it's best to keep my fool mouth shut, or at least occupied.

I couldn't sleep most of the night. I kept thinking about what he said about trusting him and my heart was going a mile a minute and I was flipping out. I kept trying to lay there and calm down and go to sleep. It wasn't working. I don't know. Maybe I want it to work out. I mean, he's not on any medication. Nor does he appear to need any, and you know that I don't usually go for guys that aren't under a psychiatrist's care. That's a sign of stability, right? And he's got a brain, and he uses it. He's got goals and plans and stuff... his own apartment, with no roommates, mom's not footing the bill, nothing. He went to culinary school, he even seems to be a good cook. He's smart and competent and did I mention good-looking?

Better yet, he already knew to wear Drakkar. All men should. I like them better, I'm nicer to them, they just should, all the time. Most women know that, but most men have to be told. He already knew. I love that smell. Most women do.

Argh. Ok, I'm getting up. I'm doing laundry if it kills me. Which, with the strength in my legs currently being so minimal, it just might. If you find me dead next to my laundry basket near the washing machine, still grinning and covered in bruises, you'll know what happened. Let them all down gently and don't invite them to the same funeral. You may have to hold quite a number of services for all my exes, but the lack of fights and general insanity will probably be worth it. Too many lunatics trying to hump one casket is generally unsettling and it would interrupt my mother's drama festival. You may want to hire a fake mother to look sad and less unbalanced. I'd recommend it.

Ok, I'm really gonna get up this time. Lucky you, you have no lag time today.

Jumping Hoops, and how to make boys do it for cookies..

Ok, so I've decided to go back to whoring it up, painting the town black and blue and such.... and it's going rather well, really.
So there's Steve. He's geeky, but he'll follow me anywhere and we all know I like the ego rubbed as well as other parts. Actually, I'm thinking of setting him up with my friend Jodi, but it has to be approached delicately, best to do it when he's in an agreeing mood.
And there's Dennis. I like Dennis a lot. Which says volumes about him. He's despicably like me. Which says that my ego has gotten so big it's approaching narcissism... in fact, he's so much like me that last night he pulled something that I've pulled a million times and it pissed me off soooo much. He ditched me. No second "date" a couple days later.... he's fighting the addiction and I know what he's doing because I've done it myself a few (million) times. I'm, of course, furious. I don't like to be turned down. It dents the ego and that's a bad move. Now let's see if he knows the rest of the game and will make it up to me properly.
He's a line cook, and we all know that one shouldn't date line cooks because by and large they have one brain and they keep it locked away in sweaty pants in desparate need of circulation. But he's really, really cute. And we get along on so many things... like the need to wander from state to state. And he has uses. Some of them even involve him wearing pants. Really. Not many, granted, but some of them... I swear.
Tonight I'm going out with Matt. Matt is older and distinctly clean-cut. Now he's been warned, fairly, that I am younger and the polar opposite of clean-cut, but he says that's what he's looking for.... we shall see. This of course, is a perfect excuse to be on my very worst behavior. We're going out late to play pool and drink. So I will wear something that will distract him from the pool table and make him put all my many many drinks on his tab. That's the plan. We'll see how he handles it. Should be entertaining.... it's my sociology experiment for the week.
And then tomorrow, John is taking me to the wine bar around the corner. I expect I will be tired and less vivacious than usual. I plan to wear something low-key and try to maintain a conversation.. some wine should help with that. And in case you're wondering, NOT THAT JOHN, hell no. He can rot in Nevada for all I care. I'm usually not this venemous about my exes, but I can't help it, it's like kicking a puppy dog and it forgets five seconds later and comes running after you again... it gets frustrating.

Anyhow, it's time to go to work. Wish me luck in all my endeavors. Hope Dennis wises up, I like him naked. A lot. And if he doesn't behave, he won't be naked any time soon. Depressing. Argh. Very, very frustrated!!!


Addendum: Matt is great fun. He's asleep now. Dennis would like to see me Thursday. I've told him maybe, if I'm not busy sleeping. I am angry about it, and he ought to know what angers me so that he doesn't do it again. I hope he listens well. Please God, let him listen well. I think we may need to have the "I'm not one of those clingy girls" talk... explain that it's a good plan to come when I say, because I may stop saying at any time. I mean, I like him a lot. But I 'm not going to drop my life plans or anything, or drop all the other men in my life... so it's good to enjoy what you've got while you've got it. That's what I plan on doing...

Your lag time tooday is approximately 24 hours.

Amazing Spanish Houseguest Lottery Winnings

I won the houseguest lottery. In my trusting and open nature, I invited a man I'd never met before to stay on my couch, sight unseen. I like strangers. Sometimes they become friends. Sometimes there just interesting landmarks in life. Occasionally, they suck. This is the lottery of life, and just like the state lottery, you can't win if you don't play. So this man arrives, tired, confused, and stashed in the production office by my well-meaning friends at the front door. I am immediately happy with my decision.
The poor guy was stuck in there like some sort of criminal... here he's been wandering around all day with the biggest backpack imaginable, and his english is not very good and their accents aren't helping... I took him straight home. He wouldn't let me pay for the cab.
We sat up talking, in Spanish, until 5 am. Encantada a encontrarte does not even begin to cover it. It is the first time in a long time that I can say enchanted is the perfect word. And he comes with a two-day expiration date, which is when he leaves for San Antonio. We all know I love men with expiration dates. Absolutely adorable... blue eyes, short blondish hair, great big arm muscles with sexy little tattoo. I've never been so inclined to send a thank you note to my Spanish teacher. And fascinating and lively and so interesting. I loved talking to him. I wish my Spanish was better. And you know what? In the morning, after a little small talk, he went off on his own. He had places to go and things to see. It was great. The second night, we went out to the F and M and were dancing a little and drinking a little and had a great time. I was so happy, all day, that I was going to get off work and he was coming home with me. That it was already guaranteed, he was coming home with me. I wanted to take him to Tipitina's, but they didn't have a show. Asi es la vida, no? I want to know why spell check recognizes some of the spanish words that are not cognates and not others.
I realize, now that he's gone and I'm depressed for his absence, that I need more people like that in my life. Now I just have to find out where I can find them. They have to be somewhere. It's not just that he was so damn good-looking... it's also that he was so... I guess the best word is engaging. I genuinely enjoyed his presence. Pero ahora, que voy a hacer? I'm still thinking in Spanish.
But I think I found a German tutor!! Yippee!! Apparently, Jodi's roommate, the geeky, ugly, lazy, cheap pain-in-her-ass, is FROM Germany. Didn't move here until puberty and still has close family there. She thinks he'll definitely be willing to help me learn in exchange for cookies. And, better yet, he doesn't speak Spanish so he'll notice when I subconsciously insert the Spanish word for the German one I don't know. Of course, I may not be here much longer. I've grown tired of waiting. It looks like Emi isn't coming in November after all. So I've put in an application with a west coast cruise line. Six weeks on, 2-3 weeks off. I can definitely handle that. They do Alaska cruises as well as Japan, Vietnam, Panama, Mexico and the South Pacific. And of course, by maritime law, they provide health insurance and housing. Well, housing on the boat... off the boat is your own responsibility, which is why they pay so well. I've also asked for a substantial raise. Here's hoping they call.
At this rate, I can't afford to go to Wisconsin next month. I can't afford to go to Mexico in November and I'm tired of it. It's time to give myself a promotion by changing the field. And there's no use waiting around for some magical money tree to shake loose. I'm not happy here and if it only takes 6 weeks in Alaska on a boat to make enough money to leave this place, I'm there. Meanwhile, I may have to pursue other avenues of entertainment and try harder to import boys as the locals are largely uninteresting and uninterested. The skirt seemed to help though. Maybe more skirts?? I dunno. I'm tired of this bullshit. I'm so used to being relentlessly pursued, and I'm seeing a foreboding trend amongst my female friends... they're all single and growing desparate... this cannot be tolerated.
I refuse to beg for attention. I should be the center of the universe. Period. It shouldn't have to be requested, demanded, or enforced, it should just be granted. When I'm in the room, the fucking sun, the galaxy, everything revolves around me. That is how it is. If I'm not in the room, whatever. I don't care. Don't pick up anything and bring it home to me; otherwise, I don't care. But I will not vie for attention, I will not work for it. I might dress for it, but I won't ask and I won't insist and I'll be damned if I'll beg. It is their job to beg for MY attention, and I won't reverse that pecking order for anyone. It is imperative that it remains. I will gladly leave town, but I will not lower these standards. Not negotiable. Can you tell that part of my brain is still translating to Spanish? I can. It's kind of like a lag time.... between the brain and the mouth. Doesn't help that my internet connection just crapped out, possibly for the night. It's refusing to behave, despite several dirty looks.
What's a girl to do? I have two options: 1) Stay broke and keep trying to import interesting men or 2) leave town and have more money and possibly, but not definitely, have better men.
But I haven't had this bad a dry spell since I left Seattle... where I couldn't get laid to save my life... largely because I didn't have the patience after a while to sit and talk. They all honestly wanted to get to know me better and I wanted something else and then maybe I'll let you talk after.... I told one guy flat out, "I did not wear this skirt to show off my personality." He was offended. I don't know how. I was disappointed and offended, disheartened and insulted. Overall, depressing. That was a long time ago and I'd like to forget it, not re-live it, thanks so much. Definitely need a change. I can go or they can come, but it's easier for me to go. I can control that a lot better.
Shit, it's 5 am. Good night.