Oh Yes I Did

Dehydration woke me up. And when I peeled my eyes open and stared into the darkness, I realized that I was not alone…

The line at the Warfield was saturated with misfits in black vinyl and make-up and colored hair, and I wore a schoolgirl smile about to see a boy she has a huge crush on, who literally doesn’t know she exists. 2 shots of tequila, 2 vodka crans, and 1 vodka tonic later I was in the middle of the pit with Trent Reznor a mere five feet away. I gave myself up to his insidious crowd, moved as it moved, screamed when it screamed and soaked in Trent’s lyrics, “… you can have it all… my empire of shit!”

And as the house-lights went up I beamed like a girl who’d just been fucked silly… drenched in my sweat and the crowd’s sweat… missing my new Nine Inch Nails hoodie and my green sweater… and even my shoes (note the plural on that, yes, both shoes)… some good concert-going samaritans helped me find my shoes and my green sweater… the hoodie, was sadly lost, but it was a small price to pay for an hour of heaven.

Still wasted, I hopped in a cab and headed home, but the night didn’t end there. Unfortunately, my consumption of alcohol didn’t impair my memory… just my judgment. The once deleted DV (ex-bf)’s number was remembered and dialed, and he answered, and he came over…. And we had sex, good sex.

So, when dehydration woke me in the middle of the night, I hadn’t quite remembered he was there… and for a moment, I was startled… and then calm because he was warm and sweet and through the darkness I could still trace the lines of his tattoos with the tips of my fingers. This morning we hugged good-bye… and that was that.


UPDATE ON “P”:
My suspicions were correct, he asked out the other girl in the office. She turned him down as I knew she would.

And check out this Blog:
http://metal-malisha.blogspot.com
She's my Trent Reznor competition... we both want to go where Tori's already been!

I'm Getting Married!

Don’t tell me he’s married. Don’t tell me he has a girlfriend. I just don’t want to know. In my sick fucked up world, I have a chance with him. You can call Mrs. Reznor, as in Trent Reznor the lead singer of Nine Inch Nails, http://www.nin.com/.

My idolatry of Trent Reznor is crazy on so many different levels. I have detailed fantasies of how he’s suddenly going to discover that I’m the one for him. Tonight when I go to the show, he’ll naturally pick me out of the crowd and sing “I wanna fuck you like an animal…” with his brown eyes piercing the depths of my soul. Of course, he’ll then give me a backstage pass, and we’ll “talk” all night. Shortly thereafter, he’ll ask me to meet him around the country for shows. Disguising my over-eagerness, I’ll accept. Before you know it, all y’all will be getting black and red invitations to our wedding. Possible?

A Lil' o' Dis' - A Lil' o' Dat'

Last weekend my guest, Carine Dion, and I placed our bets. Would the apartment be above a convenient store, a Mexican food restaurant or a bar? The winner, a convenient store… and a surprise contender, a beauty salon boasting the best five-dollar haircut in town. After discovering my potential new neighbors, we forged ahead, up three flights of stairs to a rear studio, apartment number 5. “Please be cool – please be cool,” I whispered to myself, having been discouraged by so many other apartments. Carine Dion in her loudest Carine Dion voice, “oh my God, it’s perfect! I love it! Take it!” And it was that easy. Cheap haircuts and diet cokes just a staircase away… yes, welcome to my new life! I paint April 30th and move May 7th.

Weekend plans:

1. Ashton and Amanda romantic comedy tonight
2. Officially signing lease tomorrow
3. Packing
4. AND, best of all MY FIRST TORI AMOS CONCERT (even better, at a small venue here in SF my friends!)

Other thoughts:

1. Men over forty should not wear tank tops… wait, scratch that, men shouldn’t’ wear tank tops at all.
2. Men should not grow long hair unless your name is Smith, and you’re on HBO.
3. Every guy is in a band.
4. Acting aloof always gets a guy’s attention… and a girl’s.
5. Personal level... Flirting with P, isn't fun anymore... God, I'm so hard to please :).

Just Let Me Go...

Although I had an all consuming weekend with my out of town guest, there is one issue that I can’t seem to get off my mind, something completely unrelated to her…. That issue = “going out habits.” My going out habits are rather inconsistent, I’ll admit. At times, I get fairly drunk and want to close the bar down… sometimes I like to have a drink or two and leave early… and sometimes I don’t even like to drink, and I want to leave early.

This weekend and many weekends, I experience much pressure to drink more and pressure to stay out late. I’m a 26 year old young woman, and if I don’t want to drink, I don’t want to drink… if I want to leave, I want to leave. If you make me stay out of some guilt trip, I’m not going to be good company because I’d rather be gone. I apologize if I’m not up for a late night. I’ve done many late nights in this lifetime (as you all know) and ask that my cohorts respect my wish to leave. I’m not asking you to leave… you can stay as long as you’d like… you can even leave early… in fact, friends have left hours before me… if I want to stay, I have no problem staying alone… I respect that person’s wish. I’m not saying you can’t ever say, “hey I want to eye that hot guy a lil’ longer, please stay a moment…” that’s not a problem… but getting angry at me when I want to leave, doesn’t make me a happy camper… let’s just cut the anger and the chatter amongst yourselves because someone always tells me later that things were said – Just because I decide I want to go home at early??!?!?!

And drinking… just because I don’t want to drink doesn’t mean you can’t… it also doesn’t mean I don’t want to have a good time… sometimes, I just don’t feel like drinking… there’s nothing more to be read into it… I suppose we all have a tendency to feel awkward drinking when others are not, but hey, let’s all get over it.

Don’t mean to be vicious… but I do get my feelings hurt when people put me down for not staying out late enough… get mad at me if I steal your boyfriend or hit your grandma… but leaving early? I know I’m fun (hahaha), but I can be fun earlier rather than later.

SORRY WAS ON CO. TRIP - BACK IN THE SWING O' THINGS NOW!

When you walk-in, you just want to know; know that this is the place for you… this where you’re going to spend time in front the mirror checking out your fat-butt or luring young men from the bars into your bed. As you can imagine, the hunt for this place has not been successful. I have yet to submit one application. And, you’re probably right, my expectations are probably too high, but fuck it, this is going to be my casa… Miss Curious’ Casa.

Although I’ve recently returned from a lovely vacation in sunny San Diego for our annual company trip (hence the delayed blog entry), my mind is tormented by this house search. I have some time, luckily, but shit-fuck-fuck I clearly hate the hunt! Where am I going to live already?

Weekend Plans:

1. Ms. Carina K. will be assuming the left side of my bed for the weekend.
2. A birthday celebration for Nicthebrick… Happy 27th!!!!

Sorry...

I was on vacation... company trip to San Diego... I'll write more soon!

On the Hunt, and Not for Boys

Miss Curious is not only clinically insane, she is without doubt, clinically retarded as well. Life being clinically retarded isn’t easy. One may think it is, but it’s not. I can assure you. Now that I’m getting the boot from my casa, I’ve begun the hunt for a new place. Being completely retarded makes the search, oh, a bit more difficult. Hm, funny.

Last night, I found the perfect place. Great location, in the heart of the Mission, huge room, huge flat, lots of character, super cool potential roommates (2 lovely ladies), tons of closet space, superfluous light, and the price, you wouldn’t even believe it. But what does Apretard do? In trying to sell what a fabulous roommate she’d be, she fumbles all over her words… contradicts herself, “I love salad… and oh I hate vegetables.” Okay, not like that exactly, but you get the idea.

Anyways, I thought the interview went okay, but today, they re-posted the listing… they’re doing interviews until next week, but would they have reposted if they dug me? No jway jose!?! Argh! Maybe they want to be sure they've interviewed enough peeps before deciding, who knows?!?!! This house-hunting thing, granted I’ve only seen 2 places, is a DRAG. I shouldn’t complain… it’s all just so odd though… I mean c’mon, I give an okay first impression? Okay, well maybe I’m not for everyone. (insert some cliché here)

It Was 40 Days/40 Nights Divided by 10, right?

After breaking up with someone, casual sex is a must. Naturally, after DV dumped my ass in January, I vowed to follow this golden rule and exactly a week later, I picked up an innocent boy at a bar (emphasis on the BAR to show how classy I am). Let’s call him, “Mr. Do.” This is because my pick-up line was, “hey, I like your ‘do’,” hair-do, that is. A couple weeks ago, I passed him on the street. We both had awkward smiles, no words, just kept walking in opposite directions.

Made it out to the bar late Saturday night and once again bumped into Mr. Do. We exchanged glances and closed-lip grins. My third three-dollar vodka tonic propelled me to say something to Mr. Do. And what, what did Miss Curious decide to say……….. (in words the of Deitz --- Wait For It……..wait.....)

“Hey, remember me? We had sex.” He casually replies “yes April (note the use of my name), I do remember.” And you know, one thing leads to another, you wind up going home together for some repeat sex... good conversation, good music, great smooching, good ahem, and some good ol’ sleepin’ in. In the morning, we had our hugs good-bye, no mention of future encounters… and that’s okay… of course you have a momentary thought of, “could this ever work in the real world?” the answer was, “no”… but that didn’t take away from a very good night of casual sex. So… Mr.Do, thank you.

The Odds?

People should get over the desire to kiss someone like they get over colds. I really feel like kissing someone and not my grandma on the cheek… I mean, I feel like sticking my tongue down some homeboy’s throat and wiping my face off afterwards. It’s weird to think that’d it have to be some stranger… some unsuspecting boy at a bar. Right now, there’s no one I know that I’d want to kiss. Let’s review my weekend plans and decide how likely another break in 40 days / 40 nights would be:
- smoking weed at gay male’s home
- first birthday party for a co-worker’s daughter
- double-feature movies w/ nicthebrick and gaymale
Hm, seems unlikely. Well, fuck me.