Titty Talk

It’s noon, and 4 men have looked down my top today, well, 4 that I’ve blatantly noticed. My initial reaction is to say, “hey I just saw you looking down my top” and “asshole” would follow under my breath. However, I now realize that I put this top on knowing that it showed off my breasts… and why am I trying to show them off? Am I trying to attract attention from strange men on the street?

In this top I feel more self-conscious than anything. I mean, boobs are these big balls of fat – of chub that are attached to my chest… they’re these twin peaks that catch food when I spill, squish when I hug, clap when I’m fucked from behind, brush up against random folks on public transportation, will squirt milk after being preggers (weird), guys sandwich their dicks between them (ME “oh baby – oh baby that feels so good” – EYE ROLL)… I mean fuck, what’s the appeal? I know guys don't have them, so they're fascinating... but fat slabs?

But, here I am today, with my low-cut top and a bra that lifts and separates trying to show off my tits, apparently. And my waaaay over-analytical self is trying to understand why I’m doing that... because it's me, Miss Curious, funny girl - chubba-bubba girl is trying to be sexy? That’s fucking weird.

I’d like to end with this… my first memories of cleavage, tits, boobs, cheetahs (espanol), breasts, cans, watermelons, mosquito bites… on and on. First there’s Barbie with her pointy no-nipple boobs who wears tight fitting tops to attract Ken… Second, when I started to draw, I drew princesses, naturally, these princesses wore dresses that were low-cut AND even in my youth, I knew to draw a little horizontal line that acknowledged the presence of tits… again, fucking weird.

The End?

The Brother and I had a moment where I thought it was the end. Before the weekend began, he mentioned he’d be available to hang out Saturday night around 9 pm… I was happy because I, well, like hanging out with him and we don’t have many weekend nights to do so. It’s always getting up early for work, blah blah blah.

9 pm turned into 11:30 pm and he then had to wake-up at 8:30 am. I pretty much reached a point where his schedule thing wasn’t working out for me. We had a talk about it. I told him I just didn’t know how this was going to work as these late night rendezvous’ weren’t satisfying… that we just didn’t have much quality time together.

He said his schedule wasn’t going to change. His music is his number one priority right now and that he cares about me and wants to be with me and will make as much time for me as he can, but I just have to decide whether it’s enough.

My mind of course does its neurotic thing… I realized that this issue is going to come up again and again… but then he’s this amazing man who I think the world of, so I should make it work… if you like someone enough, the effort will just have to be made…. Every relationship has it’s compromises… no relationship is perfect… I should just be appreciative that I found someone like him…. but again, will I be okay always being put 2nd? Will he be there for me if I really needed him? and I basically have to be available when he is? He dictates so much of our time / our relationship…. And I just have to be okay with everything… I have no choice. If I have something else going on that evening, I’m fucked… maybe I’ll see him in another five days.

I expressed, oh, most of this to him. We had a moment where it was like, “yeah, okay this isn’t going to work.” And my heart completely hurt… eyes watered. He was strong, calm – seemingly unaffected, which of course makes things hurt even more. So I had a “take back” moment. I told him that this has nothing to do with who he is – it’s just a matter of scheduling – and that we should make this happen because people just don’t find each other.

And where the fuck would I ever find someone like him? and am I just doing this because I’m scared? Because my heart is in his hands for him to do what he will, and I just have no say? And I fucking hate it!

We decide to move forward. Yesterday we went to one of his good friends’ son’s birthday party (3 years old). I met all his good friends, but I’m told that most of his girlfriends have (of course). He said he had a moment where he looked over at me conversing with one of his friends, the sun highlighting my red-pulse hair, and he had so much love for me in that moment… that he thought he could be off the market forever.

The rest of the evening was great…. But I feel vulnerable. I feel like I shook his confidence in us by bringing shit up… and that now he’s going to hold back… that I’m an obligation instead of something that could make him happy. I just got off the phone with him… he sounds so distant… and I need to be cool right now … I need to be the strength because I set him into waver mode, but I don't have the strength... I don't know how we're going to save this.

I suppose I just thought being with someone would make you feel less alone in the world… and with him, we’re just not around enough or have “quality” time when it’s not late night going right to sleep time. I should just be patient, less psychotic, but I am psychotic and I'm not patient... and I'm trying and I need someone who has strength at this point in the game... mine comes later.

Right now I feel more alone than ever… not close enough to friends, not close to him… work’s just okay… my chest feels tight – I can hardly breathe now.

City Bus Etiquette, Learn It

1. I hate sitting on butt sweat on the bus, but I do it because I want the seat. While I’m sitting, all I can think about are my jeans absorbing someone else’s sweat.
2. I hate not knowing who to get up for on the bus. I mean how many wrinkles do they have to have. Might I offend a person if I think they’re too old to stand? It’s a tough call… shoe ins:
- People in wheelchairs, hey wait, they already have a seat!
- People with casts, only on their feet / legs
- People on crutches or with canes
- Women clearly nine months pregnant, 6 months – you’re standing
- People with white hair, hunch-backs and walk so slowly that I pretend not to roll my eyes, and oh, they must have the senior pass.
3. Sometimes I resent men who have seats on crowded busses when I’m in heels, fuck you! Sure I pretend to be a feminist, but I want to fucking sit… get out of my fucking seat you little punk with comfortable shoes.
4. Moving back to the Mission means homeless people pissing in the back of the bus. Fuck you homeless people.
5. I hate when people get on the bus through the back doors when the bus is empty. Fuck you guys. Get out of my way! I’m trying to get off the fucking bus.
6. And oh, take your fucking back-pack off… look Chevy Chase when you turn, you hit every fucking person behind you… and you keep smiling that dumb ass grin, but I hate you, you’re stupid…. And don’t even try to sit down next to me with that shit back-pack and squish me up against the window… I’ll push back.

I'm Some Weird Chick

I feel like I’m this super difficult friend. Over the past 2 months, I’ve drifted away from two of my really good friends.

One of them, I’ve been friends with for 9 years. She has a hard exterior, and I defended that exterior many times over the years. For a while now, however, I couldn’t do anything right with her. If we went to bars, I always left too early… or the bar was too smokey… or her type of guy wasn’t there. I ended up feeling guilty half the time or stressed that she wouldn't have a good time when we went out. Also, she’d sometimes just be straight out mean to me… like tell me not to talk to certain people… or to not do this or that. I know a lot of what she did was to look out for my best interests, and that’s also why we remained friends for a while. Now, my frustration has built up for so long that we just kinda’ stopped calling each other.

Another friend, I don’t really even know what happened with. She lives the closest to me, but I see her the least out of all my friends. When I call her, I get this vibe that she’s just doing her own thing. I think she has a tendency to close herself off when she has a boyfriend. And that was fine for a while. Then, she’d call me only when she had emergencies with him, but never really to find out how I’m doing or to hang out... or if something good was happening for me, I always kinda felt like she didn't want to know. Then it was always, “let’s hang out” but no real follow through. Then, she’d call me late at night from a bar with her boyfriend and wonder why I couldn’t drop what I was doing to hang out. Could we ever do something just the girls? I know she’d consider me one of her good friends and me the same, but in some ways, I just kind of gave up. I just kind of felt like the friendship became one sided… me there for her, and not necessarily having her there for me. These feelings came to fruition recently when she didn’t make it out for my birthday. She had rehearsal and what was meeting up at 8:30-9, turned into 10:30 – 11 when I had already gone home. I totally understand you want to grab a bite to eat, but we live in cheap fast eat central…. And she said she’d be there. Then she went to dinner with her boyfriend… that she lives with. I feel like I make a concerted effort to go to the things that are important to her, and I know she knows this… but when something (one thing) is important to me, she wasn’t there. She’s a great individual with a lot to offer, but I’m just feeling like it’s no longer offered to me… and I’m not certain how to address this. I really do care about her and am clearly affected by her, but I really really have no idea what to do.

I probably expect way too much from people… I feel like it’s some fault of my own that I’m unable to make these friendships successful. I also think way too much about it. And I do know that I have many successful friendships, but these ones are sticking with me right now.

I feel like I’m some weird chick who doesn’t have all her shit together…and has “issues”… I hate “issues” fuck those… everyone’s fucking weird and has altercations with friends, right? Oh well, who the fuck cares… I try and I’m trying…I fuck up all the time… everyone does. That’s life… we’re just all trying to make our way. Blah.

Fuck Shark Week... This is Diarrhea Week

First:

I just called one of my co-workers an asshole, and I meant it, and he knew I meant it. He asked me a question, and I tried to help him. He didn’t like my answer, the truth, so he goes and takes his queeny little attitude out on me. I can’t stand when people take their shit out on people where it’s just simply not due. Fuck that – Fuck them. Just needed to have my little vent.

Second:

On another note, things with The Brother have been resolved. We overcame the “Diarrhea” situation. To make up for the diarrhea night I couldn’t spend with him, he ended up spending the Monday night at my house. Of course, we go to his car the next morning and it’s been towed. Ooops. He wouldn’t accept my offers to pay half, so I’ll be making up for it in BJ’s and dinners.

Third:

Smoked last night… ate an entire house – okay not really, but here’s the list –

1. Buffalo wings
2. Lucky Charms, two bowls
3. Snickers Ice Cream bar
4. Wheat tortilla with butter
5. Provolone
6. 5 pieces of pepperoni
7. Diet Dr Pepper, a lot

I’m NEVER eating again. I can feel the fat growing on me now. If you were here, you’d be able to hear it. And what, is this like “Diarrhea Week” cuz I woke up at 12:30 am to diarrhea. I haven’t heard my stomach rumble like that since college. Jesus (without the ‘J’ pronounced – an ‘H’ sound in it’s place).

Nature Calls... And I Can't Answer

Just when I think I can’t outdo myself, I somehow manage to take things to a brand new level of crazy. With those wavering Brotherly feelings, I expected great things of our Sunday date day. I had to take advantage of these few nights I can actually spend with him. I packed my overnight bag really needing to have him for the entire evening. The afternoon went extremely well, too well. We ate beans, had sex, and watched reality tv.

10:30 pm rolls around, and the juices in my stomach begin rumble, my face turns colorless, and I begin to realize what’s happening… the diarrhea panic. It’s panic not because of The Brother. I mean he and I have extensive conversations about how my farts sound like Donald Duck, and I shit boa constrictors. It’s panic because he has two other roommates and a roommate boyfriend and one bathroom and thin walls.

As I’m an old hand at the panic, I began my art of Le Mans breathing in hopes the wave would pass. Then I get this ridiculous idea that The Brother should drive me home and spend the night with me, so I can diarrhea properly and still get to wake up next to him. For some odd reason, he said no. And for another odd reason, I decide it’s a good idea to get mad about it.

Then I encompass our entire relationship in the fact that he won’t take me home to diarrhea. I mean c’mon who wouldn’t do that right?

What do I do? I get dressed, pack my overnight bag, and hop in a cab. He calls on my way home to tell me not to feel stupid, yada-yada-yada. I call him back from the can and begin my psychotic spouting off at the mouth. Saying crazy things like, “my diarrhea ruined everything! We don’t get opportunities to hang out often, and I’ve been feeling distant and now we can’t sleep together because I needed my fucking toilet!” Conversation continues, “I’m just not as mature as you… look at me, I’m an idiot… flipping out over something so trivial… acting so fucking needy and all you ever do is say these perfect things and act calm and act certain of me and everything you feel and you communicate and I kick and scream and lash out!”

I mean, what kind of relationship talk is that? I hang up with him, nothing resolved, call my wife Midge… and burst into, perhaps PMS tears? “why am I incapable of keeping my shit together? Am I meant to be single forever because I’m so fucking good at ruining every good thing? I’m a disaster… I don’t deserve him…. I’m not ready for him! I have to be alone, yes that’s it… alone forever… alone in my head where I can’t ruin people – hurt people – and be hurt by people! Why am I so fucking insane?”

Brotherly Wavering

I think I’m incapable of sustaining feelings for another person for a long period of time. I’ve reached a point with the Brother where my energy to put forth effort is severely lagging. Here’s a bit of history (an honest one):

First love in college – wavered, wavered, wavered, left for Peace Corps and was fine with leaving a relationship behind.

Live-in Boyfriend After College – before moving in together, regretted my decision immediately, tried to work on it just because we had this living situation.

DV – wavered, wavered, wavered… he even said that he could see “it’s over” come across my face a few times… he never trusted my feelings for him…. he was right, but when he dumped me cuz I wasn’t safe, I wanted what I couldn’t have.

And now…

The Brother – the beginning is always fun, but now that the dust has settled, I worry that I can’t stir up vigor for the relationship. Some of it has to do with the sex. He’s great at it, but he never instigates it. There’s no real passion. Sometimes I feel like we’re just “doing it”. He’s this amazing guy. I respect him so much as a person, but fuck, I’m just not certain if we’ll have that “extra something.” It could also have to do with the fact that we really don’t get to spend much quality time together. He has rehearsal and shows almost every night. The only day that we both have off is Sunday. If we get a night together, it’s usually after rehearsal at midnight, and we go right to sleep because I have work early. I suppose I just don’t feel very close to him… that perhaps I’ll just never have enough of him, so in some sense, I’ve given up.

I pretty much feel like shit about it. I’m fairly certain that he’s very much into me, for now at least. I’m hoping this is just a phase. Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me? It seems that anyone who’s into me I just don’t seem to like back with the same intensity. I want what I can’t have. Am I so frightened of intimacy or some stupid shit like that? I don’t know why I would be. I have no crazy past that would make me such a way.

Frankly, I’m just an idiot. Perhaps I was made to be single forever…. To just love the idea of someone, but not someone real. Of course, I’m going to give this time because he truly is amazing… but shit, I can sit here and analyze myself to death, but fact of the matter, this shit is still in my head. I feel sick now.

In the Words of New Kids on the Block, "O - O - O - O - O - The Right Stuff"

Orgasms, of the female kind… not an easy feat… but certainly an interesting topic. Personally, I can’t cum from penal/vaginal intercourse. Sure, I like having a cock inside of me like any other girl would, but orgasms, just not happening that way. Some men have a problem with this, and they just need to get the fuck over it. I’m just not made that way. It has nothing to do with them and their skills in the sack. Nope.

What does give Miss Curious an Orgasm? Clitoral stimulation from either a mouth/tongue or fingers. Another note: it takes some time. Yup, that’s key TIME… men, the second my lips touch the head of their cock, jiz is shooting all over the place. With me, a guy can read an entire novel, watch Star Trek the Next Generation – all seven seasons, and grow a full beard in the time it takes me to cum… Sometimes, I like to delay the process even more by thinking, “oh fuck, this is taking really long…” Okay, sometimes I don’t just think it, I say it out loud… and then with a mouth full of pussy he has to reply, “Mits Mokay, My Mike Mit.” Rhythm lost, start over, oops.

But wow, making a girl Orgasm has got to feel fucking amazing. Well, at least it should. And if a guy wants Orgasm his own damn self, he’s doing me first… unless, I let him off the hook for the night… yeah, otherwise, use your fingers - your tongue – your fucking bald head, but get the fuck down there and make it happen.

So I pose the question, what does it take for you to Orgasm? And might he have time to memorize A to Q in Webster’s Dictionary? Or is it more like A to C, and I take a fucking long-ass time?

It's My Birthday!

27 today, yeay!

Topic: Toilet Seat Covers

Since my dad visited a couple of weekends ago, I've been thinking more and more about toilet seat covers. My dad's a doctor, well a psychiatrist, but a he went to medical school, so he knows about shit you can catch from a toilet seat, and frankly, it isn't much. Frankly, it's almost nothing and many other odd factors, like time and moisture have to all be in place.

So then why our obssession with toilet seat covers? I'll tell you why I use them... because I'm a sitter... yes, I like to sit. In this world of squatters and sitters, the sitters need to protect themselves against the messy habits of those squatters.

Squatters:
1. Piss on themselves.
2. Piss on the seat.
3. Piss on the floor.
4. Piss everywhere.

Sitters:
1. SIT IN THE SQUATTERS PISS, YOU FUCKING SQUATTERS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, AND FUCK YOU!
2. Listen to the sound of their piss and shit break the paper.
3. With light shits, the paper rips slowly, and it's almost too close to the kooder (sp?).

Both:

1. Worry about some disease they won't catch from a toilet seat.

Why I decide to write about this today? In a rush today, I accidentally sat on the toilet seat at my birthday lunch restaurant. And what happens? Piss on my ass, piss on my thighs, so much piss I don't even realize it, and I zip my jeans only to still feel piss all over my backside. Now I have piss on my jeans, dried piss.

I'm pissed. It's my birthday you fucking pissing squatter!

Brotherly Bliss

We finally moved past the “your house or mine” stage where you’re just deciding where to spend the night, and we actually spent time together outside of the bedroom.

Sunday morning we slept in, had some obligatory sex, and made our way to brunch. We of course noted that this was the first meal he wasn’t serving me, but rather eating with me. It felt surprisingly natural, but I did mention I wanted potato salad a couple times and lemon with my diet coke. Hm, perhaps one of these days I’ll have him wear his waiter uniform and I’ll boss around my lil’ server.

We proceeded to spend all of Sunday and Monday together; he drove me to work this morning. He’s now officially my boyfriend, and I couldn’t be happier. He let’s me burp and fart as much as I want, and he also, turns the volume up on the TV when I’m going to take a shit. What a sweetheart!!! Yup, despite my serious gaseousness, his feelings for me have NOT waned! Brilliant.

I love waking up next to his warm body and swiftly attaching myself to his side. He attempts to touch me back, but he’s always more asleep than me, and I don’t care. He has these itty bitty curly eyelashes that make this 36 year old man look like a little boy under his covers. He wakes up with a smile on his face, and I like to think that he sleeps with it too.

My happiness with him is getting harder to suppress, so any ideas about sabotage are promptly being foiled.

People always say that when you meet the right person things just seem to fall into place. I already can’t imagine what we’d fight about, ever, and usually in the first three weeks I’m on my tenth fight with a boy. He doesn’t drive stick shift and instead of deciding that was a “deal breaker,” I’m okay with it. I’d also say, “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t like to eat apples,” but again, I’m okay with it. Those little things just don’t get on my nerves. Maybe all this time, it was never the automatic car a guy drove or the fruit he didn’t eat, maybe it was just some sixth sense telling me that the best was yet to come.

And yeah, I could totally be getting ahead of myself with this boy. And yeah, next week I could be blogging about what dickhead he is and how I want to smash all his bass guitars and give him some STD… but for now, I’m digging him. It’s just “working.”