It's the End of the World As We Know It

I have a bed buddy.  He's warm and cuddly, and doesn't hog the covers.  He doesn't whine and complain.  He doesn't snore.  He's quite nearly perfect.  Except for the infernal scratching.  Jackimo has allergies.  And he's shedding them all over my bed.  The poor thing has a bald spot on his ass from where he's scratched all his hair off.  I have no idea what to do for him.  He scratches and scratches and rubs and rolls around on the carpet until he's raw.  Then goes back for more.  Short of putting a satellite dish on his head, I don't know what to do for him.

Holy crap!  Two nights in a row!  Wow, what's the world coming to?  Oh, yes, a very grisly end in about 4 years.

The other day I was doing my laundry at the laundromat across the street.  While waiting for my stuff to dry, I was half assed paying attention to the television blathering on in the background.  Then my ears pricked up when they mentioned December 21st, 2012.  The apocalypse of the world is sort of a fascination to me.  For those who may not know, or aren't inclined to care, December 21st, 2012 is the last day of the Mayan calendar.  The doomsayers claim this is the end of the world.  So, I started listening to what was being said.  Apparently there's also some scientific evidence that the earth and the sun are going to perfectly align on the perigee-apogee line (I know that should mean something, but it's really fuzzy at the moment), and this will cause a catostrophic shift of the earth's axis, and a whole bunch of other crazy stuff.

Now, I'm not saying I actually believe this.  There's been sooooo many "It's all gonna end!" prophecies out there.  And Nostradamus didn't say anything about December 21st, 2012.  It's just interesting to me.  Idiots will believe anything.  And so what if it does all end in four years?  What can we do about it?  Just bend over and kiss your ass goodbye, I guess.  Which is what my dad tells me whenever a tornado hits, but that doesn't stop me from freaking out.

Just for the record, I feel I should point out that the above is just a distraction to keep myself from dwelling on the real issues.  Those being that it has been 6 years, 2 months, and 13 days since I last got laid.  Am I ever going to get laid again?  I am truly pathetic.

Interlude

This is not the glorious return I prophesied two weeks ago.  We'll just call this a minor interlude.  I'm bogarting somebody's unsecured wireless network.  I got exceedingly lucky tonight because it normally kicks me off after a few minutes and won't reconnect for days.  That's not long enough to post a blog.

So, cutting to the chase.  The move went okay.  To be honest, I feel kinda like Napoleon - in exile, awaiting the time when I'm finally allowed to go home.  But only a small part of me wants to go back to my parents' house.  The part that protested this entire thing from the beginning.  The part that doesn't, nor has ever, wanted to be a "productive member of society" or "responsible adult".  What can I say?  Rebellion's in my blood.  But on the other hand, aside from my uncle's stinky dog that my sister inherited, I'm having the time of my life not being under my mother's thumb.  That alone makes paying bills and playing grown up worth it, I guess.

Last night, I was outside at 3 am, smoking a cigarette (lease says I can't smoke inside, and going outside at 3 am at my parents' house would have been a capitol offense) and one of the neighbors to the west of us, was outside.  My sister and I live in a duplex.  Our connecting neighbors are a middle aged woman and her live in lover, who are actually quite interesting to me.  About three feet away, is two more duplexes, which house a buttload of Hispanic people.  I've seen about three adult females, and about 2 dozen adult males over there.  Well, one of the males was outside sitting in his Range Rover drinking a beer when I came outside.  I had the dog with me, (his name is Jack, affectionately called by me Jackimo) and he was doing what dogs do outside, and this dude from next door got out of his car, and walked over to us.  He started making small talk with me, and soon got around to asking me if I wanted a drink.  I said no.  So then he asks me if I want to fuck him.  Only, he asked me in Spanish.  I may be as white as the paint on my bedroom walls, but listening to my sister speak fluent Spanish for the last ten years, I've picked up quite a bit.  Needless to say, I politely declined the offer and me and the dog went back inside rather abruptly.  That will teach me to go outside at 3 am.

Remember me telling you about the job I had?  Yeah, forget it.  It turned out to be not kosher, if you catch my drift.  When they called me and told me I had the job, they told me that it would be collecting donations for charity.  Naturally, I thought it would be a noble thing to do.  Long story short, these "charities" they were collecting money for, some of them were being investigated for fraud, and some of them didn't even exist.  And the worst part was that the jerkoffs who ran the place (it was a third party organization that had been contracted out to do this) thought it was perfectly fine to call up little old ladies on Social Security, and lie and manipulate them to try to get as much money as possible from them.  I may be a lot of things, but uncrupulous is not one of them.  So, after two days and a nagging concscience, I quit.  It pissed my mother off royally ("We'll see how well your morals pay the rent when you're homeless!") but at least I can live with myself.

Well, that's it on the updates.  I'm alive, not so well.  The next time the planets align and I actually manage to get online (or get my own internet connection) for longer than 2.5 seconds, I'll update again.

Cake or Death?

I was watching Eddie Izzard's Dress To Kill last night on tha intertubes.  You can see my favorite part above. 

Okay, two pieces of news I must impart to you:  First, I am moving Saturday.  I do not have internet yet at my sister's house, so I'm going to be absent for a few weeks.  Do not worry, I will be back.  So, I suggest those of you who haven't already done so subscribe to my feed so you'll know when I make my glorious return.

Second, I got a job finally.  I start Sunday.  Yay for me! 

Hello, My Name Is Poly

When I was 18, I was involved in a threesome. It was me, my ex asshole, Shawn, and one of my friends. Back up - one of my friends that I was very attracted to. See, I've known all my life that I was bisexual. For a long time, I tried to deny it, but when you get caught staring at the popular girl's chest in gym class and word gets spread around the school that you're a big flaming homo, it's really hard to deny. However, I'm not much of a boob girl, I like asses more.

Anyway, back to the story. It was the first time I'd ever been with a girl, and it was obvious. I had no freaking clue what I was doing. And it didn't help when the asshole thought it was all about him and kept getting in between me and my friend. Seriously, I did not enjoy it. At one point, I got so pissed off that I got up and left the room. Which put an abrupt halt to the whole thing, because my friend wanted to be with me, not him.

I have not been with a woman since. My lack of ability and the fear of being made fun of because of it has kept me from going down that road. A few years ago, I developed feelings for a woman I know. Don't talk to her much anymore because of what happened. Let's just say that I felt like she was playing me. She knew I had feelings for her, but she told me she didn't want to get involved with anybody, but yet she called me baby, she'd say she loved me, etc. It left me really confused.

I was having a discussion the other day with the BF. I don't remember exactly what he said, but I remember thinking to myself that it was comments like that that made me wish I had a girlfriend. I have come to realize that I have needs that can't be filled by a man. Women have this way of relating to each other that, no matter how hard they try, men can't get on that same wavelength. No guy is ever going to empathize with me when the PMS monster has struck because no guy has ever had to deal with mind-numbing cramps, depression, rage, bloating, etc. once a month for thirty or so years. (And to the guys who may be reading this, just because you've put up with your wife/girlfriend's PMS does not mean you've dealt with it.) And as hard as he tries, and I love him for trying, he just doesn't understand some of my more irrational emotions. Such as the insecurity that crops up from time to time for no real reason.

When I was with Shawn, I met one of his friends. This guy developed feelings for me, and I found myself in turn incredibly infatuated with him. Shawn found out, and told me I had to choose. Him or the other guy. It was a painful situation. At the time, I struggled to come to terms with myself. I thought that it meant I didn't really love Shawn if I had feelings for somebody else. But at the same time, I couldn't choose. The being forced to choose hurt me deeply. I remember sitting them both down and telling them both to just forget I existed, because I couldn't choose, and they deserved better than that. Shawn wanted me to pick him, the other guy wanted me to pick him, and I just couldn't. (Forget for a moment what happened between me and Shawn, all that happened long after this.) I realize now, after much discussion, that that was my first foray into poly. I just didn't know there was a name for what I was feeling at the time.

I guess this is my long winded declaration that I am, surprisingly, poly. It's taken a lot of honest examination of myself and what I want to get to the point where I feel comfortable saying that. Because the way I feel runs contrary to what I've been taught was "right". Monogamy has been packaged and sold as de rigueur. By religon, by the government, by society. I felt that if I wanted a girlfriend, I had to choose. But during this little journey I've gone on, I remembered how it made me feel when I was forced to choose between Shawn and his friend. I ultimately chose Shawn, but I always wondered if I'd mad the right the right choice. And then, the other day, a thought occurred to me: wouldn't it be nice to not have to choose?

Suburbia Scares Me

My mom and I went out Saturday morning to yard sales. We haven't done that in a long time. We hit up a couple in the richy-rich subdivisions on the west side of town. The houses were all the same. Same pukey beige color. Same box shape. The only way to tell them apart were the cars parked in the driveways. It was like the opening credits of Weeds.

I think the thing that scares me more than dying is becoming conventional. The whole time we were there, I kept repeating in my head 'Please, God, don't ever let me become like these people.' That's a pretty serious issue. I don't believe in God.

Happy Things

Something unexpected happened to me the day before yesterday.

A few months ago, I got into a big fight with a male friend of mine. Long story short, he said some things that hurt my feelings, mainly about the BF, and how all I ever do is whine about how badly he treats me and that he didn't want to listen to it anymore. At the time, I was really angry and hurt, so what he said to me didn't register. After I calmed down, I realized he was right. And I go back through this blog, and I read it all here. The negativity. There's maybe two posts that aren't me whining about how my feelings got hurt. It made me realize that the reason why my friends have such a negative view of him is because I haven't said many positive things about my relationship. But I'll get back to that in a minute.

So, I was sitting on my bed, just watching some of my favorite shows because I no longer get Showtime on the television, and I got an instant message. It was from my friend. It was the third time this week that he'd sent me an IM, and I was very cool with him. After all, he was the one that said he didn't want to talk to me. So, a few minutes into this, "How are you?" "I'm fine," one and two word answer crap, he tells me that he's sorry. I actually choked on my gum. He told me he missed me, that I'm one of the few people that he can actually talk to and not feel like he has to dumb himself down. He said he wanted to put the fight behind us and be friends again.

I said okay. Truth is, I missed him too. Aside from the BF, he's about the only other person on the planet who doesn't find my extreme attachment to inanimate objects weird. Or the fact that when I get really excited about something I start bouncing up and down or skipping around the house. It's really nice having my friend again. He's like the brother I never had.

It's sunk in. It took a long time for me realize what exactly I was saying. I love ***** very much. But how can other people see that if the only thing I talk about regarding him is things I don't like? I have this lifelong bad habit of being incredibly cynical and negative. After the shit with the poly thing and the huge fucking fight I got into over it with one of my female friends (who by the way is still not speaking to me) I realized that that negativity has carried over into my relationship. So, I'd like to take the opportunity to try to rectify that and tell you about the good things.

He makes me laugh. Like to the point where I have tears streaming down my face. His sense of humor is a lot like mine. But he knows when to be serious too. I like that. That shows maturity to me.

It's easy to talk to him. Not just because he makes me laugh, but because he just gets me. We can talk for hours about seemingly nothing and learn so much about each other. And when I say things that aren't politically correct, he doesn't get offended like a lot of people do. In fact, he usually agrees with me. We're so much alike in so many ways that it's eerie.

He's there when it counts. Not only for me, but his friends and his family too. I can't count how many times he's listened to me when I was depressed and crying, just telling me it would all be okay and not to let it get to me. He's never once said I was or made me feel ridiculous for feeling the way I did. If anything, he apologizes for it, like it's his fault.

And on a totally superficial note, he's hot as hell. Blond hair, blue eyes, what's not to love?

The biggest thing is the way I feel when I spend time with him. As crazy as it may sound, I feel like I've found what I've been looking for all my life. This is totally cliche, but it really is like feeling like you're home. It's a wonderful, indescribable feeling.

Stinky Flower of Death!

The above is what is commonly known as a corpse flower. It's scientific name is Amorphophallus titanum, which in Greek literally means gigantic misshappen penis. They are native to Sumatra. I want one of these things. They can get up to ten feet tall, and they smell like putrid, decaying flesh when they bloom, which can be up to 3 times in their 40 year lifespan. They're very rare. And quite the conversation piece too. Flower that smells like death? How goth.