I wrote this poem after listening to some pissed off chick music. This includes some Alanis Morrisette, Amy Winehouse, and a bunch of others. Please don't read it and think that I've survived some terrible relationship. All of mine have been relatively tame with the usual cause for heartbreak, not abuse. I wrote it because I felt like writing something vengeful and if I had been in an abusive relationship, I'd like to think that this would be my big "Fuck You" before I peaced out.
Enjoy.
Tell me I won't leave, that I don't have a chance
Do you believe me now without the weakness behind my glance?
Tell me that I can't do any better and I'll prove you wrong,
Push me against the wall and beat me with your words; I've already heard this song.
Flashes of you on top of me, staring into your black eyes and your cold heart,
You are the one thing in my life that I wish I would have never let start.
Grip my neck and choke it out of me, do you want to know all of my lies?
Let's start with fucking you disgusted me and how I hate having you between my thighs.
It kills you to see me walk away, having lost so many battles but I'm the victor of this war,
I see your anger peak as you realize that you'll never be able again to treat me like your whore.
PS-I am no longer feeling like I'm going to have a panic attack, so that is the good news.
Showing posts with label me:raw and uncut. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me:raw and uncut. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
I'm drowning
Today I looked at my school's course schedule for the Summer and Fall 2009 terms. Since my second semester of freshmen year, I have either taken 18-19 credit hours per semester, and during four of these semesters, I have had to complete an honors contract in four courses that is a requirement to be in the honor society of which I am a part of. Honors contracts mean doing 10% more work than the average student, but sometimes teachers have a hard time gauging what is an appropriate amount of extra work.
I'm saying all this because I'm about three seconds away from having a full on panic attack. Next year will be my senior year of college and I am struggling to work out a plan that will allow me to graduate next May. As far as I can tell, thanks to the many general education requirements that my liberal arts school has, I will need to take 9 credit hours this summer so that I don't overwhelm myself while I do my first round of student teaching in the fall. 9 credit hours during the summer translates to roughly $4,050; $450 per credit hour. Add in an extra $200 because two of the classes are online and about another $200 for books and I'm looking at being forced to take out a $4,600 loan for the fucking summer. Not to mention my already existing loans, which last time I checked will render me at least $42,000 in debt (including interest) by the time I graduate. Oh, but I get a six month grace period before I have to start making payments...how generous of the loan company.
I'm flipping out. The economy sucks, I probably won't have an college experience related job prospects in the education field when I graduate, meaning that I'll be living in my parents' house, trying to put every penny I earn towards paying off my student loans because I don't want to get married or have kids before I can get my loans paid off. The way it looks now, if I pay 6% of my loan each month (roughly $2500) (This is me assuming that I can get a job that will pay at least $38,000 annually) then I will be able to pay off my loan in 15-16 months......but realistically that won't happen at all.
I've never felt so much pressure about something that I can't control in my life. I can't help that my parents didn't save money for my college. I can't help that I got sick during high school and my grades weren't stellar, thus reducing my academic scholarships from my school. I can't help that my school doesn't look at academic scholarships on a yearly basis, thus making my college grades insignificant in regards to financial aid rewards.
I feel like I'm being strangled by the real world and that this feeling is what impending adulthood will be all about. I've never felt so broke, helpless, and unstable. My car won't start, I have to find a summer job dealing with teaching/watching kids so that I can write that on my resume next year, I have to pass my content test with flying colors so I don't have to pay another $100 to take the fucker again in a few months. The list could go on, but I don't really want it to. Oh, and I'm not getting any action. Awesome. I want to go to sleep and wake up 18 again and just starting college without a care in the world. I want to wake up with someone that can support me financially, emotionally, and physically. I want to wake up to something different. And I'm trying really hard not to turn back to cutting to help me ease the stress.
I'm saying all this because I'm about three seconds away from having a full on panic attack. Next year will be my senior year of college and I am struggling to work out a plan that will allow me to graduate next May. As far as I can tell, thanks to the many general education requirements that my liberal arts school has, I will need to take 9 credit hours this summer so that I don't overwhelm myself while I do my first round of student teaching in the fall. 9 credit hours during the summer translates to roughly $4,050; $450 per credit hour. Add in an extra $200 because two of the classes are online and about another $200 for books and I'm looking at being forced to take out a $4,600 loan for the fucking summer. Not to mention my already existing loans, which last time I checked will render me at least $42,000 in debt (including interest) by the time I graduate. Oh, but I get a six month grace period before I have to start making payments...how generous of the loan company.
I'm flipping out. The economy sucks, I probably won't have an college experience related job prospects in the education field when I graduate, meaning that I'll be living in my parents' house, trying to put every penny I earn towards paying off my student loans because I don't want to get married or have kids before I can get my loans paid off. The way it looks now, if I pay 6% of my loan each month (roughly $2500) (This is me assuming that I can get a job that will pay at least $38,000 annually) then I will be able to pay off my loan in 15-16 months......but realistically that won't happen at all.
I've never felt so much pressure about something that I can't control in my life. I can't help that my parents didn't save money for my college. I can't help that I got sick during high school and my grades weren't stellar, thus reducing my academic scholarships from my school. I can't help that my school doesn't look at academic scholarships on a yearly basis, thus making my college grades insignificant in regards to financial aid rewards.
I feel like I'm being strangled by the real world and that this feeling is what impending adulthood will be all about. I've never felt so broke, helpless, and unstable. My car won't start, I have to find a summer job dealing with teaching/watching kids so that I can write that on my resume next year, I have to pass my content test with flying colors so I don't have to pay another $100 to take the fucker again in a few months. The list could go on, but I don't really want it to. Oh, and I'm not getting any action. Awesome. I want to go to sleep and wake up 18 again and just starting college without a care in the world. I want to wake up with someone that can support me financially, emotionally, and physically. I want to wake up to something different. And I'm trying really hard not to turn back to cutting to help me ease the stress.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
My little rocker is all grown up
If you have been following my recent posts, you're probably aware that Rocker, my funny little Rocker, is a little hesitant about talking dirty. Now and again, he'll text me dirty little messages, usually "I wanna kiss you and lick you all over," and I'll have to use my imagination for what that entails because he doesn't go into specifics. Earlier this week he sent me a text that said "I want you," so I asked him to explain. His reply? "I want to rub you all over..your neck, your breasts..." Yeah, he really said breasts, which is about as sexy as my grandma doing a lap dance.
"Breasts? You need to dirty up your dirty talk, mister," I replied. I had gone into the cafeteria for dinner and had sat down with my friends when I Rocker called me. I told him that I was at dinner and I couldn't really talk, and he replied, "So I can say whatever I want to you right now and there's nothing you could do about it?" Yep. "I wanna eat your pussy out and make you cum," He said. I did an audio double-take if that's even possible and I smiled. My little Rocker has finally used his big boy words when it comes to talking dirty.
Earlier today he called me while he was in his office and I had just gotten out of a meeting. I heard someone cough and asked what the noise was and he said that it was someone in his office, so I joked that now I could say what I wanted and that he couldn't do anything about it. He laughed and told me that he liked the text that I sent him the previous night which said "I want to taste your cock and watch you watch me as you cum in my mouth." He told me that it had given him a hard-on at the bar where he was moonlighting. I kinda laughed and asked if his co-worker was still in the room because I was pretty sure he shouldn't have said that if he was. He told me that the guy had left and continued his dirty talking. "I wanna lick your pussy and get you really turned on before I stick my hard cock in you." I was a little taken aback by this, but enjoyed it nonetheless. He kept going, "I wanna be on top of you, fucking you missionary style before I make you switch positions and hit it from behind." By this point, I was getting really turned on. I mean it doesn't take a lot of work to turn me on, but knowing that a few weeks ago he had been so innocent in his dirty talking and now hearing him tell me how he wants to fuck me, it was so hot. He told me that I was going to be wearing heels and a skirt for him and I just kinda laughed that he had planned out this whole scenario, which admittedly made me feel good because I know he's been giving me a lot of thought then.
All of this made me think of how I first started really liking someone talking dirty to me. It goes back to my first serious boyfriend, who had moved about 7 hours away and the only way we could be intimate was through phone sex. I remember the first time I had phone sex, I was 14, my family was gone for the afternoon, and I was laying in my bed, talking to my boyfriend. He started giving me kisses through the phone, which tickled my ear and made me wet. I had masturbated many times before this, so I slid my free hand down into my shorts and start slowly rubbing my clit. A small moan escaped my lips and he asked what I was doing. I didn't know what to say and I felt embarrassed that he'd caught me. I tried to talk around it, but he kept pressing it, so finally I said I was rubbing myself. "Where," he asked?
"You know where," was my innocent response. I could hear the smile through the phone and he told me that he didn't know, to please tell him. After about 5 minutes of him asked me to tell him, I finally broke down and told him that I was rubbing my clit. He told me that he was hard, and this began my first experience with phone sex.
This boyfriend was particularly talkative with phone sex, I don't know how he could continue to constantly talk through the entire time, but he did. I don't remember doing much of the talking at all unless he asked me to, but most of the time the only response he'd want from me was to moan louder, to tell him how much I wanted his cock.
Since then, I've gotten progressively dirtier with sexting or phone sex. I'll say cunt, fuck me, pound my pussy, cum on my tits, etc, etc. It's just more fun than saying things like, "I want to make sensual love to you," or, "I want to feel your penis getting erect in my hand." I think I would piss myself laughing if I ever said something like that, but to each his own.
The whole dirty talking thing made me think about if a large percentage of people my age engage in it. I don't mean sexting, because I'm pretty sure everyone does that, if only drunkenly. I mean real phone sex, masturbating while you're talking to someone else who is masturbating. I don't mean calling up a number and hearing some husky-voiced smoker choke her way though a dialogue that seems like it came out of a cheap, 1980s porno. I mean real, from the heart (or genitals) dirty talk. Do people feel uncomfortable doing it? Do people who are pretty open sexually, at least in the act of sex, have trouble verbalizing their sexual desires? I could go on forever in a post like this, but I truly do think about these things. I think there most be some sociological part of my brain that twists normal question about human sexuality into convoluted Freudian theories about how people think about sex and aspects of sex.
Maybe I'm in the wrong major. Maybe instead of education and history I should major in sex. I mean, who's to say I couldn't be the next Dr. Sue from "Talk Sex with Sue"?
"Breasts? You need to dirty up your dirty talk, mister," I replied. I had gone into the cafeteria for dinner and had sat down with my friends when I Rocker called me. I told him that I was at dinner and I couldn't really talk, and he replied, "So I can say whatever I want to you right now and there's nothing you could do about it?" Yep. "I wanna eat your pussy out and make you cum," He said. I did an audio double-take if that's even possible and I smiled. My little Rocker has finally used his big boy words when it comes to talking dirty.
Earlier today he called me while he was in his office and I had just gotten out of a meeting. I heard someone cough and asked what the noise was and he said that it was someone in his office, so I joked that now I could say what I wanted and that he couldn't do anything about it. He laughed and told me that he liked the text that I sent him the previous night which said "I want to taste your cock and watch you watch me as you cum in my mouth." He told me that it had given him a hard-on at the bar where he was moonlighting. I kinda laughed and asked if his co-worker was still in the room because I was pretty sure he shouldn't have said that if he was. He told me that the guy had left and continued his dirty talking. "I wanna lick your pussy and get you really turned on before I stick my hard cock in you." I was a little taken aback by this, but enjoyed it nonetheless. He kept going, "I wanna be on top of you, fucking you missionary style before I make you switch positions and hit it from behind." By this point, I was getting really turned on. I mean it doesn't take a lot of work to turn me on, but knowing that a few weeks ago he had been so innocent in his dirty talking and now hearing him tell me how he wants to fuck me, it was so hot. He told me that I was going to be wearing heels and a skirt for him and I just kinda laughed that he had planned out this whole scenario, which admittedly made me feel good because I know he's been giving me a lot of thought then.
All of this made me think of how I first started really liking someone talking dirty to me. It goes back to my first serious boyfriend, who had moved about 7 hours away and the only way we could be intimate was through phone sex. I remember the first time I had phone sex, I was 14, my family was gone for the afternoon, and I was laying in my bed, talking to my boyfriend. He started giving me kisses through the phone, which tickled my ear and made me wet. I had masturbated many times before this, so I slid my free hand down into my shorts and start slowly rubbing my clit. A small moan escaped my lips and he asked what I was doing. I didn't know what to say and I felt embarrassed that he'd caught me. I tried to talk around it, but he kept pressing it, so finally I said I was rubbing myself. "Where," he asked?
"You know where," was my innocent response. I could hear the smile through the phone and he told me that he didn't know, to please tell him. After about 5 minutes of him asked me to tell him, I finally broke down and told him that I was rubbing my clit. He told me that he was hard, and this began my first experience with phone sex.
This boyfriend was particularly talkative with phone sex, I don't know how he could continue to constantly talk through the entire time, but he did. I don't remember doing much of the talking at all unless he asked me to, but most of the time the only response he'd want from me was to moan louder, to tell him how much I wanted his cock.
Since then, I've gotten progressively dirtier with sexting or phone sex. I'll say cunt, fuck me, pound my pussy, cum on my tits, etc, etc. It's just more fun than saying things like, "I want to make sensual love to you," or, "I want to feel your penis getting erect in my hand." I think I would piss myself laughing if I ever said something like that, but to each his own.
The whole dirty talking thing made me think about if a large percentage of people my age engage in it. I don't mean sexting, because I'm pretty sure everyone does that, if only drunkenly. I mean real phone sex, masturbating while you're talking to someone else who is masturbating. I don't mean calling up a number and hearing some husky-voiced smoker choke her way though a dialogue that seems like it came out of a cheap, 1980s porno. I mean real, from the heart (or genitals) dirty talk. Do people feel uncomfortable doing it? Do people who are pretty open sexually, at least in the act of sex, have trouble verbalizing their sexual desires? I could go on forever in a post like this, but I truly do think about these things. I think there most be some sociological part of my brain that twists normal question about human sexuality into convoluted Freudian theories about how people think about sex and aspects of sex.
Maybe I'm in the wrong major. Maybe instead of education and history I should major in sex. I mean, who's to say I couldn't be the next Dr. Sue from "Talk Sex with Sue"?
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Feeling Poemy
Today when I sat down in my fine arts class, a class that you can bet your ass I'm only taking to fulfill one of my liberal arts requirements, I settled in for what I knew was going to be a long, boring hour and fifteen minutes. I opened my pink binder and flipped through the pages to land on a blank sheet of wide-ruled notebook paper. I started writing down random phrases that popped into my head as my teacher played Orpheus on the projection screen. They were all cutesy little phrases, nothing significant, nothing heart felt. They reminded me of drawing "I heart *****" on my hands when I was in junior high to signify that I liked someone, the number of astericks coinciding with the number of letters in the boy's name. It was a big thing to do at my school. Anyway, I kind of smiled as I remembered doing stupid shit like that and how drawing hearts and shamrocks around my little poems was just as juvenile as the aforementioned hand art, but it still released a certain urge for creative writing that I felt at the moment.
When I got back from classes for the day, I looked through some of the poems and short stories I've written over the years and found one in particular that stuck out to me. I don't remember exactly how long ago I wrote the poem, but I think it was around freshman year when I was in a bout of depression, and although the poem that I wrote during this time didn't reflect anything that I was doing at the time, it did represent how I dealt with my depression in the past. I don't have a title for the poem, as I rarely ever do; I often think that it's harder to title something than it is to write it because you want to peak interest, yet summarize what's going on in the work. There's my introduction for it, though.
Re-reading the poem now makes me a little sad in a retrospective way because I wish the girl that I was then could see the future in a more optimistic way. There's times now when I feel insecure, but I don't cut anymore and I can usually battle through the depression without having morbid thoughts flood my mind for hours or days on end. The most depressed that I ever was was during the time I was 16 1/2 to 18 years old. I know a lot of it stemmed from dealing with a heart issue and withdrawing from regular high school to do homeschooling, but I also felt that it was more than that. Maybe it was that I had a valid excuse to be depressed that I finally allowed myself to outwardly express it. I've always been a worry-wart as my mom and grandma would say, but the older I got, the more I felt like I was losing control of the careful exterior that I put out. I was happy with being labeled a smart, pretty jock. I wanted that label and I worked hard to maintain it. When it was revoked from me so abruptly, I felt like I lost my identity and I really didn't know how to deal with myself in an introspective way. I'm grateful that being sick allowed me to truly get to know myself and to realize that I genuinely like the person that I am even if I do sometimes feel shitty about life/myself.
I'm not sure what brought all this up, but there's a little piece of me that will always be a little girl who's so unsure of herself and hides behind a confident, almost bitchy exterior. But I feel that more than growing up at this point, I'm growing into myself. Maybe I've had an amazing epiphany, maybe it's something that everyone goes through.
On a more situational rather than reflective note, I was talking to Rocker today and he asked me if my school was off this particular street that is a main street throughout the southwest suburbs of Chicago. Yep, I replied. "Okay...well I have a surprise for you, then." I immediately got flustered, I'm not a huge fan of surprises. I like to know what's going on so I can prepare myself for it. "Tell me what it is," I said. He refused for awhile, saying that it wouldn't be a surprise if I knew about it duhhhhhhh. I told him that I didn't like surprises, so to please fill me in. He told me that he had planned on driving out to my school after he got off of work on Wednesday at like 11:30pm. On Wednesdays, I work until 12am, so I guess he figured it'd be around that time when he got here. I didn't respond right away and I think he was kind of hurt by it. It's not that I don't want to finally meet him, it's just an awkward setting to do it. What the fuck are we going to do at midnight at my school? The only thing I can think of is going to my room and watching a movie, but I know he has work early the next day, and it feels like that would be too intimate to do as a first date thing. I look at him as more than just a potential fuck buddy, and as previous posts have stated, that's the typical ice breaker I use with boys that come over to hook up.
When we got off of the phone, he texted me and said that I sounded really excited about it, obvious sarcasm. I knew that I reacted badly, but I just got nervous all the sudden of awkwardly trying to adjust to seeing/talking to him in person that I couldn't form a good reaction to it. I texted him back and said that it wasn't that I didn't want to see him, I just didn't know what he expected us to do on a Wednesday night at my school. He said that we'll pick a day to go out then and I told him okay, whenever he wanted, but he didn't reply back. I don't know if it was because he had gotten to his guitar lesson, or just because he was pissed at my less than enthusiastic reaction. It feels odd to think we're finally going to meet after we've been talking so much without seeing each other. I'll be the first to tell you that I'm much smoother via Internet or on the phone than I am in person. I'm probably making this into a much bigger deal than he feels about it, but whatever, I can't help it.
It does kind of boggle my mind to think that he's not nervous about it at all and he thinks that just coming over without having a plan of doing anything would go over well. Maybe he's really just that confident that we have a good connection or something, I don't know. Maybe he thinks we won't have to talk because we'll just hook up. I don't know. As far as I can tell, we won't meet for at least another week because I'm on call Friday and working Saturday night and he works on Sundays, so that leads us into another week. I feel like I'm already dating him without the physical benefits, so why am I unnerved by putting a 3D figure to my boy on the phone?
When I got back from classes for the day, I looked through some of the poems and short stories I've written over the years and found one in particular that stuck out to me. I don't remember exactly how long ago I wrote the poem, but I think it was around freshman year when I was in a bout of depression, and although the poem that I wrote during this time didn't reflect anything that I was doing at the time, it did represent how I dealt with my depression in the past. I don't have a title for the poem, as I rarely ever do; I often think that it's harder to title something than it is to write it because you want to peak interest, yet summarize what's going on in the work. There's my introduction for it, though.
I'm staring at a steak knife,
Because I couldn't find my lighter,
I'm going to see blood today,
instead of fire.
I'm feeling alone, once again,
Today I'll ease the pain,
by slicing into my skin.
I'll watch the blood bubble,
then soak it in a towel,
I'll look at the towel and wipe the tears from my eyes,
as I throw my pain away.
I'm going to see blood today so that I don't feel the hurt,
I'm not aiming for the vein, but if I hit it it'll do no harm.
The serrated edges hurt as they pucker into my skin,
As the blood starts to dribble, I'm finally in a position to win.
I dig deeper because I can still feel the lump in my chest,
Re-reading the poem now makes me a little sad in a retrospective way because I wish the girl that I was then could see the future in a more optimistic way. There's times now when I feel insecure, but I don't cut anymore and I can usually battle through the depression without having morbid thoughts flood my mind for hours or days on end. The most depressed that I ever was was during the time I was 16 1/2 to 18 years old. I know a lot of it stemmed from dealing with a heart issue and withdrawing from regular high school to do homeschooling, but I also felt that it was more than that. Maybe it was that I had a valid excuse to be depressed that I finally allowed myself to outwardly express it. I've always been a worry-wart as my mom and grandma would say, but the older I got, the more I felt like I was losing control of the careful exterior that I put out. I was happy with being labeled a smart, pretty jock. I wanted that label and I worked hard to maintain it. When it was revoked from me so abruptly, I felt like I lost my identity and I really didn't know how to deal with myself in an introspective way. I'm grateful that being sick allowed me to truly get to know myself and to realize that I genuinely like the person that I am even if I do sometimes feel shitty about life/myself.
I'm not sure what brought all this up, but there's a little piece of me that will always be a little girl who's so unsure of herself and hides behind a confident, almost bitchy exterior. But I feel that more than growing up at this point, I'm growing into myself. Maybe I've had an amazing epiphany, maybe it's something that everyone goes through.
On a more situational rather than reflective note, I was talking to Rocker today and he asked me if my school was off this particular street that is a main street throughout the southwest suburbs of Chicago. Yep, I replied. "Okay...well I have a surprise for you, then." I immediately got flustered, I'm not a huge fan of surprises. I like to know what's going on so I can prepare myself for it. "Tell me what it is," I said. He refused for awhile, saying that it wouldn't be a surprise if I knew about it duhhhhhhh. I told him that I didn't like surprises, so to please fill me in. He told me that he had planned on driving out to my school after he got off of work on Wednesday at like 11:30pm. On Wednesdays, I work until 12am, so I guess he figured it'd be around that time when he got here. I didn't respond right away and I think he was kind of hurt by it. It's not that I don't want to finally meet him, it's just an awkward setting to do it. What the fuck are we going to do at midnight at my school? The only thing I can think of is going to my room and watching a movie, but I know he has work early the next day, and it feels like that would be too intimate to do as a first date thing. I look at him as more than just a potential fuck buddy, and as previous posts have stated, that's the typical ice breaker I use with boys that come over to hook up.
When we got off of the phone, he texted me and said that I sounded really excited about it, obvious sarcasm. I knew that I reacted badly, but I just got nervous all the sudden of awkwardly trying to adjust to seeing/talking to him in person that I couldn't form a good reaction to it. I texted him back and said that it wasn't that I didn't want to see him, I just didn't know what he expected us to do on a Wednesday night at my school. He said that we'll pick a day to go out then and I told him okay, whenever he wanted, but he didn't reply back. I don't know if it was because he had gotten to his guitar lesson, or just because he was pissed at my less than enthusiastic reaction. It feels odd to think we're finally going to meet after we've been talking so much without seeing each other. I'll be the first to tell you that I'm much smoother via Internet or on the phone than I am in person. I'm probably making this into a much bigger deal than he feels about it, but whatever, I can't help it.
It does kind of boggle my mind to think that he's not nervous about it at all and he thinks that just coming over without having a plan of doing anything would go over well. Maybe he's really just that confident that we have a good connection or something, I don't know. Maybe he thinks we won't have to talk because we'll just hook up. I don't know. As far as I can tell, we won't meet for at least another week because I'm on call Friday and working Saturday night and he works on Sundays, so that leads us into another week. I feel like I'm already dating him without the physical benefits, so why am I unnerved by putting a 3D figure to my boy on the phone?
Sunday, February 15, 2009
February Confusion
My Valentine's Day sucked, thanks for asking. I worked in the afternoon and talked to Rocker for about an hour during work. He told me happy Valentine's Day and all, but didn't ask me out or anything like I had hoped he would. I asked what he was doing tonight, hopefully hinting at our meeting up, but he had plans with bromance, who lives a few hours away. Whatever. I was disappointed and it was hard to hide. He asked me what was wrong, but I didn't say what I was feeling and assured him that I was fine and that I'd talk to him later that night. He texted me when he left bromance's house and told me he'd call me when he got home. I never heard from him the rest of the night, even after I sent him a picture message of me wearing this lacey black little number with my hand strategically placed by my crotch.
I was sad that I didn't hear from him and it made me suspicious because of the previous incident of him telling the online world that he had a girlfriend. Various scenarios ran through my head and they all included him playing me. I imagined him being with his girlfriend and having his phone turned off so she wouldn't know I texted him. I got more pissed as the night went on and then finally fell asleep. I woke up around 11am with a text message from him saying, "That pic you sent me almost made me crash." Hmm...so you got the picture while you were driving, but just decided not to respond? Right. He knew something was wrong with my short responses and I told him that I was just sad that I hadn't heard from him last night. He apologized and told me that he passed out when he got home. Yeah, right. I haven't heard from him since, apparently he is working at the bar, but I don't even know if I trust that. I have a feeling that something isn't quite right and I don't know what it is, or maybe I'm just denying what I think it is.
Like I said in my other post, he's usually talking to me all the time, which makes it even more suspicious when I don't hear from him for a day when I usually talk to him 4-5 times a day. Maybe I'm being too suspicious or maybe I'm just being smart. I know if I ask him he will tell me that he's not dating anyone, but will I believe it? I can't start something with someone whom I don't trust, but I feel like something already has started between us. I'm getting too attached to someone that I don't even know and it's making me feel ridiculous.
In other great news, I went over to my aunt's house tonight for dinner. After we ate, she asked me to go outside with her and talk. I had no idea what it would be about, surely nothing serious, but I was completely wrong. I knew it was going to be bad when she started out, "So, I don't really know how to approach you about this." Oh, fuck. What now? This aunt and I have always been pretty close, but it wasn't like I told her everything about my life or she told me stuff about hers, so I really had no idea what this would be about. Enter Facebook. My aunt recently requested me as a Facebook friend and I accepted, thinking nothing of it. I wrote a note that had been going around Facebook about 25 things that your friends might not know about you. My aunt had read it and she told me that it really hurt her, not that she was hurt by anything it said, but that she was hurt for me. I didn't really know what she was talking about. I didn't write anything that significant about it. I soon figured out the two things that had gotten to her: One was my statement that the first boy I ever truly cared about broke my heart and the second person to break my heart was my dad. I didn't mention in the note that my dad broke my heart because he cheated on my mom, I just left it open-ended. The next statement that got to her was when I said that I know next to nothing about my paternal grandparents (Her parents) and that I was fine with that.
I knew when she told me that she was upset about that that this was going to be a long conversation. My mom and my paternal grandparents have never really gotten along from what I remember. My mom says that my grandma tried to pay my dad $500 not to marry my mom and that's where the trouble begins. For as long as I can remember, there has been animosity between my grandma and my mom and it has only gotten worse over the years. My older sister and I were the first grandchildren that my paternal grandparents had and they spoiled us for a long time until my cousins started being born. After their births, especially my aunts giving birth, it seemed like my sisters and I weren't important anymore. I remember going to my mom and asking why grandpa and grandma didn't love us anymore. The relationships between us seemed to disintegrate after that. My sisters and I didn't frequent their house as much anymore and grandpa and grandma never really stopped by. By the time my maternal grandma moved in with us due to her failing health, I didn't really care that I didn't have a relationships with my paternal grandparents because I felt as if my maternal grandma loved me enough for both of them. To make a long story short, I only saw my paternal grandparents on Christmas Eve and Easter even though they live in the same town as I do and are often at my aunt's house, who lives a block away from us. I never really gave it much more thought than accepting what my mom said had happened between them.
When my aunt started talking to me tonight, she told me that she knows there's three sides to every story and she's not asking me to not believe what my mom has said, but to try and see other perspectives, too. I just nodded because if I start to talk when I'm feeling a lot of emotions all I do is start crying and can't form coherent sentences. It's really annoying and I wish I could be a pretty cryer, but I'm not. My nose runs, my eyes turn red, and my face puffs up. I'm not a graceful cryer in any way. She continued, telling me that she understands where grandma is coming from and where my mom is coming from because she's been exposed to both sides. She encouraged me to make contact with my grandma and try and get to know her because she knows that my grandma would love to get to know me. I just kind of nodded again, thinking that if my grandma was so interested in getting to know me that she would have made the effort to come and see my college once in three years of being here or would have stopped by my house once in a great while instead of zipping past my street and going to my aunt's house 10 seconds away. Resentment bubbled out of me because I felt like it wasn't my responsibility to foster a relationship with my grandparents, it should have come naturally.
My aunt agreed that it wasn't my responsibility to talk to her and get to know her, but said that they wouldn't be around forever and didn't want me to regret not getting to know them while I had the chance. I could see her point in that, but I told her that my mom would without a doubt feel betrayed if I did this. My aunt said that she didn't need to know about it, but I could never keep anything from my mom, I respect her too much to ever do something and feel like I have to hide it from her. Nothing is worth hurting my mother for. My aunt continued, telling me little tidbits of information that evoked some sympathy for my grandma. Like I said before, I literally know nothing about her. I know her middle name and maiden name, but that's about it. Oh, and I know that she was born on the day that Pearl Harbor happened. Literally that is all I could tell you about her. My aunt told me how she was beaten as a kid a lot and how her dad had held a gun to one of her sister's heads when she was a kid and begged him to kill her instead of her sister. She also told me how other shit happened with my jaja (Polish for grandpa and my great-grandma's 2nd husband) and that it was a lot to deal with for a kid. I understood it, but I didn't make excuses for her. My mom had a terrible childhood that involved being raped by her father many times and then having my grandma not believe her, but somehow she still managed to be a loving person. I compared these two women in my head and I couldn't help but give my mom favor, bias or not.
We then talked about my grandpa being an alcoholic and how each of his siblings is also/was also an alcholic. I didn't even know he more siblings than a sister or that his brother died five months and five days after his dad had a heart attack. I asked my aunt how bad grandpa's alcoholism was because I can never tell if he's sober or completely trashed. He always has ruddy, Irish-red skin and yellow-tinged eyes no matter what it seems like. She said that it was bad and had always been bad for as long as she can remember, but that no one ever talks about it or does anything about it. I didn't say much after that, I know I can't get to know him. There's not time and there's not motivation.
We then talked about my dad, mostly about his affair. I told her that it felt like he betrayed all of us and that it was hard for me to stomach the fact that my mom had any shortcomings that would lead my dad to seek love elsewhere and she said she completely understood and told me about her and my uncle separating, which was a family rumor that I never really knew the truth about until now. I was really amazed that she was sharing all this information with me and I appreciated it, but I don't know if I can do anything with it. I'd like to have a relationship with my grandparents, but at this point in time, I don't feel that it's necessary. I've been fine without them, so what's the point? I'd even settle just for not feeling like an outsider at their house for christ's sake. But right now, I can't justify taking the time to force a relationship that I'm not even sure my grandparents would want. They seem pretty satisfied by having a good relationship with the rest of their grandchildren, why would they need one with me? When I see them, they ask me how school is, but that's basically it and even that is generic. Strangers ask you that. They know nothing about my life, what interests me, what I like to do for fun, who I've dated, etc. I don't think that they have ever met any of my friends even and I've had the same best friend for 16 years.
It feels better to have gotten that out of my mind and onto this blog, but it still hurts a little, deep in my soul there's a clenching that I can't get rid of. It hurts to know so much about my mom's family, but know absolutely nothing about my dad's. It hurts to acknowledge that there have been events out of my control that have made a relationship impossible with some members of my family. I can't tell my mom what my aunt and I talked about because she would instantly be pissed at my aunt, and although I don't think that would be appropriate, I know that's how it would be. She'd tell me to do what I wanted, but deep down I know she would be hurt if I suddenly grew this amazing relationship with my dad's mother.
It's been an emotionally draining day and I'll be happy when it ends. I could have gone without this fucking talk, but shit like this happens. My aunt was concerned that she was overstepping her boundaries and that I was an adult and I'd do what I want, but she was just upset that I felt this way about my grandparents. I feel flustered and exhausted from crying and I feel like none of this makes sense, but it feels better to write it out, so I suppose I'll just have to deal with the nonsensical sentences later because for now I want to eat Girl Scout Cookies with ice cold milk and lay in my bed and watch something that will make me cry out all of my tears.
I was sad that I didn't hear from him and it made me suspicious because of the previous incident of him telling the online world that he had a girlfriend. Various scenarios ran through my head and they all included him playing me. I imagined him being with his girlfriend and having his phone turned off so she wouldn't know I texted him. I got more pissed as the night went on and then finally fell asleep. I woke up around 11am with a text message from him saying, "That pic you sent me almost made me crash." Hmm...so you got the picture while you were driving, but just decided not to respond? Right. He knew something was wrong with my short responses and I told him that I was just sad that I hadn't heard from him last night. He apologized and told me that he passed out when he got home. Yeah, right. I haven't heard from him since, apparently he is working at the bar, but I don't even know if I trust that. I have a feeling that something isn't quite right and I don't know what it is, or maybe I'm just denying what I think it is.
Like I said in my other post, he's usually talking to me all the time, which makes it even more suspicious when I don't hear from him for a day when I usually talk to him 4-5 times a day. Maybe I'm being too suspicious or maybe I'm just being smart. I know if I ask him he will tell me that he's not dating anyone, but will I believe it? I can't start something with someone whom I don't trust, but I feel like something already has started between us. I'm getting too attached to someone that I don't even know and it's making me feel ridiculous.
In other great news, I went over to my aunt's house tonight for dinner. After we ate, she asked me to go outside with her and talk. I had no idea what it would be about, surely nothing serious, but I was completely wrong. I knew it was going to be bad when she started out, "So, I don't really know how to approach you about this." Oh, fuck. What now? This aunt and I have always been pretty close, but it wasn't like I told her everything about my life or she told me stuff about hers, so I really had no idea what this would be about. Enter Facebook. My aunt recently requested me as a Facebook friend and I accepted, thinking nothing of it. I wrote a note that had been going around Facebook about 25 things that your friends might not know about you. My aunt had read it and she told me that it really hurt her, not that she was hurt by anything it said, but that she was hurt for me. I didn't really know what she was talking about. I didn't write anything that significant about it. I soon figured out the two things that had gotten to her: One was my statement that the first boy I ever truly cared about broke my heart and the second person to break my heart was my dad. I didn't mention in the note that my dad broke my heart because he cheated on my mom, I just left it open-ended. The next statement that got to her was when I said that I know next to nothing about my paternal grandparents (Her parents) and that I was fine with that.
I knew when she told me that she was upset about that that this was going to be a long conversation. My mom and my paternal grandparents have never really gotten along from what I remember. My mom says that my grandma tried to pay my dad $500 not to marry my mom and that's where the trouble begins. For as long as I can remember, there has been animosity between my grandma and my mom and it has only gotten worse over the years. My older sister and I were the first grandchildren that my paternal grandparents had and they spoiled us for a long time until my cousins started being born. After their births, especially my aunts giving birth, it seemed like my sisters and I weren't important anymore. I remember going to my mom and asking why grandpa and grandma didn't love us anymore. The relationships between us seemed to disintegrate after that. My sisters and I didn't frequent their house as much anymore and grandpa and grandma never really stopped by. By the time my maternal grandma moved in with us due to her failing health, I didn't really care that I didn't have a relationships with my paternal grandparents because I felt as if my maternal grandma loved me enough for both of them. To make a long story short, I only saw my paternal grandparents on Christmas Eve and Easter even though they live in the same town as I do and are often at my aunt's house, who lives a block away from us. I never really gave it much more thought than accepting what my mom said had happened between them.
When my aunt started talking to me tonight, she told me that she knows there's three sides to every story and she's not asking me to not believe what my mom has said, but to try and see other perspectives, too. I just nodded because if I start to talk when I'm feeling a lot of emotions all I do is start crying and can't form coherent sentences. It's really annoying and I wish I could be a pretty cryer, but I'm not. My nose runs, my eyes turn red, and my face puffs up. I'm not a graceful cryer in any way. She continued, telling me that she understands where grandma is coming from and where my mom is coming from because she's been exposed to both sides. She encouraged me to make contact with my grandma and try and get to know her because she knows that my grandma would love to get to know me. I just kind of nodded again, thinking that if my grandma was so interested in getting to know me that she would have made the effort to come and see my college once in three years of being here or would have stopped by my house once in a great while instead of zipping past my street and going to my aunt's house 10 seconds away. Resentment bubbled out of me because I felt like it wasn't my responsibility to foster a relationship with my grandparents, it should have come naturally.
My aunt agreed that it wasn't my responsibility to talk to her and get to know her, but said that they wouldn't be around forever and didn't want me to regret not getting to know them while I had the chance. I could see her point in that, but I told her that my mom would without a doubt feel betrayed if I did this. My aunt said that she didn't need to know about it, but I could never keep anything from my mom, I respect her too much to ever do something and feel like I have to hide it from her. Nothing is worth hurting my mother for. My aunt continued, telling me little tidbits of information that evoked some sympathy for my grandma. Like I said before, I literally know nothing about her. I know her middle name and maiden name, but that's about it. Oh, and I know that she was born on the day that Pearl Harbor happened. Literally that is all I could tell you about her. My aunt told me how she was beaten as a kid a lot and how her dad had held a gun to one of her sister's heads when she was a kid and begged him to kill her instead of her sister. She also told me how other shit happened with my jaja (Polish for grandpa and my great-grandma's 2nd husband) and that it was a lot to deal with for a kid. I understood it, but I didn't make excuses for her. My mom had a terrible childhood that involved being raped by her father many times and then having my grandma not believe her, but somehow she still managed to be a loving person. I compared these two women in my head and I couldn't help but give my mom favor, bias or not.
We then talked about my grandpa being an alcoholic and how each of his siblings is also/was also an alcholic. I didn't even know he more siblings than a sister or that his brother died five months and five days after his dad had a heart attack. I asked my aunt how bad grandpa's alcoholism was because I can never tell if he's sober or completely trashed. He always has ruddy, Irish-red skin and yellow-tinged eyes no matter what it seems like. She said that it was bad and had always been bad for as long as she can remember, but that no one ever talks about it or does anything about it. I didn't say much after that, I know I can't get to know him. There's not time and there's not motivation.
We then talked about my dad, mostly about his affair. I told her that it felt like he betrayed all of us and that it was hard for me to stomach the fact that my mom had any shortcomings that would lead my dad to seek love elsewhere and she said she completely understood and told me about her and my uncle separating, which was a family rumor that I never really knew the truth about until now. I was really amazed that she was sharing all this information with me and I appreciated it, but I don't know if I can do anything with it. I'd like to have a relationship with my grandparents, but at this point in time, I don't feel that it's necessary. I've been fine without them, so what's the point? I'd even settle just for not feeling like an outsider at their house for christ's sake. But right now, I can't justify taking the time to force a relationship that I'm not even sure my grandparents would want. They seem pretty satisfied by having a good relationship with the rest of their grandchildren, why would they need one with me? When I see them, they ask me how school is, but that's basically it and even that is generic. Strangers ask you that. They know nothing about my life, what interests me, what I like to do for fun, who I've dated, etc. I don't think that they have ever met any of my friends even and I've had the same best friend for 16 years.
It feels better to have gotten that out of my mind and onto this blog, but it still hurts a little, deep in my soul there's a clenching that I can't get rid of. It hurts to know so much about my mom's family, but know absolutely nothing about my dad's. It hurts to acknowledge that there have been events out of my control that have made a relationship impossible with some members of my family. I can't tell my mom what my aunt and I talked about because she would instantly be pissed at my aunt, and although I don't think that would be appropriate, I know that's how it would be. She'd tell me to do what I wanted, but deep down I know she would be hurt if I suddenly grew this amazing relationship with my dad's mother.
It's been an emotionally draining day and I'll be happy when it ends. I could have gone without this fucking talk, but shit like this happens. My aunt was concerned that she was overstepping her boundaries and that I was an adult and I'd do what I want, but she was just upset that I felt this way about my grandparents. I feel flustered and exhausted from crying and I feel like none of this makes sense, but it feels better to write it out, so I suppose I'll just have to deal with the nonsensical sentences later because for now I want to eat Girl Scout Cookies with ice cold milk and lay in my bed and watch something that will make me cry out all of my tears.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Breaking down the wall
I've found a new passion in dancing intoxicated like I'm fucking Shakira or something. Thursday night a few girlfriends and I went out to the bar for $3 you call its and some quality chick time. I told them about what I did with Ex-Bff and they all just kind of took it in, not really judging me, which was appreciated. They asked me what about Rocker and I just said well, we're not official and left it at that.
As we got more cheap alcohol in us, we became a little more loose with our dancing. It's always funny to me how bars work. There's always a dancefloor where, at the beginning of the night, there's a small group of girls who are probably already drunk or just too confident to care that they look like idiots dancing while everyone else is just sitting around, then as the night goes on, more girls venture out to the dancefloor and there forms a wall of men who are creepily, if unconsciously, staring at them. The same thing happened on Thursday. My friends and I really like to dance but we didn't want to be lumped into the same scope as the four older women snapping their fingers and trying to sexily sway their mom-hips, so we waited until the bar got a little more crowded before we went on the dancefloor. The night went on, we drank and danced more, and two of my friends' boyfriends showed up, so they got all smoochie with them while my other friend and I stayed on the dancefloor.
I texted Rocker to see what he had been up to. Right before I got to the bar, he had called me to see what I was doing that night. I told him that I was having a girls' night out with some of my bitches and he kind of just laughed and said he was doing the same with the boys, but he was at rehearsal and not a bar. He asked me what I was wearing and I told him an outfit and he was like, okay, you're trying to tease me, that's fine. I told him that I'd call him later as I stepped into the bar and hung up. A few minutes later he texted me and told me that he was thinking about me. "Oh yeah? What are you thinking?" I asked, trying my fucking best to break him out of his shell.
I've been desperately trying to get Rocker to appease my horniness and have had no luck thus far, but I still tried. Persistence pays off, no? He asked me again what I was wearing, so I finally told him that I was wearing a longer silvery shirt with black pants and black heels and a belt cinched at the waist. He seemed pleased with that and I asked what he was wearing. "Jeans. No shirt. Too hot."
I re-read what he wrote. What the fuck is he wearing no shirt for...but then I remembered he was at rehearsal. And then I remembered that he was playing guitar. And then my mind put two and two together and the image of him playing guitar with only jeans on, sweating and rocking out popped into my mind and I got even more turned on than my usual consistent horniness. "What the fuck, take a picture for me," I told him but he said he would when he got home. I asked if he would play for me sometime with no shirt on and he said he would, so I pressed further, "What about no pants?" I asked. He said, "Just the guitar?" I smiled at my little conquest and told him that he had now committed to it, so he had to do it for me and he said that he promised he would. I patted myself on the back for the small step I was making to get him to take my bait.
"What do I get if I do that?" he asked.
"What do you want?" I said, wanting to gauge his response to see if he could even potentially handle me.
"I don't know. A kiss?" Fuckkkkkkk. What did I have to do to get this guy to say something dirty to me? It was really starting to piss me off.
"Only a kiss? Hmm." I said.
"You.." I really didn't know what this meant, so I said so, telling him that he was going to have to be more specific.
"I wanna kiss you all over," He said. Ahh finally, a promising response!
"That's more like it," I said with pride, "You're finally taking my bait. Tell me what else you want."
We exchanged little texts with not a whole lot of sex in them, but enough to make me hopeful. When I got back to my dorm room, he texted me again since I hadn't responded for quite some time to his previous text. I don't remember how we started talking about anything sexual at this point, but he asked me to tell him one of my fantasies. So I did. I went into detail about how I always thought it would be hot to go into a guy's office at work, lock the door and have him fuck me from behind across his desk, trying to keep quiet so we don't get caught. Maybe it's a little secretary fetish I have, I don't know, but I always thought that would be hot to do. I asked him to tell me one of his fantasies and he gave me the "you in a short skirt and heels" thing. Duh. I had already known that about him. Plus, that's a pretty generic fantasy. What guy doesn't want to fuck a girl with some FMPs and a tiny skirt on? I told him to tell me something else that he wanted. He responded that he thought it would be hot for me to be in control, "dom style" he said, which I assume means dominatrix. Hmm..never did anything like that. He told me that he wanted me to give him head and I told him flat out that he would be ruined for other women if my mouth of magic got on his cock. He seemed interested by this and asked if I was really that good. I thought about it, and barring my experience from last Saturday, giving head while I was congested and sick, I told him that I was pretty fucking amazing.
I can't remember how the conversation ended, but one of us probably fell asleep. During the day on Friday while I was in class he asked me if I was serious about last night and I replied that I was always serious. We talked for about a half hour in the afternoon while he was still at work because he had to leave right after work to go to the gig that his band had that night to set up and everything. While I was at dinner, he left me a voicemail, singing the chorus to "Kiss You All Over," which was ridiculously cutesy and funny, but somehow sexy at the same time.
I thought about him at night since I had nothing to do as I was the RA on-call, meaning I couldn't leave campus, couldn't engage in illegal activities on-campus, and a bunch of other boring stuff. He called me while he was on his way home from the venue and I could tell he was a little buzzed. He talked about the concert for awhile and I told him to call me when he got home because I wanted him to focus on the road, so we hung up. He must have got the picture that I'd sent him awhile earlier about the new shoes that I wanted, these sexy heels with ankle cuffs. He texted me and asked me if I was going to get them. I told him to focus on the road and not the shoes, but he kept asking me how much they were. I told him I wasn't talking to him until he got home, so he finally quit texting me and called me from his house when he got there.
He asked me what I was wearing and I was too tired to come up with a lie about what sexy lingerie I was wearing so I told him the truth: An oversized tshirt. Really hot, right? I asked him what he was wearing and he told me boxers and socks. I had to fucking laugh at that, I thought my oversized tshirt comment was bad. I reminded him that I did not yet have a picture of him that he promised me the night before of him playing the guitar with no shirt on. He told me he'd take it and a few minutes later I got a picture message with him, completely nude, only one of his guitars covering up his junk. At first I really didn't know how to respond, so I joked around because that's what I do in situations like these. I told him that he used the wrong guitar (the one in the picture was a flying-V) because he had told me that the V would cover the most up. He laughed and told me fine, he'd take a picture without the fucking guitar at all. I really didn't think he would, but a few minutes later, I got a picture of him, completely fucking nude, cock out and everything. I was totally surprised by this and didn't know how to respond.
I told him that I was impressed that he had actually done that and I was like what happened to the shy boy that I knew, or were you just playing dumb with me when I'd drop hints and little sexual innuendos? I could almost hear his fucking smile through the phone and all he said was maybe he was playing dumb. I callled him a tease and he asked me how I liked the picture. I shifted my eyes and tried to think of an appropriate response. What actually came out was, "It was nice, like I said, I was impressed." Fuck. That's not what I wanted to say at all.
"Nice?" He asked. "Wow...that hurts a little." He'd called me on my vague response and now I was totally fucked.
"What do you want me to say? You have the most magnificient, biggest cock I've ever seen in my entire life," I said. That wasn't good either, now he thinks I'm being condescending probably and thinks he has a tiny dick.
Luckily, he laughed and said something about it "being floppy" and I told him to never say anything like that again because it was gross. He brought up the shoes again and how he thought they were really fucking hot. He started saying some other things, I can't for the life of me remember what they were or even the gist of what they would have been about. All I remember is getting wet and starting to to slide my hand down my stomach as he kept talking. I remember havng the feeling that I knew we were going to have phone sex, but I didn't know how to make the first move, and luckily enough he did. He asked if I was getting wet and I told him I already was really wet.
"Are you rubbing yourself down there?" He asked. In my mind I kind of laughed. Down there? Really? Are we 15 and can't say pussy? But, I wanted to play along, so I ignored his relative clean language even though I like when a guy can talk really dirty to me.
"Do you want me to?" I asked, trying to be sexy. I think it worked because I heard a little groan and then he said, "Yeah. Do it."
I moaned into the phone as my fingers grazed over my clit. Fina-fucking-lly! I thought...it only took me like six weeks for you to get to this point. I told him to stroke his cock and asked him what he was thinking about.
"I'm thinking about you right now. Are you thinking about me?" He asked. I told him I was thinking about him and he had such a hot body and that I wish I was there with him so I could show him how I wanted him. I heard the phone moving and I smiled because I knew it meant he was stroking himself faster and I was going to get him off before we even had our first date.
We kept going for awhile and I was super wet, sliding my fingers in me without any resistance and pulling them out soaked in my own juices. "Are you close, baby?" He asked. I was close and I heard him grunt and sigh as he came. I was still going and I told him to keep talking to me, not to stop talking to me. "Are you gonna cum? C'mon baby, I want you to cum for me," He said. God that was so hot, hearing him say that made me lose it and I came, moaning into the phone as my body spasmed. We were silent for a few seconds, me trying to catch my breath, him doing I don't know what. We talked for a few minutes and I told him that I was glad he finally broke down his wall of aloofness. We said goodnight and I masturbated again, not feeling quite satisfied yet. I finally fell asleep, smiling as I closed my eyes.
The next day I had work and then went to dinner with a few girlfriends and then we drank in my room, a little girls' night. We got wasted in no time. We split a bottle of UV Blue, the college girl's kryptonite, and when we finished that, we opened my bottle of Bacardi and downed that, too. We were all in fleece pants and tshirts. My hair was greasy and I wasn't wearing any makeup, needless to say, I was fucking sexy. I grabbed my red leather belt and put it on over my tshirt to glam my drunk self up a bit. We walked around my floor and found a couple of my residents who laughed at me and then gave me some Absolut and orange juice. We hung out with them for awhile before I went back to my room to see if Rocker had called. He wasn't feeling well today and I figured he was still asleep, but I wanted him to talk to me. He finally called and we talked for about twenty minutes before he said he was going to go back to bed. I got a little pissed because I've been sick since last Saturday and still stayed up to talk to him, so I told him whatever, go to bed. I'm such a bitch when I'm drunk and not getting what I want.
I didn't feel bad about it at all. He texted me and said, "Goodnight, Sunshine" a little nickname we have for each other and my bitchy self said, "Yup. Later" God, I'm such a cunt when I don't get my way. He asked me what was wrong and I told him nothing, to go to bed. I forgot about it until this afternoon when he texted me and said hello and asked if I was mad at him. He called me right after he sent it and I asked why he thought I'd be mad at him. "Well, I felt bad about the way I hung up last night...I didn't mean to be so abrupt, I just really was feeling sick," He said. I couldn't believe that he was apologizing because he didn't do anything wrong. Wow, I'm a total bitch to him and then he apologizes for it....weird. I told him not to feel bad, that I was just being a bitch and we continued talking for awhile. I knew he had to go to work in a couple hours, but I really wish he could have come over so we could just cuddle together in bed all day. I didn't say that, I have a hard time verbalizing my thoughts when they're tender like that because I'm afraid of them getting rejected, but at that moment, I wanted nothing more than us to just be in bed together, cuddling, being sick together with Kleenexs surrounding us and a cheesy movie on TBS.
He's at work still and I keep thinking about him and periodically checking my phone to see if he's texted me. I can't wait for him to call me when he gets off work because I already miss his voice. I want to know how he's feeling and how work went. I want to tell him that I missed him and that I've been thinking about him all day. I want to demand that he come over right now so we can just talk and cuddle, but I know he can't since he has work in the morning. I don't know where this is going at all, but I do genuinely like him and I haven't felt a connection like this in awhile. Part of me wants to ask him where he sees this going, but then again, I don't want to put any pressure on it because I don't know what I would say to any of his responses.
For now, I'm just glad that I broke him down into having phone sex with me and at least talking a little dirty, although I will have to work on his vocabulary because if he says something about me "pulsating down there" I'm going to have to laugh.
As we got more cheap alcohol in us, we became a little more loose with our dancing. It's always funny to me how bars work. There's always a dancefloor where, at the beginning of the night, there's a small group of girls who are probably already drunk or just too confident to care that they look like idiots dancing while everyone else is just sitting around, then as the night goes on, more girls venture out to the dancefloor and there forms a wall of men who are creepily, if unconsciously, staring at them. The same thing happened on Thursday. My friends and I really like to dance but we didn't want to be lumped into the same scope as the four older women snapping their fingers and trying to sexily sway their mom-hips, so we waited until the bar got a little more crowded before we went on the dancefloor. The night went on, we drank and danced more, and two of my friends' boyfriends showed up, so they got all smoochie with them while my other friend and I stayed on the dancefloor.
I texted Rocker to see what he had been up to. Right before I got to the bar, he had called me to see what I was doing that night. I told him that I was having a girls' night out with some of my bitches and he kind of just laughed and said he was doing the same with the boys, but he was at rehearsal and not a bar. He asked me what I was wearing and I told him an outfit and he was like, okay, you're trying to tease me, that's fine. I told him that I'd call him later as I stepped into the bar and hung up. A few minutes later he texted me and told me that he was thinking about me. "Oh yeah? What are you thinking?" I asked, trying my fucking best to break him out of his shell.
I've been desperately trying to get Rocker to appease my horniness and have had no luck thus far, but I still tried. Persistence pays off, no? He asked me again what I was wearing, so I finally told him that I was wearing a longer silvery shirt with black pants and black heels and a belt cinched at the waist. He seemed pleased with that and I asked what he was wearing. "Jeans. No shirt. Too hot."
I re-read what he wrote. What the fuck is he wearing no shirt for...but then I remembered he was at rehearsal. And then I remembered that he was playing guitar. And then my mind put two and two together and the image of him playing guitar with only jeans on, sweating and rocking out popped into my mind and I got even more turned on than my usual consistent horniness. "What the fuck, take a picture for me," I told him but he said he would when he got home. I asked if he would play for me sometime with no shirt on and he said he would, so I pressed further, "What about no pants?" I asked. He said, "Just the guitar?" I smiled at my little conquest and told him that he had now committed to it, so he had to do it for me and he said that he promised he would. I patted myself on the back for the small step I was making to get him to take my bait.
"What do I get if I do that?" he asked.
"What do you want?" I said, wanting to gauge his response to see if he could even potentially handle me.
"I don't know. A kiss?" Fuckkkkkkk. What did I have to do to get this guy to say something dirty to me? It was really starting to piss me off.
"Only a kiss? Hmm." I said.
"You.." I really didn't know what this meant, so I said so, telling him that he was going to have to be more specific.
"I wanna kiss you all over," He said. Ahh finally, a promising response!
"That's more like it," I said with pride, "You're finally taking my bait. Tell me what else you want."
We exchanged little texts with not a whole lot of sex in them, but enough to make me hopeful. When I got back to my dorm room, he texted me again since I hadn't responded for quite some time to his previous text. I don't remember how we started talking about anything sexual at this point, but he asked me to tell him one of my fantasies. So I did. I went into detail about how I always thought it would be hot to go into a guy's office at work, lock the door and have him fuck me from behind across his desk, trying to keep quiet so we don't get caught. Maybe it's a little secretary fetish I have, I don't know, but I always thought that would be hot to do. I asked him to tell me one of his fantasies and he gave me the "you in a short skirt and heels" thing. Duh. I had already known that about him. Plus, that's a pretty generic fantasy. What guy doesn't want to fuck a girl with some FMPs and a tiny skirt on? I told him to tell me something else that he wanted. He responded that he thought it would be hot for me to be in control, "dom style" he said, which I assume means dominatrix. Hmm..never did anything like that. He told me that he wanted me to give him head and I told him flat out that he would be ruined for other women if my mouth of magic got on his cock. He seemed interested by this and asked if I was really that good. I thought about it, and barring my experience from last Saturday, giving head while I was congested and sick, I told him that I was pretty fucking amazing.
I can't remember how the conversation ended, but one of us probably fell asleep. During the day on Friday while I was in class he asked me if I was serious about last night and I replied that I was always serious. We talked for about a half hour in the afternoon while he was still at work because he had to leave right after work to go to the gig that his band had that night to set up and everything. While I was at dinner, he left me a voicemail, singing the chorus to "Kiss You All Over," which was ridiculously cutesy and funny, but somehow sexy at the same time.
I thought about him at night since I had nothing to do as I was the RA on-call, meaning I couldn't leave campus, couldn't engage in illegal activities on-campus, and a bunch of other boring stuff. He called me while he was on his way home from the venue and I could tell he was a little buzzed. He talked about the concert for awhile and I told him to call me when he got home because I wanted him to focus on the road, so we hung up. He must have got the picture that I'd sent him awhile earlier about the new shoes that I wanted, these sexy heels with ankle cuffs. He texted me and asked me if I was going to get them. I told him to focus on the road and not the shoes, but he kept asking me how much they were. I told him I wasn't talking to him until he got home, so he finally quit texting me and called me from his house when he got there.
He asked me what I was wearing and I was too tired to come up with a lie about what sexy lingerie I was wearing so I told him the truth: An oversized tshirt. Really hot, right? I asked him what he was wearing and he told me boxers and socks. I had to fucking laugh at that, I thought my oversized tshirt comment was bad. I reminded him that I did not yet have a picture of him that he promised me the night before of him playing the guitar with no shirt on. He told me he'd take it and a few minutes later I got a picture message with him, completely nude, only one of his guitars covering up his junk. At first I really didn't know how to respond, so I joked around because that's what I do in situations like these. I told him that he used the wrong guitar (the one in the picture was a flying-V) because he had told me that the V would cover the most up. He laughed and told me fine, he'd take a picture without the fucking guitar at all. I really didn't think he would, but a few minutes later, I got a picture of him, completely fucking nude, cock out and everything. I was totally surprised by this and didn't know how to respond.
I told him that I was impressed that he had actually done that and I was like what happened to the shy boy that I knew, or were you just playing dumb with me when I'd drop hints and little sexual innuendos? I could almost hear his fucking smile through the phone and all he said was maybe he was playing dumb. I callled him a tease and he asked me how I liked the picture. I shifted my eyes and tried to think of an appropriate response. What actually came out was, "It was nice, like I said, I was impressed." Fuck. That's not what I wanted to say at all.
"Nice?" He asked. "Wow...that hurts a little." He'd called me on my vague response and now I was totally fucked.
"What do you want me to say? You have the most magnificient, biggest cock I've ever seen in my entire life," I said. That wasn't good either, now he thinks I'm being condescending probably and thinks he has a tiny dick.
Luckily, he laughed and said something about it "being floppy" and I told him to never say anything like that again because it was gross. He brought up the shoes again and how he thought they were really fucking hot. He started saying some other things, I can't for the life of me remember what they were or even the gist of what they would have been about. All I remember is getting wet and starting to to slide my hand down my stomach as he kept talking. I remember havng the feeling that I knew we were going to have phone sex, but I didn't know how to make the first move, and luckily enough he did. He asked if I was getting wet and I told him I already was really wet.
"Are you rubbing yourself down there?" He asked. In my mind I kind of laughed. Down there? Really? Are we 15 and can't say pussy? But, I wanted to play along, so I ignored his relative clean language even though I like when a guy can talk really dirty to me.
"Do you want me to?" I asked, trying to be sexy. I think it worked because I heard a little groan and then he said, "Yeah. Do it."
I moaned into the phone as my fingers grazed over my clit. Fina-fucking-lly! I thought...it only took me like six weeks for you to get to this point. I told him to stroke his cock and asked him what he was thinking about.
"I'm thinking about you right now. Are you thinking about me?" He asked. I told him I was thinking about him and he had such a hot body and that I wish I was there with him so I could show him how I wanted him. I heard the phone moving and I smiled because I knew it meant he was stroking himself faster and I was going to get him off before we even had our first date.
We kept going for awhile and I was super wet, sliding my fingers in me without any resistance and pulling them out soaked in my own juices. "Are you close, baby?" He asked. I was close and I heard him grunt and sigh as he came. I was still going and I told him to keep talking to me, not to stop talking to me. "Are you gonna cum? C'mon baby, I want you to cum for me," He said. God that was so hot, hearing him say that made me lose it and I came, moaning into the phone as my body spasmed. We were silent for a few seconds, me trying to catch my breath, him doing I don't know what. We talked for a few minutes and I told him that I was glad he finally broke down his wall of aloofness. We said goodnight and I masturbated again, not feeling quite satisfied yet. I finally fell asleep, smiling as I closed my eyes.
The next day I had work and then went to dinner with a few girlfriends and then we drank in my room, a little girls' night. We got wasted in no time. We split a bottle of UV Blue, the college girl's kryptonite, and when we finished that, we opened my bottle of Bacardi and downed that, too. We were all in fleece pants and tshirts. My hair was greasy and I wasn't wearing any makeup, needless to say, I was fucking sexy. I grabbed my red leather belt and put it on over my tshirt to glam my drunk self up a bit. We walked around my floor and found a couple of my residents who laughed at me and then gave me some Absolut and orange juice. We hung out with them for awhile before I went back to my room to see if Rocker had called. He wasn't feeling well today and I figured he was still asleep, but I wanted him to talk to me. He finally called and we talked for about twenty minutes before he said he was going to go back to bed. I got a little pissed because I've been sick since last Saturday and still stayed up to talk to him, so I told him whatever, go to bed. I'm such a bitch when I'm drunk and not getting what I want.
I didn't feel bad about it at all. He texted me and said, "Goodnight, Sunshine" a little nickname we have for each other and my bitchy self said, "Yup. Later" God, I'm such a cunt when I don't get my way. He asked me what was wrong and I told him nothing, to go to bed. I forgot about it until this afternoon when he texted me and said hello and asked if I was mad at him. He called me right after he sent it and I asked why he thought I'd be mad at him. "Well, I felt bad about the way I hung up last night...I didn't mean to be so abrupt, I just really was feeling sick," He said. I couldn't believe that he was apologizing because he didn't do anything wrong. Wow, I'm a total bitch to him and then he apologizes for it....weird. I told him not to feel bad, that I was just being a bitch and we continued talking for awhile. I knew he had to go to work in a couple hours, but I really wish he could have come over so we could just cuddle together in bed all day. I didn't say that, I have a hard time verbalizing my thoughts when they're tender like that because I'm afraid of them getting rejected, but at that moment, I wanted nothing more than us to just be in bed together, cuddling, being sick together with Kleenexs surrounding us and a cheesy movie on TBS.
He's at work still and I keep thinking about him and periodically checking my phone to see if he's texted me. I can't wait for him to call me when he gets off work because I already miss his voice. I want to know how he's feeling and how work went. I want to tell him that I missed him and that I've been thinking about him all day. I want to demand that he come over right now so we can just talk and cuddle, but I know he can't since he has work in the morning. I don't know where this is going at all, but I do genuinely like him and I haven't felt a connection like this in awhile. Part of me wants to ask him where he sees this going, but then again, I don't want to put any pressure on it because I don't know what I would say to any of his responses.
For now, I'm just glad that I broke him down into having phone sex with me and at least talking a little dirty, although I will have to work on his vocabulary because if he says something about me "pulsating down there" I'm going to have to laugh.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Vodka makes me start trouble
Last night I went out for a friend of a friend's 21st birthday. That seems to be the only reason that I've been going out this year, but I'm fine with that. Before we went to the bar, we stopped at the liquor store to buy a couple pints of liquor so that we didn't have to spend our hard earned spending cash on a $4.75 Long Island Iced Tea. I bought a pint of Smirnoff and a pint of Bacardi at a shady little place on the south side of Chicago that doesn't accept anything but cash.
We get to the bar and it has a decent turn out, but I felt a little awkward since I only knew two people there, one was drunk already and the other was my designated driver. I filled a small cup with some vodka and downed it in three gulps, chased with Sierra Mist. It almost came up for about 20 seconds, but I fought it back down. I wanted to get drunk and I wanted to get drunk quickly. Within 15 minutes the pint of Smirnoff was gone. I didn't drink it all, my friend had a few shots of it as well, but I did consume most of it along with two Long Islands. Rocker was bartending at the restaurant where he moonlights and was periodically texting me. We had gotten in a fight earlier that day, which is a long story, but if I can't share it on an anonymous blog, where can I share it?
It started when he mentioned a few things about people on some guitar forum were talking about Kirk Hammet's latest guitar being unveiled. My cousin, who is also a big guitar enthusiast, was interested in looking at it, so I asked Rocker what the website address was and everything. He told me the address and I started browsing it too after I had directed my cousin to it. I wasn't happy with what I found. There was a "Metallica in Chicago" post so obviously I wanted to see what some other fans had thought about the show and such. I was scrolling down through the repetitive "They fucking rawked!" posts when I saw a post from someone that had the exact same screenname that Rocker uses on AIM. I kind of laughed because I thought it was funny that he would use the same name for multiple uses. When I read what he wrote, however, I was pissed. "I'll tell ya what dude, if my gf decides to throw a bitch fit about going, you can have her ticket." Gf? Girlfriend? GIRLFRIEND?
I immediately slapped myself in the fucking head for ever thinking that I could trust someone whom I've never even met. I texted him and told him that I found it and that I also found something else that was pretty interesting. I informed him of what I saw and he did the typical what are you talking about thing. He tried calling me from work, but I pressed the F U button and it went straight to voicemail. He texted me and asked me what my deal was and that the internet was not serious business (his exact words). He called again and left a voicemail when I rejected the call again, saying that he was single and that the internet was not serious business. Yeah, I had understood that you don't think the internet is serious business from your text, asshole.
I told him that I was going to start stupid bullshit over someone/something that I didn't know and that if he was dating someone, then it was cool, but to lose my number. He insisted he was single and asked me what my deal was again. Well, my deal is that I don't like being fucked with, even if I don't "know" you, have a little respect for my potential feelings and not be a complete dickbite. I told him that this whole thing was weird for me and that I had genuinely started to like him and that I didn't want to get fucked with. He told me that he liked me too and that he had thought he made that clear. I told him to just drop it and that if he says he's single then I'll believe it.
As I calmed down, I started to rationalize a few things. He calls me all the time and when he's not calling me, he's texting me. If he really had a girlfriend, I'm pretty sure she would have noticed something was up. Maybe he was trying to boost his ego or something on the guitar forum. Whatever, it didn't matter.
I told him to leave me alone for awhile and that I needed to take a nap to prepare myself for going out that night. Within five minutes he texted me saying that he missed me. I didn't respond back. I was still seething a little bit. Irish temper and all I suppose. When I get pissed off, I don't see anything clearly for a good hour.
Anyway, later that night, we exchanged some texts. I was trying to break him out of his shell a little bit but was not having any luck at all. He told me that he was going to bed because he had an early morning with Bromance (a guy who he's learning new guitar techniques from). I told him whatever, that I had planned on forcing phone sex on him, but that I suppose Bromance was more important. He replied that he was already in bed and to have a good night. Wow, what a fucking rejection. I was a little pissed by this, especially after he had fouled up earlier in the day, you think he would have appeased my horniness. Nope, didn't happen.
If you couldn't tell already from previous posts, I'm kind of a habitual tipsy texter/drunk dialer. I scrolled through my address book and landed on a guy friend that had been one of my best friends growing up. We had a falling out our freshman year of college when he came to visit me on my 19th birthday and ended up hooking up with one of my friends here after he told me he had to leave because he had work early in the morning. Enter Irish temper here again.
We hadn't talked in quite awhile, nothing more than happy birthdays, how's the family, mundane chit chat. I called him at like 2am and he surprisingly answered. We talked about random shit for awhile and I told him that I hooked up with Douchebag, a mutual friend. He laughed and I told him that he was highly disappointing. He told me that Douchebag's current girlfriend is the proud mother of two and is only 19. Ah, well if that doesn't make me as happy as a unicorn shitting a rainbow, I don't know what would. We talked some more and I hung up when I felt that I was getting a little too risque, I mean I did have two other people in the car listening in.
I texted him and told him he was lucky that I didn't try to seduce him into coming over and I got no response. Until this morning. "How were you going to seduce me?" Ah, fuck. Vodka got me into trouble.
I woke up with three text messages, two from Rocker, one from ex-BFF. Damnit, I hate when I'm double dipping like this. Ex-BFF and I exchanged about an hour and a half's worth of dirty texts and he asked me what I was doing tonight. Well...I have nothing planned, so we decided that he was coming over.
Shit. Didn't I just get pissed at Rocker for saying he had a girlfriend on an anonymous guitar forum and here I am planning on hooking up with a boy from my past? One with whom there's always been sexual tension. Fuckkkkk me, I know this probably isn't good.
I have logic for it, though. Rocker and I are not official. We haven't even talked about being official. Ex-BFF and I know there probably wouldn't be something there that we'd pursue and it would probably turn into a FWB situation at the very most. Is it wrong to hookup with someone who I've always had a little crush on when I like someone else, but we have never met?
I don't know. If Rocker asks me what I'm doing tonight, I'll tell him that I'm hanging out with an old guy friend probably. And now I just remembered that Rocker always calls me to say goodnight, every night without fail. Am I going to press the FU button again on him because I've got a mouthful of cock? Will I be the type of girl that holds my hand over Ex-BFF's mouth to make sure Rocker can't hear that another guy is in my bed?
I don't have any answers and I don't know how far I'll go with Ex-BFF. I guess all I have to say is stay tuned for more.
We get to the bar and it has a decent turn out, but I felt a little awkward since I only knew two people there, one was drunk already and the other was my designated driver. I filled a small cup with some vodka and downed it in three gulps, chased with Sierra Mist. It almost came up for about 20 seconds, but I fought it back down. I wanted to get drunk and I wanted to get drunk quickly. Within 15 minutes the pint of Smirnoff was gone. I didn't drink it all, my friend had a few shots of it as well, but I did consume most of it along with two Long Islands. Rocker was bartending at the restaurant where he moonlights and was periodically texting me. We had gotten in a fight earlier that day, which is a long story, but if I can't share it on an anonymous blog, where can I share it?
It started when he mentioned a few things about people on some guitar forum were talking about Kirk Hammet's latest guitar being unveiled. My cousin, who is also a big guitar enthusiast, was interested in looking at it, so I asked Rocker what the website address was and everything. He told me the address and I started browsing it too after I had directed my cousin to it. I wasn't happy with what I found. There was a "Metallica in Chicago" post so obviously I wanted to see what some other fans had thought about the show and such. I was scrolling down through the repetitive "They fucking rawked!" posts when I saw a post from someone that had the exact same screenname that Rocker uses on AIM. I kind of laughed because I thought it was funny that he would use the same name for multiple uses. When I read what he wrote, however, I was pissed. "I'll tell ya what dude, if my gf decides to throw a bitch fit about going, you can have her ticket." Gf? Girlfriend? GIRLFRIEND?
I immediately slapped myself in the fucking head for ever thinking that I could trust someone whom I've never even met. I texted him and told him that I found it and that I also found something else that was pretty interesting. I informed him of what I saw and he did the typical what are you talking about thing. He tried calling me from work, but I pressed the F U button and it went straight to voicemail. He texted me and asked me what my deal was and that the internet was not serious business (his exact words). He called again and left a voicemail when I rejected the call again, saying that he was single and that the internet was not serious business. Yeah, I had understood that you don't think the internet is serious business from your text, asshole.
I told him that I was going to start stupid bullshit over someone/something that I didn't know and that if he was dating someone, then it was cool, but to lose my number. He insisted he was single and asked me what my deal was again. Well, my deal is that I don't like being fucked with, even if I don't "know" you, have a little respect for my potential feelings and not be a complete dickbite. I told him that this whole thing was weird for me and that I had genuinely started to like him and that I didn't want to get fucked with. He told me that he liked me too and that he had thought he made that clear. I told him to just drop it and that if he says he's single then I'll believe it.
As I calmed down, I started to rationalize a few things. He calls me all the time and when he's not calling me, he's texting me. If he really had a girlfriend, I'm pretty sure she would have noticed something was up. Maybe he was trying to boost his ego or something on the guitar forum. Whatever, it didn't matter.
I told him to leave me alone for awhile and that I needed to take a nap to prepare myself for going out that night. Within five minutes he texted me saying that he missed me. I didn't respond back. I was still seething a little bit. Irish temper and all I suppose. When I get pissed off, I don't see anything clearly for a good hour.
Anyway, later that night, we exchanged some texts. I was trying to break him out of his shell a little bit but was not having any luck at all. He told me that he was going to bed because he had an early morning with Bromance (a guy who he's learning new guitar techniques from). I told him whatever, that I had planned on forcing phone sex on him, but that I suppose Bromance was more important. He replied that he was already in bed and to have a good night. Wow, what a fucking rejection. I was a little pissed by this, especially after he had fouled up earlier in the day, you think he would have appeased my horniness. Nope, didn't happen.
If you couldn't tell already from previous posts, I'm kind of a habitual tipsy texter/drunk dialer. I scrolled through my address book and landed on a guy friend that had been one of my best friends growing up. We had a falling out our freshman year of college when he came to visit me on my 19th birthday and ended up hooking up with one of my friends here after he told me he had to leave because he had work early in the morning. Enter Irish temper here again.
We hadn't talked in quite awhile, nothing more than happy birthdays, how's the family, mundane chit chat. I called him at like 2am and he surprisingly answered. We talked about random shit for awhile and I told him that I hooked up with Douchebag, a mutual friend. He laughed and I told him that he was highly disappointing. He told me that Douchebag's current girlfriend is the proud mother of two and is only 19. Ah, well if that doesn't make me as happy as a unicorn shitting a rainbow, I don't know what would. We talked some more and I hung up when I felt that I was getting a little too risque, I mean I did have two other people in the car listening in.
I texted him and told him he was lucky that I didn't try to seduce him into coming over and I got no response. Until this morning. "How were you going to seduce me?" Ah, fuck. Vodka got me into trouble.
I woke up with three text messages, two from Rocker, one from ex-BFF. Damnit, I hate when I'm double dipping like this. Ex-BFF and I exchanged about an hour and a half's worth of dirty texts and he asked me what I was doing tonight. Well...I have nothing planned, so we decided that he was coming over.
Shit. Didn't I just get pissed at Rocker for saying he had a girlfriend on an anonymous guitar forum and here I am planning on hooking up with a boy from my past? One with whom there's always been sexual tension. Fuckkkkk me, I know this probably isn't good.
I have logic for it, though. Rocker and I are not official. We haven't even talked about being official. Ex-BFF and I know there probably wouldn't be something there that we'd pursue and it would probably turn into a FWB situation at the very most. Is it wrong to hookup with someone who I've always had a little crush on when I like someone else, but we have never met?
I don't know. If Rocker asks me what I'm doing tonight, I'll tell him that I'm hanging out with an old guy friend probably. And now I just remembered that Rocker always calls me to say goodnight, every night without fail. Am I going to press the FU button again on him because I've got a mouthful of cock? Will I be the type of girl that holds my hand over Ex-BFF's mouth to make sure Rocker can't hear that another guy is in my bed?
I don't have any answers and I don't know how far I'll go with Ex-BFF. I guess all I have to say is stay tuned for more.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Your mistakes are haunting me
I woke up around 7:45 this morning from a dream that left me sleep-crying, that awkward whimpering and tears that happen while you sleep and makes you feel like shit when you awaken from its stranglehold. I slid my phone open to check the time and tried to lay back down and think about my dreams. I remembered one and figured that it was the cause of the sleep-crying. It was a dream about my dad's affair. This isn't the first time that I've dreamed of my dad's affair and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last. It was, however, the most disturbing of the dreams that have been related to his affair.
This first thing that I remember about this dream is sitting down in the front room (or parlor or fronch as we sometimes say in Chicago) and my dad was sitting at the kitchen table, which is only 10-15ft away from the chair I was sitting at, talking on the phone. After a few minutes of him talking on the phone, I got the impression that he was talking to the whore that he had an affair with. I walked over to him and demanded to see his phone, which he became protective off and tried to shut as I grabbed it out of his hands. When I got the phone, I heard her say my dad's name and asked if he was okay. I flipped my shit in the dream, as I'm sure I would have done if it had really happened. I hung the phone up and punched my dad in the face as he sat at our kitchen table. The punch wasn't as effective as I had probably hoped and he was still sitting upright in the dining chair, so I shoved him and got in his face and said, "How the fuck are you doing this AGAIN?" He just stared at me kind of blankly, this emotionally detached look that only further pissed me off. He looked like an innocent little kid that got caught sneaking into the kitchen to get a snack before dinner. I didn't understand how he was being so fucking complacent as hot tears were streaming down my face and dripping on his shirt as I hovered over him. I slapped him and told him to get the fuck out of the house. The dream gets a little foggy here and the next part that I remember is a little disjointed from this point. I was on the stairs coming down from my bedroom to the kitchen area when I picked up my dad's phone and talked to the whore that my dad slept with. Her slimy voice gave me the creeps as she said, "Hello, baby," assuming that it was my dad who would be answering the phone. I can't remember what I said to her, but I'm sure it was something filled with hate. The next part I remember is being on the computer on Facebook, looking at her Facebook page and finding comments that my dad made on her pictures. The odd thing is that I know what this woman looks like, but she didn't appear to be the same woman as the photos I was looking at, even though I knew it was her that was playing the role in my dream.
After the Facebook part, I awoke with fat tear drops waiting for gravity to make them slide down the sides of my face. I instantly tried to think about why I was having this dream again. I say again because I've had similar dreams that all have to do with my dad's affair, but nothing was as passionate as this dream was. The physical violence alone was different in this dream because it hadn't been present in the others. I'm sure there could be millions of reasons about why I was dreaming this. It could be that my mom's birthday was Thursday, it could be that I had talked to my dad that day, it could be related to Rocker, I'm not really sure.
To be perfectly honest, I'd have to say that it's my own insecurities that are coming to light through my dreams. I'm afraid that I'll get cheated on, I'm afraid that my dad will be unfaithful again, I'm afraid that I'll sabotage any future relationships because I've done it in the past. Usually when I sense that I'm getting attached or starting to genuinely like a person who expresses interest in me as well, I start making excuses about their flaws or what they may perceive my flaws to be. With Rocker, the obvious one is that we haven't met. It's easy to tell myself that he won't like me outside of my shining phone/online personality. It's easy to not let myself like him as much as he appears to like me because it's a self-preservation technique that I've developed somewhere along the lines of my adolescence.
He tells me he likes me all the time and I can only say that I like him while we're talking through texts. The other day he told me that he liked me on the phone and I froze up and finagled my way out of response by some sarcastic comment that could have multiple interpretations so that I don't have to explain myself. I feel weird being as cutesy as I want to be. I want to call him baby or sunshine or schmoopie pie, but I don't. I don't call him anything when we talk on the phone. I barely say his name, which might not seem like a big deal from an observer's point of view, but I know why I do it. It's to make it easier to split when I find a flaw in him or he finds one in me. It's to make it seem like it doesn't matter or that he doesn't matter, when he does.
I miss him when we don't talk for a few hours, but I can't tell him that. I start to, but then I feel awkward and stop mid-sentence. I'm open with him in any other aspect of my life but I can't express my feelings. Am I really emotionally retarded? How did I get this way? There's theories that I could come up with that involve various incidents in my life that have made me guarded, but that shouldn't be an excuse and I don't want it to be an excuse. He's such a good guy and I feel like I'm not a good enough girl in any respect for him. I want him and I want him to want me, but I can't get over this fucking fear in my head that's been preventing me from making a connection with another person besides just something physical.
I don't know what to do and I'm feeling lost. I keep telling myself that in the long run everything will work out, but I really can't make those generic statements when I'm being my own worst enemy. I know love deserves to be treated well...but do I deserve to be loved?
This first thing that I remember about this dream is sitting down in the front room (or parlor or fronch as we sometimes say in Chicago) and my dad was sitting at the kitchen table, which is only 10-15ft away from the chair I was sitting at, talking on the phone. After a few minutes of him talking on the phone, I got the impression that he was talking to the whore that he had an affair with. I walked over to him and demanded to see his phone, which he became protective off and tried to shut as I grabbed it out of his hands. When I got the phone, I heard her say my dad's name and asked if he was okay. I flipped my shit in the dream, as I'm sure I would have done if it had really happened. I hung the phone up and punched my dad in the face as he sat at our kitchen table. The punch wasn't as effective as I had probably hoped and he was still sitting upright in the dining chair, so I shoved him and got in his face and said, "How the fuck are you doing this AGAIN?" He just stared at me kind of blankly, this emotionally detached look that only further pissed me off. He looked like an innocent little kid that got caught sneaking into the kitchen to get a snack before dinner. I didn't understand how he was being so fucking complacent as hot tears were streaming down my face and dripping on his shirt as I hovered over him. I slapped him and told him to get the fuck out of the house. The dream gets a little foggy here and the next part that I remember is a little disjointed from this point. I was on the stairs coming down from my bedroom to the kitchen area when I picked up my dad's phone and talked to the whore that my dad slept with. Her slimy voice gave me the creeps as she said, "Hello, baby," assuming that it was my dad who would be answering the phone. I can't remember what I said to her, but I'm sure it was something filled with hate. The next part I remember is being on the computer on Facebook, looking at her Facebook page and finding comments that my dad made on her pictures. The odd thing is that I know what this woman looks like, but she didn't appear to be the same woman as the photos I was looking at, even though I knew it was her that was playing the role in my dream.
After the Facebook part, I awoke with fat tear drops waiting for gravity to make them slide down the sides of my face. I instantly tried to think about why I was having this dream again. I say again because I've had similar dreams that all have to do with my dad's affair, but nothing was as passionate as this dream was. The physical violence alone was different in this dream because it hadn't been present in the others. I'm sure there could be millions of reasons about why I was dreaming this. It could be that my mom's birthday was Thursday, it could be that I had talked to my dad that day, it could be related to Rocker, I'm not really sure.
To be perfectly honest, I'd have to say that it's my own insecurities that are coming to light through my dreams. I'm afraid that I'll get cheated on, I'm afraid that my dad will be unfaithful again, I'm afraid that I'll sabotage any future relationships because I've done it in the past. Usually when I sense that I'm getting attached or starting to genuinely like a person who expresses interest in me as well, I start making excuses about their flaws or what they may perceive my flaws to be. With Rocker, the obvious one is that we haven't met. It's easy to tell myself that he won't like me outside of my shining phone/online personality. It's easy to not let myself like him as much as he appears to like me because it's a self-preservation technique that I've developed somewhere along the lines of my adolescence.
He tells me he likes me all the time and I can only say that I like him while we're talking through texts. The other day he told me that he liked me on the phone and I froze up and finagled my way out of response by some sarcastic comment that could have multiple interpretations so that I don't have to explain myself. I feel weird being as cutesy as I want to be. I want to call him baby or sunshine or schmoopie pie, but I don't. I don't call him anything when we talk on the phone. I barely say his name, which might not seem like a big deal from an observer's point of view, but I know why I do it. It's to make it easier to split when I find a flaw in him or he finds one in me. It's to make it seem like it doesn't matter or that he doesn't matter, when he does.
I miss him when we don't talk for a few hours, but I can't tell him that. I start to, but then I feel awkward and stop mid-sentence. I'm open with him in any other aspect of my life but I can't express my feelings. Am I really emotionally retarded? How did I get this way? There's theories that I could come up with that involve various incidents in my life that have made me guarded, but that shouldn't be an excuse and I don't want it to be an excuse. He's such a good guy and I feel like I'm not a good enough girl in any respect for him. I want him and I want him to want me, but I can't get over this fucking fear in my head that's been preventing me from making a connection with another person besides just something physical.
I don't know what to do and I'm feeling lost. I keep telling myself that in the long run everything will work out, but I really can't make those generic statements when I'm being my own worst enemy. I know love deserves to be treated well...but do I deserve to be loved?
Friday, January 9, 2009
that was good
I just had an amazing orgasm, my body is tingling still. I didn't expect to have that great of an orgasm just manually getting off, but with the help of some amazing porn, I did. What would little freaks like me do without the easy access to free porn? I mean, I could think of some great stuff, but it's so much better to be able to actually see people going at it. Sometimes, post-O, I think about what my sexuality would be like if I lived in a different time or place. It would be hindered of course, but I mean would I still think about fucking all the time, or would societal pressures permeate my brain so much so that it would wash away the inner freak? I've explored some general history in regards to the female sexuality through the years, but it's hard to determine whether the data out there is embellished or not, especially if it originated in places that had highly censored media, which were most places until recently.
I'm sure there were your few true nymphomaniacs out there who were insatiable, but did they explore their desires or did they try to get rid of them? Usually when I try to research such a question academically, I'm led to journals of kings' mistresses, which I don't particularly think can be believed because of many reasons. One of the reason that a king's mistress may bad source for true data is because of emotional biases. For instance, when one gains favor with a king, they usually are greatly excited, however, the excitement paves way to fear rather soon. Take the case of Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII. No matter your opinions on Boleyn's motives, her favor with the king came quickly and went away just as abruptly. Of course, if Anne's journals (if she wrote any) were available would probably say that Henry was a great lover and such, but how did she truly feel? Was she ever satisfied? Did she ever have an orgasm? Things like this always run through my mind because people have been highly superstitious historically, and many superstitions came through in sex. If a woman came, she was possessed by the devil, if a man could not maintain an erection, the woman he was with was possessed, etc etc. Did these thoughts prevent women from exploring their sexuality?
This isn't even mentioning the religious influences over most people, that in itself could be a great topic for a dissertation, but again, the evidence is hard to come by (no pun intended). I mean, I've thought about the women in my family who are generations older than me and wonder if they ever really got off. Maybe it's a bit Freudian, but you can't help but wonder about the evolution of sex and sensuality. The exception in my family might have been my great-grandmother, the mother of my maternal grandfather. I don't know much about her, but what I do know is some crazy shit. She was adopted and probably a recent immigrant from Ireland judging by the few pictures I've seen, but I could be wrong. She was a heroin addict in the 1920s on and to support her habit, she stripped. I'm not familiar with the whole stripper scene circa 1920, but I imagine it was a bit like Victorian porn, not necessarily with a lot of nudity, but with a hell of a lot of suggestion, which can be even more provocative than just laying spread eagle on a stage. She passed my grandpa and his siblings onto her husband's parents and that's how my grandpa was raised. The only other story I now beyond this is that when someone told my mother that she looked just like her grandma, my grandpa got super pissed and said that she didn't look a thing like that slut and to never say anything about it ever again. I can only imagine the resentment that he must have felt on being pushed off onto his grandparents, who were the type of people that followed closely to their old world traditions and were strictly religious.
But, I wonder....did my great-grandma get off on being a stripper, or did she just do it soley to feed her habit? Maybe she was a stripper first, a bit of an exhibitionist, and got introduced to heroin that way. It's often made me think, are my sexual desires somewhat genetic? I mean, I know my mom is kind of a fiend because I've seen her toys accidentally and can literally hear my parents go at it sometimes (although my older sister, who lives directly below them, hears them a lot more than I do). Can sexual appetite be passed down? Something to ponder. Maybe someday someone will do a study on it, especially since our life expectancy is so great, but who knows?
The results would probably be skewed by most people who either don't want to talk about their sex lives or who fancy themselves a nympho. Either way, a person can easily lie about their sexual history, experiences, or appetite. It often makes me wonder if a lot of girls my age really are as promiscuous as they seem to be, or if they just want people to think that they are nymphos for the convoluted reputation that it entails?
Maybe someday I'll write a scholarly book about these issues, but for now, I am off to go ponder elsewhere.
I'm sure there were your few true nymphomaniacs out there who were insatiable, but did they explore their desires or did they try to get rid of them? Usually when I try to research such a question academically, I'm led to journals of kings' mistresses, which I don't particularly think can be believed because of many reasons. One of the reason that a king's mistress may bad source for true data is because of emotional biases. For instance, when one gains favor with a king, they usually are greatly excited, however, the excitement paves way to fear rather soon. Take the case of Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII. No matter your opinions on Boleyn's motives, her favor with the king came quickly and went away just as abruptly. Of course, if Anne's journals (if she wrote any) were available would probably say that Henry was a great lover and such, but how did she truly feel? Was she ever satisfied? Did she ever have an orgasm? Things like this always run through my mind because people have been highly superstitious historically, and many superstitions came through in sex. If a woman came, she was possessed by the devil, if a man could not maintain an erection, the woman he was with was possessed, etc etc. Did these thoughts prevent women from exploring their sexuality?
This isn't even mentioning the religious influences over most people, that in itself could be a great topic for a dissertation, but again, the evidence is hard to come by (no pun intended). I mean, I've thought about the women in my family who are generations older than me and wonder if they ever really got off. Maybe it's a bit Freudian, but you can't help but wonder about the evolution of sex and sensuality. The exception in my family might have been my great-grandmother, the mother of my maternal grandfather. I don't know much about her, but what I do know is some crazy shit. She was adopted and probably a recent immigrant from Ireland judging by the few pictures I've seen, but I could be wrong. She was a heroin addict in the 1920s on and to support her habit, she stripped. I'm not familiar with the whole stripper scene circa 1920, but I imagine it was a bit like Victorian porn, not necessarily with a lot of nudity, but with a hell of a lot of suggestion, which can be even more provocative than just laying spread eagle on a stage. She passed my grandpa and his siblings onto her husband's parents and that's how my grandpa was raised. The only other story I now beyond this is that when someone told my mother that she looked just like her grandma, my grandpa got super pissed and said that she didn't look a thing like that slut and to never say anything about it ever again. I can only imagine the resentment that he must have felt on being pushed off onto his grandparents, who were the type of people that followed closely to their old world traditions and were strictly religious.
But, I wonder....did my great-grandma get off on being a stripper, or did she just do it soley to feed her habit? Maybe she was a stripper first, a bit of an exhibitionist, and got introduced to heroin that way. It's often made me think, are my sexual desires somewhat genetic? I mean, I know my mom is kind of a fiend because I've seen her toys accidentally and can literally hear my parents go at it sometimes (although my older sister, who lives directly below them, hears them a lot more than I do). Can sexual appetite be passed down? Something to ponder. Maybe someday someone will do a study on it, especially since our life expectancy is so great, but who knows?
The results would probably be skewed by most people who either don't want to talk about their sex lives or who fancy themselves a nympho. Either way, a person can easily lie about their sexual history, experiences, or appetite. It often makes me wonder if a lot of girls my age really are as promiscuous as they seem to be, or if they just want people to think that they are nymphos for the convoluted reputation that it entails?
Maybe someday I'll write a scholarly book about these issues, but for now, I am off to go ponder elsewhere.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Case of the blahs
I hate January. I hate February, March, and April for that matter, too. Nothing about these months appeal to me in the slightest bit. Now that we've entered January, I'm feeling depressed. I don't think it's Seasonal Affective Disorder or anything, just a general feeling of fuckkkkkkk let's fast forward to something better. I mean, what good things have actually happened in these months, ever? I urge you to make me a list if you are so inclined. Today I did nothing. I woke up, ate, took my medicines, played a video game, watched some football (yay for the Vikes being out) and then had dinner and fucked around for about four more hours until I came up to my room to download some music, illegally of course. As I selected the "recently added" song menu on my iTunes, I noticed that most of the songs I just downloaded were sappy and some downright pessimistic.
First came The Darkness' "Love is Only a Feeling," a song who's lyrics can say it all- "Love is only a feeling/drifting away/When I'm in your arms, I start believing it's here to stay/But love is only a feeling/anyway, anyway"
Next is Debussy's "Clair de Lune" one of my classical favorites next to Pachebel's Canon and Ave Maria. Something about the song is sad, almost weepy perhaps. I had it on my computer when I first got my computer set up before Freshman year of college, but somehow I deleted it.
Then came "Sea of Love" by Phil Phillips, not necessarily a sad song, but whenever I hear it, I always think about the movie "Frequency" with Dennis Quaid and Jim Caviezel. In the movie, there is a scene where the song is repeated on a record player and Dennis Quaid's character finds a woman dead, he was minutes too late to save her. If that's not sad, I don't know what is.
There's more, but lists bore me after I start them. Hello, ADD. Last night I went to see the Transiberian Orchestra and they basically blew my mind. Amazing music, amazing light show, amazing pyrotechnics, amazing energy. I couldn't believe that they had done a show at 3pm before the 8pm show that I attended because they were all so energetic and enthusiastic. Great time and I highly recommend them, not that they would need my recommendation.
Thursday is my sister's 11th birthday and also the day that I have to go back to campus for Spring RA training. Blah. I'll be glad to go back because I'm tired of the monotony of home, but I will then enter another period of repetition. I know, I know, life is a series of cycles and I should be used to it by now, but can you blame me for seeking more? Everyone wants to break the mold, go against the grain, or whatever cheesy, if relative, metaphor you would like to insert here.
What I should really do is hit the gym so that I can get some endorphins pumping through me, but that seems like it would take soooo much effort. Okay, 20 minutes of yoga at home will have to do.
Until next time..
First came The Darkness' "Love is Only a Feeling," a song who's lyrics can say it all- "Love is only a feeling/drifting away/When I'm in your arms, I start believing it's here to stay/But love is only a feeling/anyway, anyway"
Next is Debussy's "Clair de Lune" one of my classical favorites next to Pachebel's Canon and Ave Maria. Something about the song is sad, almost weepy perhaps. I had it on my computer when I first got my computer set up before Freshman year of college, but somehow I deleted it.
Then came "Sea of Love" by Phil Phillips, not necessarily a sad song, but whenever I hear it, I always think about the movie "Frequency" with Dennis Quaid and Jim Caviezel. In the movie, there is a scene where the song is repeated on a record player and Dennis Quaid's character finds a woman dead, he was minutes too late to save her. If that's not sad, I don't know what is.
There's more, but lists bore me after I start them. Hello, ADD. Last night I went to see the Transiberian Orchestra and they basically blew my mind. Amazing music, amazing light show, amazing pyrotechnics, amazing energy. I couldn't believe that they had done a show at 3pm before the 8pm show that I attended because they were all so energetic and enthusiastic. Great time and I highly recommend them, not that they would need my recommendation.
Thursday is my sister's 11th birthday and also the day that I have to go back to campus for Spring RA training. Blah. I'll be glad to go back because I'm tired of the monotony of home, but I will then enter another period of repetition. I know, I know, life is a series of cycles and I should be used to it by now, but can you blame me for seeking more? Everyone wants to break the mold, go against the grain, or whatever cheesy, if relative, metaphor you would like to insert here.
What I should really do is hit the gym so that I can get some endorphins pumping through me, but that seems like it would take soooo much effort. Okay, 20 minutes of yoga at home will have to do.
Until next time..
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.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
All the things I'm thinking
It's 1:27am and I'm sitting naked in my dorm room, writing on this blog because I want to spill the bitchiness that is seething inside me. This is where I'm free from judgment, for the most part, and this is where I'm safe. Tonight when I got off work at midnight, I came back to my room, pondering what I should wear tomorrow for Thanksgiving. I tried on a few outfits, then lay down on my bed, nude as I caressed my body. I thought of you. I thought of you as I dipped my fingers inside myself and couldn't believe that you turned this down. I slid my wet fingers out of me and turned them as they glistened in the light, shining with my juices. I don't care if it's crude, if it's arrogant, if it offends you. I want you to be sorry. Not sorry for treating me like a bitch, but sorry that you missed out on me.
Did I tell you that I saw what she looked like? It's a little insulting to think that you chose her over me. I hope she has an amazing personality. I judged her, I picked apart her flaws and compared them to my own. She has a muffin-top, a bad smile, no hips, and bushy eyebrows. She's thinner than I am, it's true, but if you'd rather have that than me, so be it. Call me shallow. Call me callous. Call me bitter and judgmental. But, for your sake, I hope you turn the lights out on this one.
Do you believe me when I say I'm a little giggly about it? About how I wasted my time and my excellent oral skills on a chump like you? Can you hear me slap myself square in the forehead for ever thinking that I wasn't good enough? I played your game, little boy, wait, scratch that, I got sucked into your game through my own stupidity, I'll admit it.
In awhile, maybe not soon, maybe not for months or a year, you'll have a thought that crosses your mind about me. Maybe it'll be when and if another girl is going down on you and you'll compare her to me. Will it make you sad? Will you regret it and wonder what I'm doing and who I'm doing it with?
All these things I'm thinking, but not saying to you. I wrote some of them out in an away message that I know you would see. I erased them, thinking that I shouldn't judge you or your choices, but I can here. I wanted to say in one message that I'm "moving on to bigger and better things...emphasis on the bigger...well, actually emphasis on the better, too," but I didn't say that. Would you know I was talking about you and your warped sense of size? Did a girl lie to you and tell you that you had a monster cock? Did you not get my hint when I made you cum in a matter of a few minutes that you weren't impressive?
I would say best of luck to you, but I really don't wish it upon you. I honestly don't think you deserve it. I'd be lying if I said I was happy for you because I'm not. You'll never hear me say these words to you because it's not worth my energy to contact you, nor would it do any good to tell you how big of a dickbite you are.
Here I am and I have a smile on with a fuck you attitude, because I'm a cunt, and because I can.
Did I tell you that I saw what she looked like? It's a little insulting to think that you chose her over me. I hope she has an amazing personality. I judged her, I picked apart her flaws and compared them to my own. She has a muffin-top, a bad smile, no hips, and bushy eyebrows. She's thinner than I am, it's true, but if you'd rather have that than me, so be it. Call me shallow. Call me callous. Call me bitter and judgmental. But, for your sake, I hope you turn the lights out on this one.
Do you believe me when I say I'm a little giggly about it? About how I wasted my time and my excellent oral skills on a chump like you? Can you hear me slap myself square in the forehead for ever thinking that I wasn't good enough? I played your game, little boy, wait, scratch that, I got sucked into your game through my own stupidity, I'll admit it.
In awhile, maybe not soon, maybe not for months or a year, you'll have a thought that crosses your mind about me. Maybe it'll be when and if another girl is going down on you and you'll compare her to me. Will it make you sad? Will you regret it and wonder what I'm doing and who I'm doing it with?
All these things I'm thinking, but not saying to you. I wrote some of them out in an away message that I know you would see. I erased them, thinking that I shouldn't judge you or your choices, but I can here. I wanted to say in one message that I'm "moving on to bigger and better things...emphasis on the bigger...well, actually emphasis on the better, too," but I didn't say that. Would you know I was talking about you and your warped sense of size? Did a girl lie to you and tell you that you had a monster cock? Did you not get my hint when I made you cum in a matter of a few minutes that you weren't impressive?
I would say best of luck to you, but I really don't wish it upon you. I honestly don't think you deserve it. I'd be lying if I said I was happy for you because I'm not. You'll never hear me say these words to you because it's not worth my energy to contact you, nor would it do any good to tell you how big of a dickbite you are.
Here I am and I have a smile on with a fuck you attitude, because I'm a cunt, and because I can.
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