You have no one to blame but yourself.

I'm so tired of beating myself up about boys, work, life, boys, my husband, boys and um...boys.

I'm going back to the way I was with him months ago - to the sext equivalent of the high school note: "do you like me? circle yes or no".

From here on out, my only response to your text messages will be "do you want to fuck me, yes or no?" Nothing more, nothing less.

That emotions even entered the equation is just silly and juvenile.

Hamburger

So my occasional fuck buddy (more like 'random, rare occurrence') sends me the following text at 4:30 this morning:

Sometimes when you are not where you wanna be, you gotta look up and say what the fuck am i doing here....

My response to him:

Dude, I just want your cock in my ass.

jeebus fuck

gd i'm boring.

i have been working these extraordinarily long hours at work, which leaves me with little to no social life.

no social life = no blog fodder.

perhaps i'll post some old shit.

Manson

Family, not Marilyn.

They're starting to fall, one by one.

How long will he stand?

I figure that he's the devil incarnate and may never die.

missing...

...one South Carolina-born, South Florida-raised Texan.

Oh wait.

Here I am.

Nothing of consequence has gone on, I've just been busy with this "career" business.

If it's exhausting starting out at damn near 40 then I can't imagine what it's like starting a 'real' career in your 20s and 30s.

I've been sleeping on my sofa lately. I can't decide if I'm just tired of sleeping in my bed because it was 'ours', or because I need a new one. Either way, until the promotion kicks in, I think my living room is my new home.

I get very lonely sometimes - especially around this time of year, so I guess it's a good thing I'm so busy with my budding career and friends and family and stuff.

But if anyone knows a nice boy in my part of the country...

sick to my stomach

you make me sick to my stomach.

you make me want to go home, want to crawl into a strange bed, pull the sheets up over my head and never come out.

reality makes me carry on.

responsibilities. far more than the first time you tried to take everything from me.

perhaps i care more now that i understand you, and am more acutely tuned in so as to know when you're going to bitchslap me upside the head.

you won't win. not this time. not anymore. i won't let you.

i am better than you, even when i can't imagine it could be so.

adjust, readjust. whatever it takes. i'll never beat you, but you won't win.

Calling Dick Tucker...

were you assigned this case?

if so, i want the exclusive.

solicited advice

from one of my most favorite bloggers.

thank you, my friend. your advice always means far more than you could ever imagine.

I may be batshit crazy, but at least i'm not a fucking stark-raving mad, co-dependent lunatic.

ahhh, depression, my oldest frenemy

not being a rapid-cycling manic-depressive is some hard shit to deal with.

while i'm glad i don't get 'stuck' in a manic episode, i'm pretty well sick and tired of depressive episodes. i'm obviously better than i was 3 years ago; i would never have even attempted to get out of bed on days (or weeks) like today (or this week). and if i did make it out of bed it would be with an unwashed face, unbrushed hair, stinky breath from not having brushed my teeth, and i'd sit in dirty ass pj's for days on end.

well my jammies are clean, my flat iron plugged in, i'm getting ready to get up and go to work.

what a difference the right medications make; but man, i wish they'd just knock the depressive episodes out of me completely.

boys aren't helping, either. or it could be perception.

all i know is that you should *never* text a boy and ask him if he's ever wanted to 'kurt cobain' himself. it was an off the cuff remark; i'm not suicidal. he didn't see the humor in it at all.

as for the rest of the boys in my life, well, they can all fuck off for the time being. i hate being alone, i really do, but it's better than the jackassholes that enter my life at an alarming pace. i need to quit some boys, keep other stuff closer to my heart, and fall in love again.

a haiku

surface resurface,
stay/go push, pull on heartstrings
surface resurface

where'd my mania go?

when i was manic, i could write for hours. it was probably a manic episode that led to the creation of my original blog.

now that i'm properly medicated?

zip. zero. nada. nothing.

i'm just a crying depressive bitch who has fiber farts.

seriously, who says this kind of shit?

from an e-mail @ collarme:

lucky if yoiu get any cock girl

why, because i know the difference between 'dominate' and 'dominant'?

or because i write haikus about assholes that piss me the fuck off?

'fess up

which one of you is playing the jackasshole 'make a chippendale dancer call me' game?

waiting sucks.

i hate waiting for him. his 'i'll be there in a few days, if not tomorrow' loosely translates to 'i'll be there when i get there...and then i'll text you'.

it really shouldn't bother me. it never has before.

cock withdrawal sucks.

Nerve.

I've never shied away from the fact that i'm bipolar--it's a fact of life, i take a pill daily and hope for the best. Every now and then I have a manic moment, and yesterday was one of those days. It was sparked by several events: 'friends' who threw me under the bus, a close friend's terminally ill parent and my inability to physically be there for him, and work.

Work is the least of my worries. Honestly, they can't do much about it, and i didn't flip out on the floor.

And that I can't physically be there for my friend and their family is also beyond my control. I can support this person via phone/e-mail/text, and it will have to suffice. Why it's even an issue is because I've been exactly where this person has been. This person was my rock when I needed them, and I'm sorry I can't give back the way I'd like. If it were up to me I'd be on the next plane out of here.

What's far more troublesome, and what actually sparked the manic episode was a couple of my alleged friends. They are both bipolar, one medicated and one not. The medicated one is a recent discovery and while i'm fine with that, i'm not fine with being chucked under the bus because my cellphone ringer wasn't on.

First of all, I have a fucking landline for a reason. Secondly, my ringer is *never* on. Third, get fucking bent. Fuck you for blaming an admittedly weird and shitty night on my lack of being there.

Did you think you wouldn't have done coke had I been there? Every single one of my friends knows that I cannot/will not be around that stuff. It's been 12 or 13 years since I've last touched it, a relative of mine struggled with addiction, and my husband was a (recovering) addict.

That you collectively had a shitty time is not my fault. I wasn't there. And it's not fair to throw J under the bus either. She got sick. Didn't feel well, went home.

I would rather continue to live my monk's life than hang out with these people. I will not allow addiction to have an effect on my life. I'm far too old for this shit, and I've come too far in the last couple of years.

translation, please

from one of my many 'admirers' on collarme:

I dont mean to barge in here but I have red your journal entries over soem time and wanted to respond. There is no need to respond if you don't care to. I was thinking back over My life as a man and when I was younger I wanted to fuck anything I could get My hands on. Lets face it, fucking is great, no beeter feeling than cumming at the end of a nice time. As I grew and married I still had those feelings of wanting to get laid where I pleased but I loved My wife and needed to stay true to her. We found that we were so secure in our relationship that we wanted to try some things of a sexual nature. We did and enjoyed it. She passed away and I remarried again enjoying a nice piece of ass would be wonderful but I loved her and that is where My loyalties would remain. I divorced her and since then have only been with a few women in teh past five years. I think the point I am making is that they never grew up. There is nothing wrong with wanting to get as much pussy as you can but to hide it behind a relationship is wrong. Those that cannot be faithful cannot commit and without honesty and commitment there is nothing but fucking.

Does someone have an idiot-to-literate dictionary handy?

Anyone?

Dallas

Are *all* of the boys in Dallas profoundly stupid when it comes to the art of women? Is it something in the water?

Seriously. Stop professing interest if you're not going to follow through.

Holy Fuck

Squeaky's getting out of prison.

BANNED

My twitter account has been suspended due to suspected phishing.

The saddest thing is that this occured at a time when it was impossible for me to have done it--i was knee deep in cubicle farm drama.

I have submitted a request to research ticket (or whatever the fuck it's called).

:::sigh:::

Why he rocks my world

Random text message from The Naked Boy:

"...you'll see me sooner than you think..."

and when I told him I had company coming in from out of town, that it didn't matter but it was a girlfriend from back home, he responded with:

"It doesn't matter. We are our own thing. Have fun and I'll be back soon."

Yes, yes we are.

modern haiku

you moved in with her.
he's just an asshole shitstain.
fuck both of you jerks.

Hell's Kitchen

why on earth did they bring Robert back but not Ji?

relinquishing control

How many times does something have to occur before it can be referred to as being a habit?

How many times do we have to have incredibly passionate sex followed by cuddling and napping before it's more than just a booty call?

And is it really *just* a booty call when he says things like "I like you 'cause I can talk for hours and you pretend to listen" (I'm not pretending)?

I supposed I'll wait until the pain in my ass subsides before I begin to ponder these questions.

releasing the bitter

i've been releasing a lot of pent up bitterness on this blog of late.

i'm working to recenter myself not only with writing, but with yoga and a little mediation.

it must be working, 'cause i'm feeling the urge to write the long overdue "i got laid and i'm sharing jaw dropping details" entry. it's time i got back to what I do best:

talk about my sex life. it happens far less often than when i lived in FL, but i've only been in TX a coupla years, and for the first year or so i was working from home so i never met anyone. don't get me wrong, there are a few guys, but not like my hometown. i'd grown up there. the dudes *get* me, and i them. sex was easy and literally a phone call away to any one of a number of guys. generally really good sex.

out here, notsomuch. guys don't get that there are women that exist solely to have a good time. one night stands are not a dirty word (which usually leads to more than just one night), anal sex is a must, and the kinkier/dirtier the better.

but we do exist, and The Naked Boy is fortunate enough to understand that. at one point we were in bed spooning, his cock buried in my ass, one hand pulling my hair in the way that makes me squirt, while he bit my back. that led to one of many, many orgasms over the next several hours. for both of us.

sex is not awkward with him, not even the awkward moments. like the times when my legs all but give out from his pounding me from behind at just that right angle, but my thighs start to shake after 15 minutes of hardcore pounding--the kind that would cause me to squirt had enough to push his cock out of me. he is always very caring and concerned when i have to stop--mostly i just need to change positions and have a sip of water.

the breaks are not unusual for us, as we tend to fuck for hours. i'm his hideaway, he tells me, and i must be a good one 'cause even though he's not around often, when he is here he's here for hours and doesn't want to leave.

i could wax poetic about how our bodies contour each other's perfectly. i am completely comfortable with him. we have real conversations about stuff and like a lot of the same shit. but the reality is he's never in town for very long, so going out isn't a priority. it's at this point that i become his piece of ass (that his band is very well aware of, mind you) when he's here.

:::shrug:::

the sex is *that* fucking good that it's worth the randomness of it all.

that makes you a prostitute

I live out in the 'burbs. It's a long commute daily, but I make it because I have to (and 'cause I love my job). 10 months ago (give or take), I was asked by my then-manager if I could help a co-worker out until she got her car road worthy. I said sure. It was only going to be for a coupla months, right?

Up until Wednesday, I was still giving said co-worker a ride.

Lemme back up a sec--on Monday, I got an e-mail from her that said she was thinking about me on that day (the anniversary of the accident), and that I'm a strong woman and she's soooo thankful and appreciative that I give her a ride in to work. She also stated that she'd be getting her license.

Woo-fucking-hoo. I'm sure she's noticed the climate change in my car--I'm not thrilled with her these days, I'm tired of getting up early so I can pick her up and not be late. I'm tired of not getting home until after 7pm (have I mentioned 10 long months? Five days a week?) And I'm especially tired of carting around someone for whom I have absolutely zero respect.

So I was mildly excited to hear that she was finally getting her driver's license on Wednesday. I got a little more excited when she texted me to let me know she'd passed. Not once did she ask me for a ride on Thursday--not before she left for the day, not when she texted me later, not even at 5 am when she knows I'm up and it's still feasible for me to come get her. I certainly wasn't going to call or text her to ask if she needed a ride. I'm done with that shit--I'm not Morgan Freeman, and she ain't Miss Daisy, period.

I'm not gonna lie--I wasn't surprised when she texted me to ask what time I was going in. I was a little bent because she conveniently did it at a time when she knew I was likely on the road. In fact, I was almost at work when I was able to text her back to let her know I wasn't picking her up. Her response was 'oh, ok'.

She ignored me at work. Didn't say a single thing to me. Not a thank you for taking me to work for 10 months, I'm sorry I turned into a burden, nothing. Just flat out ignored me.

And I'm honestly fine with that. She's an asshole, plain and simple. Lied to me for months now about some shenanigans with a couple of co-workers (who are a couple), made herself out to be the victim when that was the farthest thing from the truth. She also uses men for what they can give her--she'll give up the pussy, but you *have* to give her something in return, be it a plane ticket to come see you, a new trashy tattoo, pay her bills, get her a cellphone, buy her clothing, etc.

What befuddles me is that she's been prostituting herself around in this fashion for quite some time, yet she *never* once asked any of her men to fix her fucking car for her.

I'm done with being used. I wish I had been wise enough to nip this shit in the bud several months ago, but what matters now is that she's no longer riding with me. There are other co-workers living out this direction. Let her use them for a while.

apples and oranges

you hold the apples.

i hold the oranges.

neither fruit is particularly better than the other one; however, your apples merely bruise. You can cut out the bad part and move on. my oranges get moldy. i have to throw them out.

i lost my fruit, you still got to eat yours.

i'm not bitching about my loss of oranges; i'll find more. you mourn your apples even though you were able to salvage a good portion of them and enjoy their juicy goodness while it lasted. they were mostly rotten, yet you *still* got to enjoy the good parts.

*finally*

i so got laid yesterday.

for hours.

that time of year

do you have any idea how badly it hurts to hear the words "massive head and leg injuries" as the result of someone's death? a motorcyclist was killed in the early morning hours (by a drunk fucking driver, no less) today, he died from those injuries. that alone should have been enough to throw me into a tailspin, but it didn't.

i suppose that statement should make this my obligatory "I can't believe it's been 'x' number of years (7) since you died" post.

:::shrug:::

i miss him, i really do, but at some point things have to get easier. it's been baby steps over the last seven years, but i've made some amazing progress.

of course there's always the random thought that will reduce me to a mess of unapologetic tears. The kind where your whole body shakes, tears drip off of your nose and onto your lip, your nose sinuses congest and your eyes turn bright red. the kind of crying that is at once profoundly sad and extremely cathartic.

tonight it was this: he would have loved Austin.

MJ

Wow.

JHud is far more pregnant than I realized. She looks great.

Brooke Shields made me cry.

So did Paris.

and John Mayer got it soooo right. He was my generation's contribution to the celebration of Michael Jackson's life, and he did an amazing job. I don't care if you hate his music, that's your right, but his jam/jazz/instrumental version of MJ's "Human Nature" is undeniably brilliant:



:::sigh::: i could watch that man's fingers for hours.

asshole

i *know* he knows it's me.

why the fuck can't he leave well enough alone?

have i mentioned boys suck ass?

There are no words...

help me help you

i've been looking for a new template for this blog, but to no avail.

any suggestions? i like simplicity, clean lines, black...kind of suitable for a masochist, yes?

any suggestions?

dx: 302.83

Just because I'm a sexual masochist doesn't mean you can go around fucking with my head all willy nilly and shit. Stupid me, in an effort to get laid, broke my rule of 'you fucked me over, you're dead to me now' again.

Something has seriously gone wrong in my dating world since I moved out here. I'm turning into, as my friend Steve would say, a sexual camel. It's not for lack of trying. I admit I'm only half-assedly trying, but wouldn't you if you were in my situation? I used to have dudes banging down my door, hand over fist, because I'm a damned good lay, a masochist, submissive, and a filthy whore. I also happen to give 'amazing' head (and love doing it) *and* I take it up the ass.

I'm totally a catch.

So why is it that my sex life is for shit out here? Don't get me wrong, I've had some amazing sex since I've been out here (not counting text, cyber or phone) but can't seem to get it when *I* desire it.

Case in point: St. Louis, that weird stalkery dude? He apologized for getting all weird and stalkery, so I forgave him and we started chatting again. Earlier this week I thought we were making progress, and then I got the following series of texts from him:

Him: I have to be honest with u. As much as I would like to, I'm really intimadated [sic] with hooking up with someone just for kicks. I'm really sorry and you can call me a pussy or whatever but its not me. I would gladly treat you to a burger and a beer but that's all

Me: I don't know why u would be, but that's cool i' m not going to pressure you. (with regard to being intimidated)

Him: I'm sorry. Sometimes I think to myself, that's just not me and occasionally I think fuck it. I'm really sorry. I'm in a terrible mood and I just don't know

Me: :::Shrug::: i invited u over b/c u were in a shit mood. (because I'm not just about getting laid, asshole)

Him: And I appreciate that. Truly I do

Me: Whatever. You started all of this, not me. I told u to be sure. I'm not into games.

I don't expect to hear from him again. I did the ritual cellphone 'erase and delete' so I'm good to go.

Bring on the next asshole, I'm ready.

advice

if insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over expecting different results (thanks, Einstein. No, really. look it up), then I won't continue to chase my tail.

doling out advice isn't my specialty; rather, crazy is.

i've been there, done that, written the book, gotten the t-shirt, lost the t-shirt, found it again, cut it up *and* made it fit properly, so when i do give out advice (always asked for, rarely volunteered), i expect that you (at the very fucking least), listen to what the fuck i'm saying. if you can save yourself the heartache and hardships i've dealt with simply by listening to me, then i've done my job.

if you don't want to heed my advice then don't fucking come to me with your problems, 'cause i can't help you.

and i won't/can't fix it for you.

shit or get off the pot, darlin', please, 'cause the fact that we're all tired of your shit is going to push you that much closer to the ledge.

One more, for my Rocker Boy

see? it can totally be done acoustically.

I <3 Michael K

hottest pick up line *ever*

"I want to smell our sex on your skin while we sleep"

--text msg from Houston

the perfect date

rough sex and zombie movies.

:::sigh:::

i hate you

i hate you for all of the things i wanted you to be that you aren't.

i hate you for making me fall for you.

it was all just smoke and mirrors, and i hate that too.

i hate you because my power door locks aren't working, because Obama's president, because my panties are too big and my ass too small.

i hate you because it took over a year for you to tell me this would *never* be real.

i mostly hate my power door locks right now. they're far more important than you ever were.

throat fucker was right

it was too good to be true.

i hate that he's always right.

and they think we're nuts?

I've had my fill of boys for a while, I think.

This weekend started out promising, and quickly devolved into a comical missed nonportunity, the promise of good things to come, a stalker, good things heading south for the evening, followed by a blast from my (recent) past.

We (Jes, DustyBalls and The Criminally Hot Brother, aka TCHB [not to be confused with Hot Jewish Rocker Dude, aka HJRD]) went to Dallas for Nellie's wedding. Three long hours of DustyBalls and TCHB talkin' redneck shit talk. It was adorable.

Have I mentioned I live in Texas? That I'm acclimating well enough to find hot redneck shit talkers adorable, I'm also still east coast enough to realize that they are still rednecks and I can make fun of them to their faces...they actually get the jokes. And I take Jew jokes from them all the time. Fair game.

Anywho.

Super high, Waco, bathrooms, mothering TCHB in an effort to smooth into some mild flirting, wedding, sun, beer, more pot, cigarettes (ah, but they were the last for real this time), food, hotel, shower, hanging out with the bride and groom, beer, pizza and Quick and the Dead.

TCHB and I share a bed. Nothing happens. No cuddling, no morning wood pressed into my back. It was literally like sharing a bed with one of my brothers. Jes, Dusty and I tease him mercilessly about his lack of ass play. It's really nice to have dudes with whom I can have sexual conversation and them not be all up in my shit. In my heart I truly do belive he's my Austin HJRD (and if you don't have one of these in your life, you *must* get one. His fabulous. And deserves fabulousness).

Besides, TCHB is a manwhore and always has 2-3 girlfriends floating about him.

He also seems to be somewhat of a good luck charm, since I was poking him in the ribs when a text message came in from Houston (formerly Naked Boy on myspace). He's coming to town, wants to destroy my ass, etc and so forth.

yay!

Of course I don't hear from him for hours on end and then he's trying to find a place for his friend and his dog. In the interim, I have texted St. Louis to tell him I am horny. I do not expect a response.

He fucking responds. Hesitantly, standoffish and snobbish at first, but he responds. He's so weird. I think he's trying to teach me a lesson, 'cause I've been the aggressor of late. He's not very good at taking the reigns--winds up driving all the way over here, demanding that i open the gate for him so he can come over and i can ride him.

Um, no, and I've already explained this to him so when he knocks on my door I don't answer. I never let him in--he waited for someone to open the gate and snuck in. It kind of freaked me out so when I got a random text message from some vaguely familiar number came through i got defensive.

"Is this The Music Dude?", I cautiously texted. He'd just quit me a month or so ago, and it was then that I'd learned of a little situation i like to call 'the wife' (yes I was pissed, but had already plotted revenge. it backfired).

"How many Music Dudes do you know?", he texted back.

I told him I needed to talk to him, that I *knew*, and that he shouldn't think I'd stalked him to find the info. I further explained that he'd only needed to be honest with me. Hell, he'd made me jump through hoops to prove my loyalty and I had believed that he was being honest with me from the get go.

It ultimately made no difference. He thought I went psycho girl on him until I explained (once again, having to explain how I'm not like every other chick he knows) to him that i googled a band he works with + his name and came up with enough easy places that all plainly stated he was married.

When I told him it didn't matter 'cause I was gonna keep my end of the bargain and be discreet, he breathed a sigh of relief and made me beg him to come over. Of course I did...he's the best damned throat fucker I have ever met. Tonight he had me bent over the sofa, toy in my cunt and head hanging over the edge. The door was unlocked and i was a bit panicked about that, but who wouldn't be when they're splayed out like that? He fucked my mouth while he smoked a bowl, using my throat for his pleasure and then fucked me with my toy until I'd squirted several times while he rubbed his ass across my face.

He came down my throat, pulled me upright, and got dressed. He mused that it didn't take him very long to come back to my amazing mouth and then we casually chatted for a bit about my crazy 36 hours, his crazy week, the 'wife' thing, discretion and how I deserve amazing things. He's not gonna quit me, but it'll never be frequent.

I'm okay with that.

I was lamenting to HJRD about my lack of sex, and while I still haven't gotten laid, I've shared a bed with a hot dude, gotten an offer from Houston, got stalked, postponed Houston to tomorrow AND had my throat fucked by The Music Dude.

What the fuck kind of crazy ass clam did I open this time?

RIP Farrah Fawcett

or Farrah Fawcett-Majors, as my father called her until the very end.

Yes, those are my nipples. No, they aren't the point, but it's a fucking sexy picture, no?

The Diary

I found an old diary of mine--one I started when Dan was still alive:

2/2/00

How is it possible that he could lie to me again? The only reason I *ever* agreed to do acid again was because E had some extras. Of course I have to find out later that he didn't have enough and Dan had to call B to get more. I wish C (B's wife) had never come back in my life. I hate her husband and I hold him responsible for Dan's behavior. Dan never felt he had to lie to me before he started hanging out with B.

I don't know how to trust Dan again. I'm so scared. All I ever wanted was to fall in love, get married and live happily ever after. No one ever told me that in between falling in love and getting married was this huge void of hell. I have to trust Dan. I don't have a choice. I hate feeling the way that I feel. I hate picking dumb fights for no reason. I hate wanting to leave this relationship because I'm scared of what's out there or more importantly, what's not out there. What if I never find anyone like Dan? What if he truly is my soulmate and I let him go? What if I can no longer take care of myself? I can't go running back to daddy.

It's funny to look back at my diary and see how completely co-dependent I was. The reality is that every fear I had came true. There was nothing I could have done to prepare myself for it.

Needless to say, I've done far more than just survive.

i'm back

miss me, bitches? i'll write more later--after i've set up my blog properly.

might take a little time...please be patient.