First of all, I hope everyone had a great Christmas. I haven't been posting lately because the Internet on my laptop wasn't working and I'm not about to risk all my dirty little secrets on the family computer's history.
Christmas came quicker this year than a man with a case of pre-mature ejaculation issues. I was hardly prepared. I stayed at school until Sunday the 21st to work, only a few days before the holiday. I had basically no money for presents this year, but luckily my older sister had gotten gifts to give my parents from me. I owe her for that one. I told my older sister that I'd take her shopping when I get the refunds from my student loans in the next month or so, I'm real fiscally responsible, I know. My little sister was grateful for her gifts, of course. She would have never forgiven me if I hadn't given her presents on Christmas, but she is giving me some leniency for her birthday gift, which is coming in the next two weeks.
Christmas was good this year, not great. Maybe it was because it came so suddenly and I had no anticipation built up for it. Christmas Eve was typical with dad's side of the family. I felt judged, misunderstood, and unattached to my family. Pretty much the usual for that side of the family. The bright side was my one aunt, who is actually normal. Thank God for her. We do a grab bag on that side of the family since there are so many of us, and we rig it so that my family members get her family members and vice versa. She even bought a gift for my Grandma to give me, thankfully. Grandma "made" me a purse or something, I'm not sure what the fuck it is supposed to be, with my name embroidered on a piece of denim that is sealed with a velcro closure. Real classy stuff. Inside was some makeup that I've been wanting. Hooray!!
Christmas Eve night we went to the funeral home. How funny is that? My great aunt and uncle own a funeral home and it's the only place big enough to house all the extended family. It's great to see some of my great-great aunts and uncles, especially my great-great uncle Jan, he's hilarious. He and his wife gave all the girls rape whistles for Christmas, which I appreciate because it's actually useful.
Anyways, I needed a drink by this point. I went to the little beverage room and poured myself some Grey Goose and looked for a mixer. Cranberry juice seemed like a good choice, so I added it, stirred, and popped in a slice of lime. I went and sat with my cousins, who are all between the ages of 4-15. They asked if I was drinking alcohol and I just nodded. The next thing I know, my one little cousin who is 7 came back with a drink, looking similar to mine. I asked what she had in it and she told me wine, meaning that sparkling kiddie wine. I leaned over to ask her if I could take a sip and "test" it for real liquor, and she handed it to me. That's when I saw what she had put in her drink. A slice of lemon, a slice of lime, and two green olives stuffed with blue cheese meant for uncle Jan's martinis. I politely put the drink down and hid my disgust and told her that she was the classiest girl that I've ever known.
The night went on and I exchanged texts with Rocker, who was being as adorable as ever. He sent me another picture to my phone and I have to admit it was pretty hot. Mmmm. Speaking of Rocker, we still haven't met. He's been pretty busy with work and he's joining a new band, one that is supposedly much better than his current band. I'll have to agree because they opened for a band that I've actually heard of. We've talked everyday, usually a couple times a day, which is always good. I'm excited to meet him, but kind of weary at the same time for obvious reasons. And for some not so obvious ones. What if we think we have this good connection but when we actually sit down and try and talk, it's nothing? What if he thinks I'm just photogenic and actually terrible looking in person? I don't even want to think about the potential "look" that a person can give you when they've seen pictures of you, but not the real you. What if I think he's fugly when we meet? What if I hate the way he walks, because I do hate how some people walk. I'm that judgemental.
I've decided that I'll meet him, when we can, because what's the worst that could happen? He could be a good guy for me. He could be a bad guy for me. He could be a great lover. Whatever happens happens and I'll be sure to keep you all informed.
Have a safe and happy New Year from your favorite mean girl :)
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
It can still hurt
Funny how certain words or certain scenes from a movie can remind you of memories. I'm in the middle of watching P.S. I Love You and I'm still not sure why I do this to myself. I hate movies that make me cry, but sometimes when I'm feeling sappy and in the mood to cry, I pop one in. It's not a great movie, it's mediocre, but something about it makes me cry. The movies context is sad, of course, a woman loses her young husband to a brain tumor and has trouble moving on without him, but he coaxes her out of her shell post-mortem by sending her letters. The man's character in the movie reminds me of my first love. I feel like first loves are almost always bittersweet. Looking back, that's the exact word I would use for how I feel about my first love.
We met when I was fourteen, almost fifteen and about to start my freshman year of high school. He was a baseball and football player and we had our athleticism in common. He stuck out to me because he was so confident and so sure of every move he made. I was only confident when I was on the court or on the field. He had an accent; a smooth, slow, Kentucky drawl that made me laugh whenever he would try to say "Kankakee." He had moved up to Illinois after his parents divorced and his mom thought it best to put some distance between everyone. He was a year older than me, and that was half of his appeal. We started dating and I was head over heels immediately. I loved his big blue eyes and the fact that he was the only boy that could make me smile just by saying my name.
After a few months of dating, his mom decided that their move wasn't the best decision and that they should pick up where they left off back home in Kentucky. I told him that maybe we should just break up, I didn't want a long distance relationship and truth be told, I wanted to meet the boys at my high school and go out and not worry about having a boyfriend. He convinced me that we could make it work, and it was the first time that he told me he loved me. I'd never had a boy tell me he loved me and I said it back immediately. Later on, after he had left, I thought about it. I was in love. I thought about what it meant to be in love and why I loved him. I remember thinking that I loved him because when I had a terrible day, he always made it better. When he'd call me and I saw his name pop up on my cell phone, I'd smile and feel this burst of warmness inside of me.
I loved him purely and perhaps naively, but when you're fifteen, how else can you love someone? We'd talk for hours on the weekend and eventually I got in trouble because I ran up my cell phone bill to almost $1,700. When I told him, he said he'd promise to help me pay it off. It was horrible to have to go to school all day, wondering what he was doing and who he was doing it with. I hated when we had practice after school because that meant we couldn't talk until later that night, or worst case scenerio, the next day.
He wrote me poems all the time. They were cheezy and sometimes they didn't make a whole lot of sense, but it made me feel special because he took the time to write them. Eventually, we started to miss the physicality of our relationship and it drove us both crazy. When we'd be on the phone, I'd hear him start breathing heavily sometimes and I'd ask what he was doing and he'd give this little laugh that made the image of his crooked smile flash into my head. He'd tell me that something about my voice made him hard and he had to take care of it because I couldn't be there with him. Whenever he'd say that, it'd excite me in sexual way, but even more in an emotional way I think. I felt like he loved me so much that even the sound of my voice could get him off.
We got in a lot of fights. However sweetly we'd make up, there was always another fight around the corner. He was a jealous guy and he'd sometimes interrogate me about where I was and who I was with. I remember being at a party and leaving at like 10pm because he called me crying, upset because he had talked to one of our mutual friends that lived up here and told him that I was being flirty with some guy. I can't even remember talking to anyone else because he had kept me on the phone literally the whole night. I always apologized though and I always assurred him that he was the only one I wanted or needed.
We'd talk about marriage and it seemed totally logical to me. We talked about him going to med school and how we'd make it work because, if we could make our long-distance relationship work, we could definitely deal with the stress of him going to med school.
Everything was so great, I didn't even mind our fights because that just meant that we could make up. It was difficult not seeing him, but I feel like talking to each other like we did made us more connected. The day of my Fall dance when he was supposed to take the train up to spend the weekend with me, he tore his ACL at his football game. His sister had called and told me that he couldn't make it and that he was in the hospital, but that he would call me tomorrow morning. I was devestated because I wanted to show him off to my friends and to hold him and look into his eyes again and feel his big soft lips on me. We had planned on having sex that weekend, too. It was funny talking about it all the time and putting so much pressure on those few days. It seems so fucking silly now, how we planned every detail and how he was so worried that he'd hurt me and all that other nonsense. I think that's what devestated the both of us the most when he couldn't come up that weekend, knowing that we didn't know when the next time he could come visit would be.
In that December, I found out that I was pretty sick with a heart condition. When I told him about it, he had the strangest reaction. His mom was a nurse, so I knew he could ask her about it if he wanted to, but when I told him what was going on, he said that he couldn't deal with it. I didn't understand what the fuck he was talking about. He wasn't dealing with it, I was. When I had my surgery to get a pacemaker and defibrillator put in and I told him I was scared about it, he told me that it wasn't that big of a deal, it happens everyday and that I would be fine and just needed to "man up." That was the first time that he broke a little piece of my heart. I couldn't understand why he didn't get how serious this was to me.
He went on vacation that Spring Break and we didn't talk for a few days because of it. I logged into his e-mail because I thought it would oh so cute to send him a message to himself from me. I logged in and saw emails from a few chicks, girls that I had heard of but didn't really know who they were. I saw a poem, that he said he had written for me, addressed to another girl. Needless to say, I was fucking pissed. I had to wait a few more days to talk to him about it because he was on vacation and I refused to call him during it. When he got back and we talked, I had asked him if he had fun, etc, etc, making small talk. I asked him who these chicks were, and I can't even remember their names now, and all I heard was silence on the phone. He finally told me that they were no one, just friends, and he was sending them the poems to see how they liked them before he sent them to me. I told him that I fuckign hated him and that we were finished.
I guess I wasn't strong enough to stay away from him though. We still dated on and off for a few months after that, but when his one friend that lived in Kentucky IMed me and told me that he had bought another girl a dozen roses, I flipped. Part of me thought that this friend just wanted to start shit because he was lonely and was jealous of our relationship, but I knew I was making excuses. BF called me when he found out that his friend had said something and I just broke down. "How could you do this to me? Again?" He cried, too. He said he didn't know what was wrong with him and that he was an idiot and I felt placated for the most part, but I knew it could never work because I didn't trust him. When we broke up for good, I sent him an email about how much I loved him and that he broke my heart and I'd never be able to love someone as purely or as innocently as I had loved him.
He wrote me a few more poems, telling me that he'd always love me and I would always have a special place in his heart. About a month after we broke up, I started dating a new boy, who didn't last long, and who was a total rebound. When ex-BF found out, he called me and told me that I was a slut and how it was funny that I was so upset about our breakup, but could move on so easily. I really hated him then, he was trivializing everything that we had because I had decided to move on. I was a total cunt to him in retaliation. I probably said the worst thing that I could have said to him by telling him he would end up just like his father, a life-long adulterer who would never have a meaningful relationship because he was such a fucking prick. The slight intake of breath after I said that to him, said it all. I knew that I'd gone too far when I said it, but part of me was happy about it because I'd finally cracked him and hurt him.
We talk every now and again. He asks me about my health and family and I ask him about his education and his sister's marriage. We're Facebook friends, but other than that, I don't know much about him anymore. He's a frat boy, and apparently a very popular one at that. Looking back, I have no regrets about our relationship, only lessons that I've learned from it. But, damn, it can still pull at my heart strings when I watch movies like P.S. I Love You.
A little sidenote about Rocker....we talked for like 3 hours last night. He called when I was getting ready to go out, and instead of going out, I ended up just staying in and talking to him. I should have just invited him over, but I guess I didn't know we were going to talk that long. I convinced him to play some of his music for me and I about melted when he started to play "Nothing Else Matters" by Metallica. I told him that was going to be played at my wedding and he laughed a little. He continued playing different songs on his acoustic guitar as we talked. When we had a period of silence, I asked him to play my favorite song, not saying the title. He started playing "Nothing Else Matters" again and I couldn't stop smiling. When he finished, he asked if I was happy now and I said no. He asked what he could do to make me happy and I told him to play it again. It was like a lullaby. I listened to him play as my eyes grew heavy and I cuddled further into my bed. I think he sensed that I was getting tired and he asked if I was still there in a soft voice. Ahhhh it made me totally melt. What's more adorable than a boy playing guitar for you? When we hung up, I couldn't wait to fall asleep so that I could hear from him again tomorrow. I've yet to hear from him so far, but he knows I'm working until 4, so we'll see what happens.
All I know is that this could be some trouble...some gooooood trouble.
We met when I was fourteen, almost fifteen and about to start my freshman year of high school. He was a baseball and football player and we had our athleticism in common. He stuck out to me because he was so confident and so sure of every move he made. I was only confident when I was on the court or on the field. He had an accent; a smooth, slow, Kentucky drawl that made me laugh whenever he would try to say "Kankakee." He had moved up to Illinois after his parents divorced and his mom thought it best to put some distance between everyone. He was a year older than me, and that was half of his appeal. We started dating and I was head over heels immediately. I loved his big blue eyes and the fact that he was the only boy that could make me smile just by saying my name.
After a few months of dating, his mom decided that their move wasn't the best decision and that they should pick up where they left off back home in Kentucky. I told him that maybe we should just break up, I didn't want a long distance relationship and truth be told, I wanted to meet the boys at my high school and go out and not worry about having a boyfriend. He convinced me that we could make it work, and it was the first time that he told me he loved me. I'd never had a boy tell me he loved me and I said it back immediately. Later on, after he had left, I thought about it. I was in love. I thought about what it meant to be in love and why I loved him. I remember thinking that I loved him because when I had a terrible day, he always made it better. When he'd call me and I saw his name pop up on my cell phone, I'd smile and feel this burst of warmness inside of me.
I loved him purely and perhaps naively, but when you're fifteen, how else can you love someone? We'd talk for hours on the weekend and eventually I got in trouble because I ran up my cell phone bill to almost $1,700. When I told him, he said he'd promise to help me pay it off. It was horrible to have to go to school all day, wondering what he was doing and who he was doing it with. I hated when we had practice after school because that meant we couldn't talk until later that night, or worst case scenerio, the next day.
He wrote me poems all the time. They were cheezy and sometimes they didn't make a whole lot of sense, but it made me feel special because he took the time to write them. Eventually, we started to miss the physicality of our relationship and it drove us both crazy. When we'd be on the phone, I'd hear him start breathing heavily sometimes and I'd ask what he was doing and he'd give this little laugh that made the image of his crooked smile flash into my head. He'd tell me that something about my voice made him hard and he had to take care of it because I couldn't be there with him. Whenever he'd say that, it'd excite me in sexual way, but even more in an emotional way I think. I felt like he loved me so much that even the sound of my voice could get him off.
We got in a lot of fights. However sweetly we'd make up, there was always another fight around the corner. He was a jealous guy and he'd sometimes interrogate me about where I was and who I was with. I remember being at a party and leaving at like 10pm because he called me crying, upset because he had talked to one of our mutual friends that lived up here and told him that I was being flirty with some guy. I can't even remember talking to anyone else because he had kept me on the phone literally the whole night. I always apologized though and I always assurred him that he was the only one I wanted or needed.
We'd talk about marriage and it seemed totally logical to me. We talked about him going to med school and how we'd make it work because, if we could make our long-distance relationship work, we could definitely deal with the stress of him going to med school.
Everything was so great, I didn't even mind our fights because that just meant that we could make up. It was difficult not seeing him, but I feel like talking to each other like we did made us more connected. The day of my Fall dance when he was supposed to take the train up to spend the weekend with me, he tore his ACL at his football game. His sister had called and told me that he couldn't make it and that he was in the hospital, but that he would call me tomorrow morning. I was devestated because I wanted to show him off to my friends and to hold him and look into his eyes again and feel his big soft lips on me. We had planned on having sex that weekend, too. It was funny talking about it all the time and putting so much pressure on those few days. It seems so fucking silly now, how we planned every detail and how he was so worried that he'd hurt me and all that other nonsense. I think that's what devestated the both of us the most when he couldn't come up that weekend, knowing that we didn't know when the next time he could come visit would be.
In that December, I found out that I was pretty sick with a heart condition. When I told him about it, he had the strangest reaction. His mom was a nurse, so I knew he could ask her about it if he wanted to, but when I told him what was going on, he said that he couldn't deal with it. I didn't understand what the fuck he was talking about. He wasn't dealing with it, I was. When I had my surgery to get a pacemaker and defibrillator put in and I told him I was scared about it, he told me that it wasn't that big of a deal, it happens everyday and that I would be fine and just needed to "man up." That was the first time that he broke a little piece of my heart. I couldn't understand why he didn't get how serious this was to me.
He went on vacation that Spring Break and we didn't talk for a few days because of it. I logged into his e-mail because I thought it would oh so cute to send him a message to himself from me. I logged in and saw emails from a few chicks, girls that I had heard of but didn't really know who they were. I saw a poem, that he said he had written for me, addressed to another girl. Needless to say, I was fucking pissed. I had to wait a few more days to talk to him about it because he was on vacation and I refused to call him during it. When he got back and we talked, I had asked him if he had fun, etc, etc, making small talk. I asked him who these chicks were, and I can't even remember their names now, and all I heard was silence on the phone. He finally told me that they were no one, just friends, and he was sending them the poems to see how they liked them before he sent them to me. I told him that I fuckign hated him and that we were finished.
I guess I wasn't strong enough to stay away from him though. We still dated on and off for a few months after that, but when his one friend that lived in Kentucky IMed me and told me that he had bought another girl a dozen roses, I flipped. Part of me thought that this friend just wanted to start shit because he was lonely and was jealous of our relationship, but I knew I was making excuses. BF called me when he found out that his friend had said something and I just broke down. "How could you do this to me? Again?" He cried, too. He said he didn't know what was wrong with him and that he was an idiot and I felt placated for the most part, but I knew it could never work because I didn't trust him. When we broke up for good, I sent him an email about how much I loved him and that he broke my heart and I'd never be able to love someone as purely or as innocently as I had loved him.
He wrote me a few more poems, telling me that he'd always love me and I would always have a special place in his heart. About a month after we broke up, I started dating a new boy, who didn't last long, and who was a total rebound. When ex-BF found out, he called me and told me that I was a slut and how it was funny that I was so upset about our breakup, but could move on so easily. I really hated him then, he was trivializing everything that we had because I had decided to move on. I was a total cunt to him in retaliation. I probably said the worst thing that I could have said to him by telling him he would end up just like his father, a life-long adulterer who would never have a meaningful relationship because he was such a fucking prick. The slight intake of breath after I said that to him, said it all. I knew that I'd gone too far when I said it, but part of me was happy about it because I'd finally cracked him and hurt him.
We talk every now and again. He asks me about my health and family and I ask him about his education and his sister's marriage. We're Facebook friends, but other than that, I don't know much about him anymore. He's a frat boy, and apparently a very popular one at that. Looking back, I have no regrets about our relationship, only lessons that I've learned from it. But, damn, it can still pull at my heart strings when I watch movies like P.S. I Love You.
A little sidenote about Rocker....we talked for like 3 hours last night. He called when I was getting ready to go out, and instead of going out, I ended up just staying in and talking to him. I should have just invited him over, but I guess I didn't know we were going to talk that long. I convinced him to play some of his music for me and I about melted when he started to play "Nothing Else Matters" by Metallica. I told him that was going to be played at my wedding and he laughed a little. He continued playing different songs on his acoustic guitar as we talked. When we had a period of silence, I asked him to play my favorite song, not saying the title. He started playing "Nothing Else Matters" again and I couldn't stop smiling. When he finished, he asked if I was happy now and I said no. He asked what he could do to make me happy and I told him to play it again. It was like a lullaby. I listened to him play as my eyes grew heavy and I cuddled further into my bed. I think he sensed that I was getting tired and he asked if I was still there in a soft voice. Ahhhh it made me totally melt. What's more adorable than a boy playing guitar for you? When we hung up, I couldn't wait to fall asleep so that I could hear from him again tomorrow. I've yet to hear from him so far, but he knows I'm working until 4, so we'll see what happens.
All I know is that this could be some trouble...some gooooood trouble.
Friday, December 19, 2008
It's like the goddamned plague!
I haven't written in awhile because I've been busy with school and work and the dramatics of being an RA. Let's start the craziness from where we previously left off.
I went to Matt Forte's birthday party last Friday and it was amazing. I had a lot of fun and got to meet several players who were gracious enough to take a couple pictures with me. It's always kind of weird to see football players in person because, although you expect them to be really large, the images you have in your head don't compare to what they really look like in person. The club that it was at was alright, I probably wouldn't go again unless there was a special event like this held there. The vibe was a little weird, a little off and I can't put my finger on what it was exactly. Maybe it was just too much. Maybe it was too much martini drinking, I just got back from a long day at the office, yuppies. Maybe it was that no one was dancing except the supremely inebriated older women in fur coats with stiletto boots on. Maybe it was that I felt like if I walked into the bathroom at the right time, I'd witness a beyond gorgeous woman doing a line of coke off of her compact mirror. I don't know what it was, it just felt so....not me. Maybe I had different expectations of it, I'm not sure, but I guess I'm not the type of city girl who goes out to these clubs and pays $8 for an amaretto stone sour that's mostly ice cubes and who can see herself dancing with a guy that looks like he's trying to prove to the world that he's a successful business man, yet is wearing cheap cologne and a false smile. I just can't lie to myself and pretend like it was something that I'd do usually. I mean, for one night it was fun, but by 11pm, I was sick of it. It could be an acquired taste though, so I'm going to leave my judgment open on this, but for now, I'm more of a go to the bar that has a dancefloor that will play music I've actually heard of instead of weird techno music that reminds me of the discotechs in Rome.
On another note, this past week was finals week for me and it sucked. It started out well until Tuesday morning at about 4am. I heard a knock at my door, so I woke up and opened the door and saw one of my residents standing there. He looked very disturbed and upset, so I tried to focus and push the sleepiness to the back of my head.
"Can I come in?" Of course. Fuck, I knew this wasn't going to be good. Getting woken up at 4am during the week is never a good sign. I asked him what was going on and if he was okay. He just rambled, "I don't know what to do. I need to know, like I need to know the right course of action to take." I had no fucking clue what he was talking about, there'd never been a problem with him before, so I tried to calm him down and he started to tell me what was going on when one of his roommates came in my room, also.
I told them that I couldn't do anything to help them unless I knew what was going on, so someone better start talking. They told me that a girl, who I know of, but don't know that well, was in their room and that they'd been talking to her for a couple hours and that they think she is suicidal. I asked them why they thought that and why was she in their room because I knew she lived in another residence hall. They said she had texted them around midnight and asked if she could crash at their place because she didn't trust herself. I asked them what that meant, and they said she has been saying things for a few weeks that gave them the impression she might try to hurt herself.
My initial reaction was pretty horrible. I didn't want to deal with it because of this girl's past. Last year she had told people that she had ovarian cancer. Suddenly it disappeared. At the beginning of this school year, she told people that she had a malignant brain tumor and that she probably wouldn't survive the rest of the school year. Usually, I'm sympathetic to people, especially because I can understand that having these illnesses is devastating because I've been there with my heart condition, although I never thought I would die. The whole brain tumor thing has pissed a lot of people off because 1) she suddenly seems prone to cancer scares 2) there is another girl at our school who recently had to drop out because she lost a significant amount of her short-term memory when her brain tumor was taken out, thus failing out of her classes and 3) because she's known to create drama.
I put these feelings aside because I knew I had to be responsible and because I didn't want her to do anything and have it be on my conscience. I went to their room and she was sitting there on the couch, cuddled against a freshman basketball player who was clearly intoxicated. There were two other girls there, one a resident of mine. I greeted the suicidal girl and told her that I needed to take action for her own safety and for those of my residents. I told her that I either needed to call an ambulance or that I needed her to go to the hospital on her own free will, but either way, she was going. She nodded and told me that she knew she had to go and I noticed scratch marks on her wrists. It looked like she had either tried cutting herself with a butter knife or perhaps with plastic dinnerware. It didn't look serious, and the boys later told me that she had informed them she'd been cutting herself to "try and make herself feel better because cutting releases endorphins." I was irritated when I found this out. I've been a cutter in the past and when you're a cutter, you don't cut in obvious places such as the wrists, where people will notice and may ask you about it. You cut secretly because cutting isn't about killing yourself, it's about release. When I cut, I'd usually cut on my upper leg or somewhere obscure that people wouldn't see before it had a chance to heal. And I didn't cut with a butter knife. My weapon of choice was a straight blade razor or a big kitchen knife. Butter knifes wouldn't do the trick. They don't cause enough pain and they don't tear the skin. When I cut, I wanted the pain and I wanted the blood. I wanted to see the blood come out of me so that I could soak it up and throw it away; it was my mind's way of throwing pain away.
After my dad cheated on my mom, I noticed cuts on her. They were long and smooth, not deep, but enough to create some blood and leave behind a mark for a few weeks. I knew she was a cutter when I saw them and I wondered if it was some type of genetic trait that could be passed on. Once, I asked about them. She looked down at a few on her forearm and told me that she had been gardening, and brushed up against the wire fence that surrounds our little garden plot. I knew it was a lie. There was no way the fence could have been that perfect in several different areas. After she told me, she looked me in the eyes, maybe to see if there was belief there. We stared at each other for a moment and I think we both figured out at that time that we were cutters.
Back to the girl, now. She insisted that she would not go in an ambulance, so I asked her what it would take to get her to go on her own volition. She told me that she wanted to talk to our school's counselor, so I paged him and they talked briefly. She was still crying, but something felt fake about it. Like they were planned tears. I tried to put these thoughts out of my head, but I just couldn't. She finally agreed to let her friends take her to the hospital and I was relieved that I didn't have to clean too big of a mess up. What a horrible thought...here is a girl crying for help and I'm thankful that I don't have to get too involved.
The next day, I asked a few of my residents how she was doing since they had taken her to the hospital and had gone to visit her. Miraculously, the brain tumor had disappeared and she now had a clean bill of health. Obviously, she has some serious mental issues that I can't even fathom. Some people around school said she's a hypochondriac, but I don't think that's the case because I don't think that she truly believes she is sick in a physical way, she just uses it as an excuse to maybe mask that she's fucked up in the head.
I'm glad that her mental problems are documented because maybe she'll get the help she needs now. I don't think she is a bad person, I just think she needs to get help before she truly does hurt herself or hurt others.
Finals week continued and I got brutally raped by one of my tests. The teacher had given us a study guide, but the study guide did absolutely nothing to prepare me. There was 51 multiple choice questions on the test. Not 50, not 55, not even 45...but 51. I looked at it and laughed and called the teacher a snatchface in my head for doing that. I got through it and hopefully I'll pull a high B in the class, ruining my streak of straight As in college.
Another couple is engaged at my school. It's starting to make me think that the school is putting something in our fucking water. That's...like 7 couples this past semester that have gotten engaged or who I know are about to. I swear, it's spreading like the fucking plague. It's great that they found someone who they think they want to spend the rest of their lives with, but holy hell, we're so fucking young! What's the rush? I feel like people don't realize that their relationships are going to change once we graduate. You're not going to be the same exact people that you are now. Ahhhhh, but I digress.
Now, for the better part..................
I met someone.
Are you excited to hear about him? I'm excited to tell you about him. It started when I found out that I'm getting a violin for Christmas, something I've wanted for such a long time. Don't let the foul mouth and dirty mind give you the wrong impression, sometimes I can be kind of cultured. I looked on various websites for lessons because I don't know how to play it at all. A lot of the places seemed like they were for intermediate players and I knew I was definitely a beginner. My mom told me that I should look at Craigslist, so I did. I put an add out and got a on of responses, some were very strange, but nonetheless, that's essentially how I met him. He doesn't know how to play violin or anything, but I did meet him through Craigslist and the thought of that kind of makes me want to puke, but whatever. Craigslist is how I met Rocker. That's obviously not his real name, but that's what I'm going to refer to him as, and for good reason.
We talked through a couple emails and he gave me his screenname so we talked through instant messaging for a few days. We seemed to have a lot in common, definitely music to say the least, and we soon learned we had a lot in common in regards to our family dynamics. He told me he was in a band, but that he had a real job, too because he realizes that the whole Rockstar thing probably won't work out and I respected him for being honest to himself like that. He sent me a picture of himself playing the guitar and I might have drooled a little bit. I'm a sucker for rockers. Such a fucking sucker..Anyways, we've been talking for almost two weeks now and we seem to have a good connection, but I don't know what the hell kind of connection one can form over phone calls, texting, and talking online. I love his voice...it's deep and a little harsh, but fuck it's hot. There's an age difference, he's 26, but it doesn't seem like that big of a difference to me. I actually like it because he can spell correctly, has a real job and goals for his life, and, actually, we like to play the same video games. How fucking nerdy. We talk about music alot and he talks about his guitars, 13 of them, with admiration and passion. It amazes me that he knows so much about them and about the history of them and what great musician has played this type of guitar and used these type of strings. It's adorable to me when he gets on his little kicks about what the best guitar is and how there's so many common misconceptions about what guitar is the best, etc, etc.
We talk daily. He texts me to tell me good morning every single morning without fail. He tells me about his family and how awesome they are and how spoiled his niece and nephew are. We talk about the best concerts we've been to and how I was pissed he got to go see Iron Maiden last year and I didn't. Douchebag was supposed to take me, but he bailed. Rocker promised me that when they come back to Chicago, he'll buy us front row seats and when I said that'd be really expensive, he said that I seem to be worth it. He couldn't believe that I'm a Metallica virgin, but we're going to the same show next month. When we go like ten hours without talking, I miss him. Is that crazy? I mean, we haven't even met yet. Does that matter? We've seen pictures of each other, but I mean honestly, pictures lie. Will we feel the same type of connection when we meet? He's asked me a few times when I'm free, and I've told him that after the holidays will work best because my mom is a tradition nazi and refuses to let her daughters do anything that goes against tradition, so that means cooking, decorating, cleaning, celebrating, hot chocolate drinking...everything must be done that has been done for the past years. When he tells me that he'll call me later because he has to go to the gym, I think about him working up a sweat and I imagine seeing him all hot and sweaty and what it'd be like to kiss him and feel him. I finally told him that tonight and he said that he looks damn good and I told him to prove it and he said that maybe if I'd hang out with him tonight, he would. What a tease. I think about talking to him and I compare it with how I talked to douchebag. With douchebag, it was all about sex. I only wanted him to come over so we could hook up. I wanted him to want me all the time. With Rocker, I just want to talk to him. I think it'd be fun to maybe talk a little dirty with him, but it's...deeper than that. So strange to me...I've told Rocker that I'm inappropriate. Okay, that I'm inappropriate a lot of the time, but he didn't seem daunted by it. He didn't ask how, just kind of laughed at it. Hmm. I haven't told him that I love giving head. I haven't told him that I've kissed other girls. I haven't told him about my vibrators. I haven't told him that I watch porn. I haven't told him that I'm kind of insatiable when it comes to physical pleasure and that if I don't masturbate for a few days straight, I go crazy and get really pissy. I wonder if it would freak him out or make him think that I'm a slut. I mean, I am who I am and I like what I like, but I want him to accept me for some reason.
I do like him and I feel like we have a lot in common and maybe something could work out with him...but do things that start online work out? It seems weird to me kind of. Like, it's one thing to bullshit with a person online, knowing you have no interest in seeing them or whatever, but it's different this time. I want to meet him, but I'm anxious about it too, I suppose. But, as my mom says, "What do you have to lose?"
Nothing, mom. Nothing at all.
I went to Matt Forte's birthday party last Friday and it was amazing. I had a lot of fun and got to meet several players who were gracious enough to take a couple pictures with me. It's always kind of weird to see football players in person because, although you expect them to be really large, the images you have in your head don't compare to what they really look like in person. The club that it was at was alright, I probably wouldn't go again unless there was a special event like this held there. The vibe was a little weird, a little off and I can't put my finger on what it was exactly. Maybe it was just too much. Maybe it was too much martini drinking, I just got back from a long day at the office, yuppies. Maybe it was that no one was dancing except the supremely inebriated older women in fur coats with stiletto boots on. Maybe it was that I felt like if I walked into the bathroom at the right time, I'd witness a beyond gorgeous woman doing a line of coke off of her compact mirror. I don't know what it was, it just felt so....not me. Maybe I had different expectations of it, I'm not sure, but I guess I'm not the type of city girl who goes out to these clubs and pays $8 for an amaretto stone sour that's mostly ice cubes and who can see herself dancing with a guy that looks like he's trying to prove to the world that he's a successful business man, yet is wearing cheap cologne and a false smile. I just can't lie to myself and pretend like it was something that I'd do usually. I mean, for one night it was fun, but by 11pm, I was sick of it. It could be an acquired taste though, so I'm going to leave my judgment open on this, but for now, I'm more of a go to the bar that has a dancefloor that will play music I've actually heard of instead of weird techno music that reminds me of the discotechs in Rome.
On another note, this past week was finals week for me and it sucked. It started out well until Tuesday morning at about 4am. I heard a knock at my door, so I woke up and opened the door and saw one of my residents standing there. He looked very disturbed and upset, so I tried to focus and push the sleepiness to the back of my head.
"Can I come in?" Of course. Fuck, I knew this wasn't going to be good. Getting woken up at 4am during the week is never a good sign. I asked him what was going on and if he was okay. He just rambled, "I don't know what to do. I need to know, like I need to know the right course of action to take." I had no fucking clue what he was talking about, there'd never been a problem with him before, so I tried to calm him down and he started to tell me what was going on when one of his roommates came in my room, also.
I told them that I couldn't do anything to help them unless I knew what was going on, so someone better start talking. They told me that a girl, who I know of, but don't know that well, was in their room and that they'd been talking to her for a couple hours and that they think she is suicidal. I asked them why they thought that and why was she in their room because I knew she lived in another residence hall. They said she had texted them around midnight and asked if she could crash at their place because she didn't trust herself. I asked them what that meant, and they said she has been saying things for a few weeks that gave them the impression she might try to hurt herself.
My initial reaction was pretty horrible. I didn't want to deal with it because of this girl's past. Last year she had told people that she had ovarian cancer. Suddenly it disappeared. At the beginning of this school year, she told people that she had a malignant brain tumor and that she probably wouldn't survive the rest of the school year. Usually, I'm sympathetic to people, especially because I can understand that having these illnesses is devastating because I've been there with my heart condition, although I never thought I would die. The whole brain tumor thing has pissed a lot of people off because 1) she suddenly seems prone to cancer scares 2) there is another girl at our school who recently had to drop out because she lost a significant amount of her short-term memory when her brain tumor was taken out, thus failing out of her classes and 3) because she's known to create drama.
I put these feelings aside because I knew I had to be responsible and because I didn't want her to do anything and have it be on my conscience. I went to their room and she was sitting there on the couch, cuddled against a freshman basketball player who was clearly intoxicated. There were two other girls there, one a resident of mine. I greeted the suicidal girl and told her that I needed to take action for her own safety and for those of my residents. I told her that I either needed to call an ambulance or that I needed her to go to the hospital on her own free will, but either way, she was going. She nodded and told me that she knew she had to go and I noticed scratch marks on her wrists. It looked like she had either tried cutting herself with a butter knife or perhaps with plastic dinnerware. It didn't look serious, and the boys later told me that she had informed them she'd been cutting herself to "try and make herself feel better because cutting releases endorphins." I was irritated when I found this out. I've been a cutter in the past and when you're a cutter, you don't cut in obvious places such as the wrists, where people will notice and may ask you about it. You cut secretly because cutting isn't about killing yourself, it's about release. When I cut, I'd usually cut on my upper leg or somewhere obscure that people wouldn't see before it had a chance to heal. And I didn't cut with a butter knife. My weapon of choice was a straight blade razor or a big kitchen knife. Butter knifes wouldn't do the trick. They don't cause enough pain and they don't tear the skin. When I cut, I wanted the pain and I wanted the blood. I wanted to see the blood come out of me so that I could soak it up and throw it away; it was my mind's way of throwing pain away.
After my dad cheated on my mom, I noticed cuts on her. They were long and smooth, not deep, but enough to create some blood and leave behind a mark for a few weeks. I knew she was a cutter when I saw them and I wondered if it was some type of genetic trait that could be passed on. Once, I asked about them. She looked down at a few on her forearm and told me that she had been gardening, and brushed up against the wire fence that surrounds our little garden plot. I knew it was a lie. There was no way the fence could have been that perfect in several different areas. After she told me, she looked me in the eyes, maybe to see if there was belief there. We stared at each other for a moment and I think we both figured out at that time that we were cutters.
Back to the girl, now. She insisted that she would not go in an ambulance, so I asked her what it would take to get her to go on her own volition. She told me that she wanted to talk to our school's counselor, so I paged him and they talked briefly. She was still crying, but something felt fake about it. Like they were planned tears. I tried to put these thoughts out of my head, but I just couldn't. She finally agreed to let her friends take her to the hospital and I was relieved that I didn't have to clean too big of a mess up. What a horrible thought...here is a girl crying for help and I'm thankful that I don't have to get too involved.
The next day, I asked a few of my residents how she was doing since they had taken her to the hospital and had gone to visit her. Miraculously, the brain tumor had disappeared and she now had a clean bill of health. Obviously, she has some serious mental issues that I can't even fathom. Some people around school said she's a hypochondriac, but I don't think that's the case because I don't think that she truly believes she is sick in a physical way, she just uses it as an excuse to maybe mask that she's fucked up in the head.
I'm glad that her mental problems are documented because maybe she'll get the help she needs now. I don't think she is a bad person, I just think she needs to get help before she truly does hurt herself or hurt others.
Finals week continued and I got brutally raped by one of my tests. The teacher had given us a study guide, but the study guide did absolutely nothing to prepare me. There was 51 multiple choice questions on the test. Not 50, not 55, not even 45...but 51. I looked at it and laughed and called the teacher a snatchface in my head for doing that. I got through it and hopefully I'll pull a high B in the class, ruining my streak of straight As in college.
Another couple is engaged at my school. It's starting to make me think that the school is putting something in our fucking water. That's...like 7 couples this past semester that have gotten engaged or who I know are about to. I swear, it's spreading like the fucking plague. It's great that they found someone who they think they want to spend the rest of their lives with, but holy hell, we're so fucking young! What's the rush? I feel like people don't realize that their relationships are going to change once we graduate. You're not going to be the same exact people that you are now. Ahhhhh, but I digress.
Now, for the better part..................
I met someone.
Are you excited to hear about him? I'm excited to tell you about him. It started when I found out that I'm getting a violin for Christmas, something I've wanted for such a long time. Don't let the foul mouth and dirty mind give you the wrong impression, sometimes I can be kind of cultured. I looked on various websites for lessons because I don't know how to play it at all. A lot of the places seemed like they were for intermediate players and I knew I was definitely a beginner. My mom told me that I should look at Craigslist, so I did. I put an add out and got a on of responses, some were very strange, but nonetheless, that's essentially how I met him. He doesn't know how to play violin or anything, but I did meet him through Craigslist and the thought of that kind of makes me want to puke, but whatever. Craigslist is how I met Rocker. That's obviously not his real name, but that's what I'm going to refer to him as, and for good reason.
We talked through a couple emails and he gave me his screenname so we talked through instant messaging for a few days. We seemed to have a lot in common, definitely music to say the least, and we soon learned we had a lot in common in regards to our family dynamics. He told me he was in a band, but that he had a real job, too because he realizes that the whole Rockstar thing probably won't work out and I respected him for being honest to himself like that. He sent me a picture of himself playing the guitar and I might have drooled a little bit. I'm a sucker for rockers. Such a fucking sucker..Anyways, we've been talking for almost two weeks now and we seem to have a good connection, but I don't know what the hell kind of connection one can form over phone calls, texting, and talking online. I love his voice...it's deep and a little harsh, but fuck it's hot. There's an age difference, he's 26, but it doesn't seem like that big of a difference to me. I actually like it because he can spell correctly, has a real job and goals for his life, and, actually, we like to play the same video games. How fucking nerdy. We talk about music alot and he talks about his guitars, 13 of them, with admiration and passion. It amazes me that he knows so much about them and about the history of them and what great musician has played this type of guitar and used these type of strings. It's adorable to me when he gets on his little kicks about what the best guitar is and how there's so many common misconceptions about what guitar is the best, etc, etc.
We talk daily. He texts me to tell me good morning every single morning without fail. He tells me about his family and how awesome they are and how spoiled his niece and nephew are. We talk about the best concerts we've been to and how I was pissed he got to go see Iron Maiden last year and I didn't. Douchebag was supposed to take me, but he bailed. Rocker promised me that when they come back to Chicago, he'll buy us front row seats and when I said that'd be really expensive, he said that I seem to be worth it. He couldn't believe that I'm a Metallica virgin, but we're going to the same show next month. When we go like ten hours without talking, I miss him. Is that crazy? I mean, we haven't even met yet. Does that matter? We've seen pictures of each other, but I mean honestly, pictures lie. Will we feel the same type of connection when we meet? He's asked me a few times when I'm free, and I've told him that after the holidays will work best because my mom is a tradition nazi and refuses to let her daughters do anything that goes against tradition, so that means cooking, decorating, cleaning, celebrating, hot chocolate drinking...everything must be done that has been done for the past years. When he tells me that he'll call me later because he has to go to the gym, I think about him working up a sweat and I imagine seeing him all hot and sweaty and what it'd be like to kiss him and feel him. I finally told him that tonight and he said that he looks damn good and I told him to prove it and he said that maybe if I'd hang out with him tonight, he would. What a tease. I think about talking to him and I compare it with how I talked to douchebag. With douchebag, it was all about sex. I only wanted him to come over so we could hook up. I wanted him to want me all the time. With Rocker, I just want to talk to him. I think it'd be fun to maybe talk a little dirty with him, but it's...deeper than that. So strange to me...I've told Rocker that I'm inappropriate. Okay, that I'm inappropriate a lot of the time, but he didn't seem daunted by it. He didn't ask how, just kind of laughed at it. Hmm. I haven't told him that I love giving head. I haven't told him that I've kissed other girls. I haven't told him about my vibrators. I haven't told him that I watch porn. I haven't told him that I'm kind of insatiable when it comes to physical pleasure and that if I don't masturbate for a few days straight, I go crazy and get really pissy. I wonder if it would freak him out or make him think that I'm a slut. I mean, I am who I am and I like what I like, but I want him to accept me for some reason.
I do like him and I feel like we have a lot in common and maybe something could work out with him...but do things that start online work out? It seems weird to me kind of. Like, it's one thing to bullshit with a person online, knowing you have no interest in seeing them or whatever, but it's different this time. I want to meet him, but I'm anxious about it too, I suppose. But, as my mom says, "What do you have to lose?"
Nothing, mom. Nothing at all.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Going to a football player's birthday party, no big deal!
This Friday I'm going to a pretty well known Chicago Bears rookie's birthday party. It's at a relatively upscale club downtown that has a $20 cover charge and $7.50 shots. It's an "exclusive event," and I have no idea what that means, but I'm figuring it's a guest list only type of deal since there will be quasi-celebrities there, or at least local celebs. I'm pretty excited because I'm a huge Bears fan, but I don't want to be that girl who tries to canoodle with a football player and I won't be, especially since I'm going with my sister and her boyfriend, who is the reason why we're able to go anyway. But, I'm not going to lie, I'm crossing my fingers and hoping Brian Urlacher is there. I met him once when I was in 8th grade, and oh what a story that is.
I can't remember what day of the week it was, but I feel like it was a Monday because I was wearing my Urlacher jersey, and I usually wore it on Mondays to celebrate their game on Sunday. One of my friends informed me that Urlacher was doing an autograph signing at a Best Buy store in another suburb, about an hour away from my town. This is when I started to devise my plan. Right before lunch, I asked my teacher if I could go to the nurse because I wasn't feeling well. The nurse told me the standard, "You don't have a fever and you're not vomitting, so go back to class," but I insisted on calling my mom, who was home with my little sister. The nurse informed me that my mom was on her way, so I went to my locker to get my stuff and to my class to inform my teacher that I wouldn't be back at school. "Hope you feel better," he said. As I walked out the door, trying to hide my smirk, I heard one of my guy friends shout out, "Yeah right! She's not sick! She's going to see Urlacher!" It was true. Hopefully.
When I got in my mom's van with a smirk on my face, she asked me what was going on. "So, listen. Don't be mad. But, I heard Brian Urlacher is going to do an autograph signing today...and you know how much I love him...can I go?" She laughed at how ridiculous I was and told me she couldn't believe that I pulled this, but when we got home, she called my dad. "Your daughter came home sick. Let her tell you why." I grabbed the receiver and a nervous knot of guilt stirred in my stomach. "Dad..Brian Urlacher is going to be signing autographs today! Isn't that awesome? It doesn't cost anything to get in I don't think...can we go? Can we PLEASE go?!" I rambled off. "Where is it," he asked. He sighed when I told him how far away it was, but he said he would be home shortly.
We got to the Best Buy and surprisingly there wasn't much of a line, but we were there hours in advance, of course. As it got closer to Urlacher's arrival, I started to get super excited, as any 14 year old girl would over their beloved celebrity. I heard a roar of applause and strained on my tip-toes to see if he was here. He walked in with his brother and they towered above everyone else. I took a picture, which only caught their heads and neck as the giddiness came over me. I waited anxiously in line with my white jersey in one hand to be signed and my blue jersey on me. Fuck, I'm not wearing any fucking make-up. When it was finally my turn, I sheepishly walked up placed my jersey on the table. "Where do you want it signed," he asked. Oh shit...I don't know. I awkwardly pointed to a spot and he looked down at my fingers. "Pretty cool nail polish." What? Brian Urlacher...did you really compliment my nail polish??? Yes, it was cool, it was kind fo irridescent, but really? I'm sure I blushed and was all flustered as I tried to bend down so that my dad could snap a picture of me with him. Unfortunately, I forgot to wind the little knob, as this was before we had digital cameras, and he thought the camera was broken so we moved on. I still haven't forgiven for that, but hopefully this weekend will make up for it. As my dad and I walked back to the car, I was in awe. "Sweet Jesus, he's hot," I said, not to anyone in particular. My dad looked at me and shook his head and said, "That's enough of that." I guess it would be awkward to hear your tween taughter say that. It's still one of my favorite memories and I adore my father for having the patience to take me there and wait with me in line for about four and half hours.
Looking back, I often think about what I would have said if I had been at least 18, okay, maybe 15 and lied about my age, and if my dad hadn't been with me. I'm sure I would have shown a little cleavage or something. It seems odd that people try so desperately to hook up with celebrities when they don't actually know them. Some people are often delusional and think that if they read enough about someone, that they know them. Untrue. I may know Brian Urlacher's stats and where he went to college, but by no means do I think I know him. So if he is there this weekend, I'll probably let out a squeal and an "OMIGOD!" but I wouldn't approach him. I wouldn't tell him that I'd suck him off in the bathroom if he wanted to. But, he good autograph my boob if he was so inclined....Just saying.
I can't remember what day of the week it was, but I feel like it was a Monday because I was wearing my Urlacher jersey, and I usually wore it on Mondays to celebrate their game on Sunday. One of my friends informed me that Urlacher was doing an autograph signing at a Best Buy store in another suburb, about an hour away from my town. This is when I started to devise my plan. Right before lunch, I asked my teacher if I could go to the nurse because I wasn't feeling well. The nurse told me the standard, "You don't have a fever and you're not vomitting, so go back to class," but I insisted on calling my mom, who was home with my little sister. The nurse informed me that my mom was on her way, so I went to my locker to get my stuff and to my class to inform my teacher that I wouldn't be back at school. "Hope you feel better," he said. As I walked out the door, trying to hide my smirk, I heard one of my guy friends shout out, "Yeah right! She's not sick! She's going to see Urlacher!" It was true. Hopefully.
When I got in my mom's van with a smirk on my face, she asked me what was going on. "So, listen. Don't be mad. But, I heard Brian Urlacher is going to do an autograph signing today...and you know how much I love him...can I go?" She laughed at how ridiculous I was and told me she couldn't believe that I pulled this, but when we got home, she called my dad. "Your daughter came home sick. Let her tell you why." I grabbed the receiver and a nervous knot of guilt stirred in my stomach. "Dad..Brian Urlacher is going to be signing autographs today! Isn't that awesome? It doesn't cost anything to get in I don't think...can we go? Can we PLEASE go?!" I rambled off. "Where is it," he asked. He sighed when I told him how far away it was, but he said he would be home shortly.
We got to the Best Buy and surprisingly there wasn't much of a line, but we were there hours in advance, of course. As it got closer to Urlacher's arrival, I started to get super excited, as any 14 year old girl would over their beloved celebrity. I heard a roar of applause and strained on my tip-toes to see if he was here. He walked in with his brother and they towered above everyone else. I took a picture, which only caught their heads and neck as the giddiness came over me. I waited anxiously in line with my white jersey in one hand to be signed and my blue jersey on me. Fuck, I'm not wearing any fucking make-up. When it was finally my turn, I sheepishly walked up placed my jersey on the table. "Where do you want it signed," he asked. Oh shit...I don't know. I awkwardly pointed to a spot and he looked down at my fingers. "Pretty cool nail polish." What? Brian Urlacher...did you really compliment my nail polish??? Yes, it was cool, it was kind fo irridescent, but really? I'm sure I blushed and was all flustered as I tried to bend down so that my dad could snap a picture of me with him. Unfortunately, I forgot to wind the little knob, as this was before we had digital cameras, and he thought the camera was broken so we moved on. I still haven't forgiven for that, but hopefully this weekend will make up for it. As my dad and I walked back to the car, I was in awe. "Sweet Jesus, he's hot," I said, not to anyone in particular. My dad looked at me and shook his head and said, "That's enough of that." I guess it would be awkward to hear your tween taughter say that. It's still one of my favorite memories and I adore my father for having the patience to take me there and wait with me in line for about four and half hours.
Looking back, I often think about what I would have said if I had been at least 18, okay, maybe 15 and lied about my age, and if my dad hadn't been with me. I'm sure I would have shown a little cleavage or something. It seems odd that people try so desperately to hook up with celebrities when they don't actually know them. Some people are often delusional and think that if they read enough about someone, that they know them. Untrue. I may know Brian Urlacher's stats and where he went to college, but by no means do I think I know him. So if he is there this weekend, I'll probably let out a squeal and an "OMIGOD!" but I wouldn't approach him. I wouldn't tell him that I'd suck him off in the bathroom if he wanted to. But, he good autograph my boob if he was so inclined....Just saying.
Friday, December 5, 2008
This is ridiculous
I went to see Twilight again and I think that I may be obsessed. During the movie, my second viewing, I kept thinking about how much I wanted to fuck Robert Pattinson, aka Edward Cullen. The man, and by man I mean a 22 year old who is playing a "17" year old vampire, is fucking gorgeous. I felt quite silly, sitting in the movie theater with a few friends and being encircled by tweens. I wondered if they wanted to fuck him? I mean, they probably know what sex is, but do they want to just be in love with him..or do they want to be with him physically? Is there some key year when you start desiring the physical want instead of the emotional? All my thinking was interrupting me from the movie. All I could think about was how freaking weird it was that I was getting wet over a fictional character. Yes, over a fictional vampire...and that is half the attraction. Every girl wants a man who roughs them up in bed, or has the potential to. Who better to do that than a vampire? It's like when women are turned on by their man fighting; you may not know why you're so damn turned on when you see guys get in a fight, but you know you are.
Take, for instance, Mark Wahlberg's character in Fear. His character is a mentally unstable young guy who ends up killing his girlfriend's best friend because he is jealous and irrationally paranoid. Throughout the movie, you feel bad for his girlfriend, but you also are turned on and see the appeal. Hmm...Mark, why are you telling her dad that you popped her cherry...why are you threatening her family's life...wait, I don't really care because I want to fuck you like a goddamned animal right now. It's delusional, the things we somehow become attracted to. If Edward Cullen was real, I'd fly my ass to Forks, do my damndest to meet him (fuck Bella) and then screw the living Jesus out of him, breaking headboards and all. But since he is not, Robert Pattinson will do. He has the hot English accent and this broody look about him that makes me want to pull his hair and run my tongue down his neck.
Doesn't it seem sometimes unfair that people can be so ridiculously good looking? Have you ever seen a person, not necessarily a celebrity, and you're immediately in awe of them, opposite sex or not? Your first thought may not even be sexual, but one of admiration and adoration. Then, sex comes in a close second. Since the beginning of time, we have had an attraction to what we deem to be beautiful. For cavemen, it might have been bigger women who had more fat content because they could better sustain life and get through a winter with meager meals. For the ancient Greeks, symmetrical beauty; during the Renaissance, women with a slightly rounded belly, invoking thoughts of fertility. Now...the lines are a little bit blurred. Some prefer women with "curves," but what is the definition of curves? An obese woman can call herself curvy, but that's not everyone's definition of it. Silicone breasts? Water bras? Ass implants? I couldn't make this stuff up. Removing ribs to make your hips look larger and your waist slimmer, it's very fashionable in Brazil. On the other hand, some people find skin and bones appealing. 5'9'' and 100lbs, barely an A cup, looking like a little boy, sexy. A man that looks like he's lived through the Holocaust because he is trying to live up to his "starving artist" appeal? Or what about the use of steroids by high school non-athletes who want to look "swoll," but it's just not in their natural genetics to get that big?
Beauty may be in the eye of the behold on an individual basis, but definitely not as a society. It's interesting to think about how we define beauty and what attracts us to certain people who look a certain way. I feel like I have a wide range of sexual attractions...david beckham, lenny kravitz, slash, brian urlacher, young Marlon Brando......the list goes on. It would take about four months to list every celebrity I wanted to screw.
With that being said, one of my good friends at school is turning 21 today so we're going to the bars to celebrate. Hopefully I won't end up back in bed alone.
Take, for instance, Mark Wahlberg's character in Fear. His character is a mentally unstable young guy who ends up killing his girlfriend's best friend because he is jealous and irrationally paranoid. Throughout the movie, you feel bad for his girlfriend, but you also are turned on and see the appeal. Hmm...Mark, why are you telling her dad that you popped her cherry...why are you threatening her family's life...wait, I don't really care because I want to fuck you like a goddamned animal right now. It's delusional, the things we somehow become attracted to. If Edward Cullen was real, I'd fly my ass to Forks, do my damndest to meet him (fuck Bella) and then screw the living Jesus out of him, breaking headboards and all. But since he is not, Robert Pattinson will do. He has the hot English accent and this broody look about him that makes me want to pull his hair and run my tongue down his neck.
Doesn't it seem sometimes unfair that people can be so ridiculously good looking? Have you ever seen a person, not necessarily a celebrity, and you're immediately in awe of them, opposite sex or not? Your first thought may not even be sexual, but one of admiration and adoration. Then, sex comes in a close second. Since the beginning of time, we have had an attraction to what we deem to be beautiful. For cavemen, it might have been bigger women who had more fat content because they could better sustain life and get through a winter with meager meals. For the ancient Greeks, symmetrical beauty; during the Renaissance, women with a slightly rounded belly, invoking thoughts of fertility. Now...the lines are a little bit blurred. Some prefer women with "curves," but what is the definition of curves? An obese woman can call herself curvy, but that's not everyone's definition of it. Silicone breasts? Water bras? Ass implants? I couldn't make this stuff up. Removing ribs to make your hips look larger and your waist slimmer, it's very fashionable in Brazil. On the other hand, some people find skin and bones appealing. 5'9'' and 100lbs, barely an A cup, looking like a little boy, sexy. A man that looks like he's lived through the Holocaust because he is trying to live up to his "starving artist" appeal? Or what about the use of steroids by high school non-athletes who want to look "swoll," but it's just not in their natural genetics to get that big?
Beauty may be in the eye of the behold on an individual basis, but definitely not as a society. It's interesting to think about how we define beauty and what attracts us to certain people who look a certain way. I feel like I have a wide range of sexual attractions...david beckham, lenny kravitz, slash, brian urlacher, young Marlon Brando......the list goes on. It would take about four months to list every celebrity I wanted to screw.
With that being said, one of my good friends at school is turning 21 today so we're going to the bars to celebrate. Hopefully I won't end up back in bed alone.
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