My Predicament

When you’re in a relationship, the nature of your friendships change, particularly with your single friends. You go out less, drink less, and generally shoot the shit less with them. I do like being in this relationship, but I have very hard time letting go of the codependency I’ve had with many of my single friends.

It’s like you’re this active member in the singles group (even fucking president of the club), and you’re all tight and bond over how great being single is because you don’t have to put up with the bullshit of a relationship… but really you’re all fucking bummed as shit that you haven’t met the “one,” and where the fuck is he or she already?!?! When someone in the group actually says this out loud (usually drunk), the rest of the group says those supportive things that they don’t really mean like, “oh, your time will come and all this waiting will be worth it.” In the back of our minds, we’re really thinking, “oh fuck, I could be single forever… no one told me life was like this… no one told me I wouldn’t find some soul mate and find the perfect job and have the perfect house.” And then there you are with your singles group trying to think up ways to be okay with singledom….yes, trying to be okay with the prospect of being single for life.

Sometimes, people leave the group. I’ve left the group, for now. I have a strong affiliation with the singles group... been a longtime member. Breaking those ties is proving to be immensely difficult. What if I break-up with the Brother tomorrow? Will the singles group take me back? Will they empathize with me? Or will they tell me to fuck-off because where the hell was I during the relationship? Certainly not at the meetings, they say.

And when you are with someone, you join this other group. It’s this boyfriend group where people do couples things and are you with someone who can even do couples things? Do they fit in with the other boyfriends or girlfriends? I never seem to date someone who really gets along with the other boyfriends (minus that one in college, but he got along w/ them post-me). Please note this isn't always because they're dickheads - it's usually 'cuz they fit into some other weird group and can't move within the crazy different types of friends I've come to know. Or they really are just dickheads and they're in and out of my life in a minute.

Anyway, this leaves me a bit in the middle, trying to maintain friendships w/ the boyfriend people without really having my boyfriend there, and then trying to maintain the friendships with the single folks, who say it’s just not the same hanging out with me.

I suppose I feel slightly unnerved by all this. I don’t want to have this dependency on The Brother. I really do want to keep my friendships as strong as they’ve been pre-The Brother because should things go south with him, which is very possible as we’re still at the onset of our relationship, I’ll need them. Of course, however, that’s not the only reason I want to maintain those friendships. I just like hanging out with them, and I don't want things to change (I suppose my expectations of life and people are oh, hm, too high and ridiculous). Hm. Well, whatever, here’s just another topic I’ve overanalyzed and will get over in two more minutes.

Thank God:

Thank God you’re all so understanding of my many type-o’s and word omissions… I tend to write off the cuff and my fingers can’t always keep up with my thoughts… what a fucking surprise!

A Question MissCurious Ponders All Too Often.

Does one person in a relationship always love more than the other? If so, which is better? To know that you’re loved less or to know you’ve settled?


Thank God:

Thank God I love to play the “what if” game. I can crack myself up all day long. I tell my wife, Midge, how much I’d love to have a ton of money just to pay folks to do crazy shit. Yes, I know this means I’m mean spirited because I enjoy the humiliation of others. However, it’s not always the humiliation of others. I think of a variety of scenarios, for example:

1. Today there are bagels in the back, for some reason, my wife wouldn’t take a bite out of every bagel and put it back, arranging the bagels in such a way that would hide the bite marks.

2. Yesterday I was waiting for an important phone and asked my wife to come bang on the bathroom door should it come while I was doin’ my biz’ness. “What If” he banged on the door, and I walked out with my pants around my ankles, picked up my phone at my cubicle and proceeded to talk as though my ass and cooch weren’t hanging out.

3. “What If” my wife and I secretly placed pot brownies in the back of our office for everyone to consume? We’d hear people on the phone taking applications, “So what is your annual salary?” the person on the phone responds, and then hears, “Hahahahahahaha!”

4. “What If” during that karate class you ran into the middle, and starting yelling, “Hiya – hiya – pow – pow – pow – karat(ay) chop!”

The White Man's Band.

5 metal bands, one night, lucky me. One of the many projects The Brother is in is an all black metal band. To the support the boy, I mustered up a smile and we headed back to my old college day stomping ground, Berkeley. There next to “MissCurious gained her freshmen 25 here” the metal scene stood outside waiting for the show to start.

The scene went something like this…

The Girls:

Black leather silver studded belts, “dyed my hair just so I could have these roots” hair, t-shirts boasting “white trash” & “sex instructor” (as though those tags are suddenly funny and original), leather chokers, crucifix earrings, and the obligatory thick black eyeliner.

The Women:

Dressed like the girls, but they’re old.

The Boys:

Black leather silver studded belts, black metal band t-shirts, buzz cuts, and “picked this tattoo off the wall at the shop” tattoos.

The Men:

No shirts, black leather pants, long “I’ve never cut my hair ‘cuz look at these split ends” hair, chest tattoos, black bandanas… an overall, “the eighties Skid Row & Poison look is timeless,” but it’s not, and someone should tell them.

After perusing the scene, I was introduced to a few folks. The Bobsy Twins were a personal favorite. They were the Jay and Silent Bob of the evening telling stories of road rage, you know, trying to get people who cut them off to pull over, so they can what??!? Beat them up?!?!

When the music started up, suddenly white men have rhythm… the no rhythm… so their pissed that they can’t dance and they start skipping around pushing each other… and who let the “I look like I’m from Vermont and where my backpack and bike gloves everywhere I go” guy in the door? And he looks twelve, who served him alcohol?

Anyway, The Brother’s band was RAD, http://www.abandcalledpain.com/. One of their songs just got selected to be on the Saw II (http://www.saw2.com/) soundtrak… track number 9 with bands like Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson, Foo Fighters, etc. Yeay for him.

Thank God:

Thank God some guy drove his truck into the back office door. One of my favorite things is hearing about folks who drive into buildings. Not just a little fender bender, but ones that actually break wall, break window, break doors and take half the wall with them. I mean who does that shit? How do you just hit a house? Billy Joel, he’s drunk driven into 2 houses. I can understand a pole or a parked car, but how does one just accidentally drive into a person’ s house? Or old ladies who drive into grocery stores? Maybe they should move handicap parking to avoid these kinda’ things.

Let's "Conversate": Grosser Than Gross

One of my favorite non-words is “conversate.” The funny thing about it is that people use it trying to sound intelligent… like ooooooh, look at this big word I can throw around… but really it’s not even a word, and maybe if they spent more time out of the audience on Maury Povich, then maybe just maybe they could figure out that “conversate” and “irregardless (if he was cheating on you with his mom)” are NOT words. (As you can see on my short vacation home in San Diego, I watched cable daytime tv).

This brings us to my use of the non-word.

At lunch today, some cohorts and I were “conversating” about some very important topics at lunch. Some of them have answers, but some of them unfortunately have left us pondering.

To Ponder:

1. What are the negative implications from eating another person’s feces?
- Contracting Hepatitis
- Having eaten shit
- Doesn’t taste good
- But what else?

2. Licking asshole, what’s the proper etiquette?
- I like having my asshole licked while he’s rubbing the clitoris, but this is a rough topic to address with a partner. If they aren’t doing it naturally, how can I ask?
- Is it reasonable to just lick a person’s asshole without bringing it up first?
- Hairy asshole, I haven’t really run into a hairy asshole yet, but I don’t have too much experience licking ass to know how to dive in.

3. Would I rather drink a pint of snotty lugees (sp?) or clotty period blood (both of another person’s)?
- The texture of both seem hard to swallow, literally.

4. What do men think when they rub their sweaty balls and smell their hands? You know they do it. And they complain about pussy smelling like fish tacos cooking in a hot room with no open windows.

Definitiveness’:

Sex on the period is okay, assuming it’s toward the tail end. Oral sex on the period with a tampon is okay with me assuming that he begs for it, why deprive?

Thank God:

Thank God I have a new favorite phrase, “you’re dead to me.” It’s a great way of ending a conversation. For instance, the other person, “talk talk talk talk talk.” You, “you’re dead to me,” as you’re turning around and walking away. It’s very effective.

Update:

Just spent sometime with the folks and sisters in San Diego. My younger sister paid me a lovely compliment, “MissCurious, at school I’m able to give my friends plenty of shit because I trained with the best of them… you.” The Brother bought me a welcome home flower and card. He’s a little sweetie. Of course, we’re still just dating / hanging out nothing too serious… just checking out one another.

Outta' Town

In San Diego with the folks... I promise to update this Thursday... some possible topics:

1. more "shit" talk (you know those shits that take forever, produce nothing, and the wiping process is over an hour?)

2. women are always concerned about the scent of their pussies... but puhleeaaze, sweaty balls - a man's reluctance to shower.

3. high school reunions, mine in one year, to go or not to go... being home makes you think about that shit... funny how i can't even remember high school... i remember winning the parking space raffle senior year and liking calculus (what a fucking dork!)... that's about it.

until Thursday then............

Must Love Sweat, Spit, and Ass.

During the courtship period, I have a set of ‘deal breakers’. In my older age, the list has significantly diminished, rather instead of being ‘deal breakers’ the majority of them have turned into ‘strikes’ against him. The standard questions and preferred answers or interpretations:

1. How do you feel about homosexuals?
Love them.
2. Do you drive standard or automatic?
Standard. (this denotes masculinity. Control of his own destiny.)
3. Have you ever cheated?
If yes, how old and under what circumstance? And you’re an ass.
4. Do you LOVE eating pussy?
Yes. Love the juice dripping down my chin.
5. How do you feel about sweat, spit, and ass?
Love, love, and love.
6. How many sexual partners have you had?
A lot. (this figure must be higher than my number, but under 70)

This brings us to number 6, a situational question. “If we were at a bar and man comes up behind me and gropes me, how do you handle the situation?”

I want him to say that he’ll get pissed and give the guy a push and shove and yell and pull me close to him, and if need be, slug the guy. Of course these are irrational responses and no good could potentially come from them, but I would feel vindicated. I would feel protected and secured and loved.

After seeing Four Brothers last night with The Brother, we discussed what we’d do if someone harmed the other or a family member or a good friend. I have extreme responses. I have a temper. I am my real father’s daughter. I have some rage in my blood. I like thinking a man would turn protective. Get pissed when I get pissed. Having that type of personality doesn’t mean he’ll always fly off the handle. I’ve definitely dated men where they answered the question as I’d hoped, and I got just a general protective (sweet and comforting protective) vibe not a ‘oh fuck is he going to mad about this and that’ vibe.

Well, in the nature of relationships, most men won’t live up to my unrealistic expectations, surprise, but I can separate the “dividing differences” from the “well, I’d prefer if he drove stick” differences. I do, however, have to learn that I can’t jump down someone’s fucking throat if he says he wouldn’t start a bar fight in my honor. Hm, funny.

KriKri This One's For You:

this is pre-flourescent, so you can only imagine! well, fuck me!

WARNING SIGN

Hair dye should be sold like drugs, and I don’t mean out of the back of some black van in a dark alley. I mean it should be sold by prescription ONLY. There should be some system where people are given exact instructions for the color desired. Then there should also be some aptitude test to see if you can even comprehend exact instructions. After completion of both, only then can a person get a prescription for hair dye.

In such a case, I’d have my natural hair color for life. There’s no doubt that I’d fail any aptitude test. I a miraculously fuck my hair up time and time again. This hair topic is certainly repeatedly discussed, but I repeatedly fuck it up.

Here’s the story. I’m to see my folks this Friday. I thought it’d be this wise idea to dye my roots lighter, so they’d match the rest of my hair. Naturally, it lightens my entire head of hair. I think nothing of it (because I’m retarded) and proceed to apply the same Red Pulse color I’ve been using for the past month.

Surprise-surprise… the Red Pulse took to the lightened hair like Butterfingers take to my ass. So here I sit at my desk a 27 year old who looks like she’s trying to be some punk kid with over-sized furry purple pants, jelly bracelets half way up her arm, and a lollipop painting her tongue green. And I’ve written that the topic of my hair has replaced the weather and how annoyed I was about that, but now I deserve. I deserve any and all comments about my hair. I am retarded. A true retard. A retard with fluorescent red hair… and when I say fluorescent, I’m not fucking around.

I should come with a WARNING SIGN. It would read something like this:

WARNING DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE:

SELL HER HAIRDYE
BECOME HER FRIEND
HAVE SEX WITH HER UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR COCK SIZE A BLOG ENTRY
COME WITHIN 20 FEET OF HER ASS
BECOME HER BOYFRIEND
SMELL HER VAGINA (SPARE YOURSELF AND OPEN A BAG OF FRITOS)


Update:

The Brother, last Thursday/Friday tells me he’s having “doubts” about whether he can have a successful relationship. Fuck that, like I solve any problem, I got drunk and high. After slurring some words over the phone, he brought over a fire and ice rose and apologized. Note to self: again, drunk and high work.

Thank God:

Thank God for nothing… look at my hair!

"Thursday NSA Passion in the City" - Craigslist (that guys a fucking jerk-off)

No strings attached is like single guys and girls being friends. Not possible. My younger sister, although she goes to Yale, needs an education in male and female relationships. A serious education. Over her summer vacation she’s made friends with another Yalee. A male. She began to have “more than friends” feelings for him. And this prick (I say prick because I’m the protective older sister) has this brilliant idea of a dramatic free – no strings attached summer fling. First off, (insert heavy sarcastic undertones) oh my god what a fucking original idea.

In the history of a regular hook-up, booty call, and no strings attached relationships, 9 out of 10 don’t work. He knows this. Girls think it can work. Girls think that it’s enough. It’s not. Who gets hurt? Surprise, the girl. He had his fun, uses his out of, “I told you I couldn’t have anything serious right now.” Puhleeaaze. If you can’t have anything serious, either go fuck another guy or go to Costco and stock up on lube. But of course, the man is selfish, so fuck you guys.

The end of summer has neared, and (again, insert sarcasm) the Yalee boy has decided the fling has gotten too melodramatic, so it’s not such a good idea for them to hook-up anymore. But of course, he still wants to be “friends.” My little sister, pretending she’s not hurt but clearly is because she analyzes his every word and waits by her phone, says that going back to a friendship should be no problem.

She and I will rendezvous in SoCal in exactly one week. I’m going to school the girl. Sit her down and like eighth grade science class with Mr. Kraclick (pronounced crotch-lick, really, we both had him) I’ll put in “When Harry Met Sally.” It’s a must see for any single guy and girl, who think they can just be “friends.” Personally, I’ve fucked all my guy friends.

See below:

Harry: You realize of course that we could never be friends.
Sally: Why not?
Harry: What I'm saying is - and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form - is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.
Sally: That's not true. I have a number of men friends and there is no sex involved.
Harry: No you don't.
Sally: Yes I do.
Harry: No you don't.
Sally: Yes I do.
Harry: You only think you do.
Sally: You say I'm having sex with these men without my knowledge?
Harry: No, what I'm saying is they all WANT to have sex with you.
Sally: They do not.
Harry: Do too.
Sally: They do not.
Harry: Do too.
Sally: How do you know?
Harry: Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.
Sally: So, you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive?
Harry: No. You pretty much want to nail 'em too.
Sally: What if THEY don't want to have sex with YOU? Harry: Doesn't matter because the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story. Sally: Well, I guess we're not going to be friends then.
Harry: I guess not.

What if men and women are in relationships? Friends then?

Harry: ……Yes, that's right, they can't be friends. Unless both of them are involved with other people, then they can... This is an amendment to the earlier rule. If the two people are in relationships, the pressure of possible involvement is lifted... That doesn't work either, because what happens then is, the person you're involved with can't understand why you need to be friends with the person you're just friends with. Like it means something is missing from the relationship and why do you have to go outside to get it? And when you say "No, no, no it's not true, nothing is missing from the relationship," the person you're involved with then accuses you of being secretly attracted to the person you're just friends with, which you probably are. I mean, come on, who the hell are we kidding, let's face it. Which brings us back to the earlier rule before the amendment, which is men and women can't be friends.

Thank God:

Thank God I work in an office where the owner's partner was Mr. Leather New York in 1994 and first runner-up in Mr. Leather International.

You Know You're a Ho.

Before we talk "HO's", let's a do a quick lil' post blog wrap-up:

Don't be confused by my occasional serious notes here and there, like “it should be illegal for me to have friends”… I know it seems as though I over-analyze every last detail, and well, okay, I guess that’s kind of true, alright very true, but for the majority of the day, I think about burping, farting, and vaginas.

Also, there is that one person that affects me, ooooh… a ton… that would be my wife, midge. If we’re arguing, I hate everyone and everything around me. He loves bitches and with me, he has a bitch... I’m a stubborn everything my way bitch – a bitch anyway you see it. I was born that way, bitchy, that is. This isn’t my get of jail free card… just means I need a little more work than the non-bitches. All I can do is try punks :)!

Let’s move onto more important subjects like “what makes a ho a ho?”

This is what yesterday’s super profound lunchtime discussion encompassed (so a thank you to my grosser than gross partner in crime):

You know you’re a ho when you go to the gynecologist and the industrial sized speculum falls out.

You know you’re a ho when to you ‘gang bang’ means you can fuck 300 guys all at the same time.

You know you’re a ho when you find that guy, you thought didn’t call you back, up your kooch 2 weeks later.

You know you’re a ho when the only way you can douche is by standing over an opened fire hydrant.

You know you’re a ho when phlegm to you is that cum wad from two minutes ago.

You know you’re a ho when your labias can flap open and flap you from California to New York.

You know you’re a super ho when you can fly all your friends from California to New York on your labias.

Thank God:

Thank God, I'm not a Ho.... the industrial sized speculum just hangs on in me, but it hangs on, nonetheless.

Shout Out's:

If you haven't already read yesterdays comments, check out Anonymous Wendi's post... that girl could write a blog solely on the shit her fiance says and does... (wind machine?!?).

J-Do - Wish I knew what to say.... when you're ready, we should do a ladies night out!

Coincidence? Or is this Entry Long to be Long?

I’m not really a “coincidence” person. I don’t often believe that “coincidences” mean anything. But sometimes, there’s that one coincidence that makes you wonder. For example, a while ago there was this guy, let’s call him ‘El Cholo’ (‘cause that’s where the first coincidence occurred). ‘El Cholo’ lived in San Francisco, and I lived in LA. He just happened to be visiting some friends in LA, and I saw him where…. at El Cholo. We chatted, no biggy, you bump into people here and there. Next time I saw him? When Cal was in the Pac 10 tourney, they played at the Staples arena in LA… yeah, arena… huge, thousands of people…. And who is in assigned seating directly behind me? Yes, ‘El Cholo’, who still lived in SF. Then, I moved to SF, went to a concert at the Oaklend Coliseum, again, thousands of seats, who happens to be standing in front of me, yes, ‘El Cholo’.

So anyway, I finally figured out that these coincidences meant nothing. They were just coincidences.

That brings us to my most recent coincidence on Friday night. Many of you know The Brother broke up with his girlfriend to be with me. And please, you must know that I hadn’t any idea the seriousness of their relationship… he played it down, she was caught off guard, hurt and angry. Right now, I’m not a huge Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt fan for the hurt they caused to Jennifer Aniston… but yet here I am the Angelina Jolie… but then again, Angelina knew Brad was married… The Brother’s relationship was a bit of a mystery to me.

Well, I went off on a bit of tangent there… back to the coincidence. So, The Brother’s girlfriend had always been just a name to me… It’s always easier to forget someone that has no face. In the beginning of our relationship I was a bit irked by this girlfriend thing, naturally… Because I’m some ridiculous masochist, I asked him if I could see her pictures. And, on Friday night, The Brother came over. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to eat dinner or not… the time kept passing, and before I knew it, it was 10 pm. I couldn’t fight the urge anymore and decided to get dressed and go to the nearby taqueria. I begged the sleepy-eyed Brother to come with me, but he opted out.

I ordered my dinner and patiently waited on the side with my number in hand. Suddenly a girl walked in with an uncanny resemblance to the girl in The Brother’s photos. She was by herself… she was wearing glasses. I hadn’t seen any pictures with glasses, and besides she lives in Oakland… and is she even back from the East coast? It couldn’t be her. I took a mental picture of her, so I could go back and describe this vision to The Brother. She kept looking at me or perhaps my Ronald McDonald hair. I thought I knew her at first. There was some familiarity. It really did look like her.

As soon as I walked in the door I told The Brother what I’d just seen. I said she was wearing glasses… he said she wore them on occasion and that they were the exact color I had mentioned. I also noticed she had a cute little pooch (belly that is), I’ll admit it was cute. He mentioned that was kind of a joke the two of them had. They had many conversations about her cute pooch. I also mentioned that she seemed a lot shorter. He said that she was actually 5’3”. Hm. It was her. He also mentioned that she’d be back by now, and that she had a lot of friends that lived in the Mission despite her Oakland residence and that the two of them had frequented that taqueria.

Oh. Hm. It’s just strange that my hunger struck me and her at 10 pm. That we went to the same taqueria . I was only there for at most 10 minutes to get a burrito to go. And in those ten minutes she stood beside me waiting for her to go food. Yes, she stood right beside me.

And it’s just a trip… and probably doesn’t mean anything, but it’s just strange nonetheless… makes you think… makes me sad for her…. And I can’t feel like shit about it because I didn’t know… because when he told me, I said he should figure that out and leave me alone…. And sure he figured it out the next day… when I thought it’d be months… and I do feel like shit…. Because I’ve had my heart broken, and I’m happy now at the expense of someone else… and seeing her was a just a reminder. And it sucked. But in the chain we all have our hearts broken and that’s love and that’s life…. And I have to be okay with that.

Thank God:

Thank God I’m not homeless and have to come up with stupid shit like spelling ‘beer’ with pennies on my skateboard or making a sign that says ‘spare change or just a smile, god bless’… I mean, puhleeaazzze, I’m not falling for that ‘smile’ trick… and why hasn’t god given you some change?

Advice Needed:

Sooo, 2 friends probably hate me… LaSassy for having me punk out on karaoke ‘cause I fell asleep on my bed with dirty feet and woke up when I was supposed to be there… especially since we’re bff’s…. especially since she’s at my things ‘til the bitter end. LaSassy – if you’re out there, sorry!!! Hate me over something much worse… I can definitely do worse than that.

Second friend, at LaSassy’s afternoon birthday b-b-que, my wife Midge attended. My wife knew there’d be a lot of people he wouldn’t know, but he wanted to come to support LaSassy… while we’re sitting around on blankets, my wife decides to pull her headphones out and begins to put them in her ears. I immediately whispered, “hey, this is a social event… maybe it’s not cool to put your headphones on while we’re all chit-chatting… it’s a bit rude.” She then proceeds to get pissed at me, and tells me I’m bossy. Well, true, I am bossy and a bitch sometimes, but I really did think it wasn’t cool. Putting your headphones on and shutting everyone else out is just plain inconsiderate. People who don’t know him (there were many there) can take it in many different ways. I knew all of these people, and I knew him, and I knew he didn’t mean to be rude, but it’s not the best social etiquette to do something like that. Today, she’s all mad at me saying we just don’t see eye to eye, and that I’m ridiculous and bossy because I got mad about that… Is this reasonable? I just don’t see how it’s not rude?!!?!?! So I say, don’t go to social situations that you think you’ll have to tune everyone out at… he knew what this was going to be like. Hm. I’m mad.

Pardon Me, Can You Tell Me Where....

Yesterday I went home with my wife, Midge, like a good husband should. Someone had just returned his New York tour book. On our walk up, he flipped through it for memories sake (yeah, whatever). When the page landed on the Empire State Building, he came up with this brilliant idea…. And I don’t think many ideas are brilliant.

Midge, “wouldn’t it be funny if we walked around San Francisco, went up to someone on the street, pointed to the photo of the Empire State Building and said, ‘Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to this building?’”

Now C’mon, that’d be funny!?!?!

At Once!

In the first couple months of a relationship, no dates go on the calendar – no birthdays, no wedding invites, no barbeques, no weekend aways… nothing. I’ve always consciously done this. Why? Because what if the relationship doesn’t make it to that date? And there it is on your calendar staring at you in the face… a reminder of what could have been… and what did you end up doing on that day? Staying home by yourself? Thinking of him at that wedding without you? Thinking of him celebrating his birthday with all of his friends, and you’re not there.

With The Brother there have been several dates he’s asked me to put on my calendar. That 3 year olds birthday party, his performance at the jazz festival… and next weekend, a friend’s wedding. Wow, a wedding in the first 2 months… a best friend’s wedding? That’s serious business. Thus far, we’ve made those dates, but still I refuse to put them on the calendar. I even refuse to discuss events that will occur a month away.

The good thing, The Brother and I are getting closer and closer to the date where I will start writing dates and I will start planning with him.

Thank God:

Thank God “at once” is my favorite new prepositional phrase. It’s so seventeenth century. Like I was trying to bring back “rad” from the late 80’s. I’m now really trying to bring back “at once.” LaSassy – put that on a T-Shirt!

Why is it so fabulous? Your boss asks you, “hey can you write a hundred page memo about why pens are preferred over pencils?”

You answer, “I’ll do that ‘AT ONCE’”… this is then followed by inaction.

The Brother, “When can you suck my dick?”

You answer, “AT ONCE!” Again, followed by inaction… okay, well in this case perhaps some action may be taken.

Y’all catch the drift. Use this phrase at least 3 times today… yes, do it AT ONCE!

You Look Like Cartoon Character Asshole!

Since when does a person’s hair become more popular than the person? This is the story of my hair. It began, as many of you know, dyed black then to platinum, well yellow really, then I chopped it all off and the semi-permanents began. The first was merlot, then chilled plum, then funky cherry, and now red pulse. It’s been red pulse for some time now. Every 8 days or so the color fades, and I have to re-dye it.

Since the cut and semi-permanents, I have random folks on the street constantly approaching me. “Hey, I like your hair color” or “Wow, fierce hair” or “It took me several drinks to come up to you and tell you how fucking great that hair is” or “What daring hair” (okay, this one perplexes – daring bad, asshole?) or “You look like such and such cartoon character” (yeah, fuck you – you look like your grandma rolled over your fucking face with her wheelchair) or even, if I wasn’t already insecure about my lesbian haircut, “hey cool hair, you going to the gay pride parade?” (that was the exact statement from some dude with his hat sideways at my local convenient store – buddy, if you could read, read this, fuck you!)

The hair is uber popular with the folks here at work. Everyone here knows my drill. Semi-permanent hair dye at the beginning of the week, weekend comes re-dye. By Wednesday the always seem to ask, “oh hey is that a new color?” “No fuckhead, clearly this is the same color but slightly faded… get some glasses and fucking clue.”

It’s like this hair has become a filler for awkward moments of silence…. It’s kind of taken the place of the weather…. Silence – silence – silence, “sooo, how ‘bout that hair of yours, now what color is that?”…. “well, it just happens to be the color it was yesterday when you asked that same question, funny how that works, huh!?!”

My best bud LaSassy stays up late at night coming up with witty remarks I could possibly say when folks comment on my hair… “you could say --- that – that that’s your natural color… how funny would that be?” “First, thanks for coming up with remarks for me, also known as MissFuckingWitty… (insert sarcastic undertones here) and wow, what a powerful punch that natural hair color comment would be… they wouldn’t know what hit them.”

So anyway, I go along with all the comments as though I’ve never heard them before… and I practice my fake laughs regularly… and dream of the day my hair grows back, and people like me for me and not for my hair.

Thank God (my new section whose title speaks for itself):

Thank God that hot guy rode his bike by me last night ‘cause I would have farted not knowing some lady was standing right behind me.

Updates:

The Brother and I are doing well. We have our ups and downs, but I have never questioned his character. He is a wonderful man. This past weekend we spent ample time together, so that complaint is swiftly dissipating.

Friend Update:

One of the female friends of mine that I didn’t know how to approach with my concerns, emailed me. She emailed this lovely email that addressed that the concerns I’ve had. She’s since made strong efforts to hang out, and we’ve been able to do so a few times already. Needless to say, I’m very pleased… again, ebbs and flows of relationships.