Sour Grapes

I missed the Oscars. That makes me sad. But Million Dollar Baby did well, so that makes me happy. Part of me wants to feel sorry for Scorsese, since he's never won, but he has to make a GOOD movie in order to win, not an expensive, three hour long one. Anyway, I found it very depressing last night to be sitting alone (not even at home) watching it. There was no one to talk to about the winners and losers, best and worst dressed. However, even if I would not have worked, the get togethers are invite only private engagements. And I, as has already been discussed, am not on the list of invitees. Oh well.

I should be used to this by now. I should be used to not being invited to share things I care about with people I care about. But I keep forgetting that they don't really care about me, or what I care about. If our likes and dislikes happen to coincide, so what? That still doesn't mean they want me around. The trick is to always plan on being alone. Not just to not plan anything. Figure out where I will plant my ass with remote in hand, and not talk to anyone for 3 or 4 hours. Stay as far away from people as possible.

Today's version of Sour Grapes. I didn't want to hang out and have a good time with those people anyway.

Change

I'm so tired of trying to be a good friend to a man who couldn't care less. It doesn't matter to him in the least that the regular happenings of friendship are things that I actually have to work to control because I want more. I will always want more. Lots more. But it really makes no difference in the end. Because he will always find someone better to hang out with, I will always be plan B, and before too long, he'll even find someone that he wants to sleep with that isn't me. And I will be stuck with a knot in my stomach that will prevent me from eating anything and I will wither away and die without a trace or anyone even noticing.

I want to quit now and forget that I ever came to California. I want to live in my parents' basement and be unemployed and do absolutely nothing for many many many years. Not that it would make a difference to anyone. Things would be pretty much the same as they are now.

No one would call me.
I would have no money.
My life would be boring.
I would be alone all the time.

Nothing would change.

Picky Eaters

Picky eaters are annoying. So are people who won't eat things they don't know. I eat almost everything, and the things I don't eat are things that I have very good reasons for not eating. Needless to say, there is rarely a time that I can't find something on a menu to eat. But it seems that the people around me (mostly women) have to have something to pick off their plate or scrape off their steak, even if they have no idea what it will taste like. This drives me crazy. Because these are the people that never order anything besides chicken, salmon, and steak done to a leathery medium well. They have no idea how much they are missing, but the seemingly compulsive need to be special is too overwhelming to tempt them into something a little different.

These women seem to think that their diet is a direct reflection on what kind of person they are. (and perhaps it is) That if they aren't giving the waiter a litany of special instructions to make their chicken as bland as possible, they will be seen as undiscriminating or unrefined or lazy or gluttonous or something. I suppose that is how I got the pseudo-reputation I have. Because there is very little I won't at least try. I may not like everything, but I will at least try it. So I'm the pig. The glutton. The garbage disposal for all the food that isn't good enough for you.

And the rub is this: their careful diets get them nowhere. And they whine and moan about how skinny I am when I eat everything I want. It's genetic. But more than that, there's a piece of me that doesn't really care about the weight, it cares about eating good food. Life is a waste without it. But so few people would agree with me.

Alone on a Friday

I'm irritated with my friends. They have left me alone on a Friday night with promises of "I guess I'll call you later" and hang up before we can make plans. No one wants to make plans with me. I'm the boring friend. I'm the homebody. I'm the ugly one. The Rhoda.

One friend is out of town with a long lost friend.
One friend is seeing a movie she's already seen with another friend.
Two friends are married, call at the last minute, and can never make up their minds.
One friend is getting her hair done.

It almost seems like I would be better off without friends. Because I am the plan B friend, which is not the friend I want to be. I want to be the friend everyone calls because they know what a great time they'll have with me laughing and talking and doing whatever. The friend that's on the top of the invite list instead of the if there's room list and the if I can't find anyone else list. The friend on the private engagement list.

But I'm not. That sucks.

Aidan

Anyone who reads me on a regular basis (or knows me) knows that I do a lot of comparisons between my life and Sex and the City. I know it's stupid, but there aren't any other shows out there that explore relationships in a way that isn't ridiculous (I'm not making comparisons with anything from the Lifetime Network). Anyway, it's been bothering me for quite some time that I don't identify with any of the four women on the show. I am like none of them, and yet they seem to represent the main personality types available. So I've felt a little lost.

But today I realized something. I'm not one of the girls. The person I most identify with on the show is Aidan. Yep, that's right, folks, I'm the man on the show. It actually fits. Mostly mellow, very sensitive, loyal, trusting, trustworthy, and completely trampled in the end. I am the brokenhearted Aidan. It seems as though the skies have finally cleared for me. I suppose there is the catch that I'm identifying with a man instead of a woman, but I don't think there's anything I can do about that. I know it's strange. But there is no other choice for me.

I am Aidan.

Bread and Water

I don't know what to say. But I found myself watching television that has been expressly forbidden tonight, because I felt like if I didn't laugh, I would cry. Again. And this time, for a different reason than usual. Today I was almost that woman crying in the hippie chiro's office. I couldn't think at all. It was like there was this huge fog filling my head, preventing even the most simple and rudimentary thought processes from happening.

Grief. I lost maybe the only person who ever accepted me for who I am. The only person that never said, you should do this, or think this, or look like this, or be this. The only person I've never been mad at. The only person I ever knew that was truly humble. She talked so little about herself, I feel as if I barely knew her.

Suddenly I feel even more alone than I was before. It's like there's one less person rooting for me, always on my side, and there weren't that many to start with. The numbers are dwindling. This feels even more lonely because it's for good. There's no coming back. And also because I never gave anything back. I took it all for granted because I thought it would be there forever. But as the guy at work says: nothing is forever. I keep thinking coulda shoulda woulda, but there's really nothing I could do. It seems that guilt and grief are often linked in the little chain gang of not-so-fun emotions. Like bread and water.

But it's only because I will miss her.

Worry

I hate worrying. But I'm really good at it. It comes second nature. And I can come up with the most convoluted situations that incite worry, as if the apocalypse is right upon us. I am the modern day Chicken Little. So when someone calls and hangs up and I think it was someone I know, I call that person back. And when there is no answer, I think, gee, that's weird. And then my mind goes to work. It imagines said caller having a heart attack, falling to the floor, and hanging up in the process. But wait, that would be too simple. No, a burglar got into the house and he was going to call me, but the burglar pulled the phone cord out of the wall and is now in the process of beating my friend to death. And I will never know because he can't answer the phone. Yes, these are really the things I'm thinking.

There is a part of me that realizes that there's a large probability that there is absolutely nothing bad happening. But there is also a large part of me that thinks I should jump in the car and drive over to my friend's house because he might be in danger. But boy would I look stupid showing up all worried when there's nothing happening. So I try the middle road approach with another phone call and one of those messages: I'm worried, is everything ok and call me to let me know. And then I sit here and hope for the best.

I've been watching too many Lifetime Movies too. Because there is yet another part of me that feels I need to establish some sort of valid alibi in case something bad did happen and I find him in a terrible state and they think I put him in it. Melodramatic, yes. Rational, no. I know that. But that doesn't mean I don't think about it.

Full or Empty

I am tired of the forty days and forty nights. This is too much rain for a person not living in Seattle. Southern California is looking nothing like the brochure. On the up side, I ate some crackers and kept them down. I also ate soup, and so far so good. Hopefully, the stomach thing is finished. Because it was no fun at all.

Right now I feel stressed, but I'm not sure why. I'm not sure if it's leftover disease, school drama, yucky weather, acute loneliness, or general malaise. It could be a combination of a little of all of them. There's nothing like illness to remind you of how empty your life is, and yet how full of stupid crap it is.

Mommy

My body hates me. Whenever I try something that will make me feel good, it turns on me. Like half a dozen oysters. They sure felt good sliding down my throat, and left me feeling all tingly. But then they didn't want to share my stomach with anybody else. Everything else had to come back up. And now I hurt super bad. My head, my back, my stomach. There's no relief from this kind of thing. So now I really am as unattractive as I feel. Yuck. I want my mommy.

Nun Living

This morning I've been lying in bed hiding from the housekeepers, who inexplicably keep banging on the wall. I can't imagine what they are doing, but I'm not going to say anything. I'm just going to lie here in the dark listening to the rain. It has been raining for a long time. This is Southern California; it isn't supposed to be raining for days on end.

Anyway, I'm feeling a little sensitive. I'm not sure if it's the oysters or the PMS, but it seems like my flannel sheets are suddenly feeling very sensuous against my skin. And I sure wish I wasn't in The Middle. Loneliness can be a physically damaging state.

Lately I've been wondering why I take those pills. They aren't intended for lonely people. They are intended for people that are cute and funny and attractive and lovable. I am none of those things. I am spinster girl. It's like diet pills for the starving. And I am definitely starving. I don't need this medication. But I have a six month supply. And I've been taking it for five years; I'm afraid of what'll happen if I don't take it. But the point is, I obviously don't need it, since I'm living like a nun.

Oysters

I'm troubled. I ate half a dozen oysters followed by a couple stiff drinks and then called him. I just couldn't help myself. It was inevitable. Alcohol and oysters just produce this tingly feeling in certain parts of my body, and reduce the inhibition to share the feeling with others.

So I called him, and he couldn't care less. He doesn't care what part of my body is feeling frisky because he's got TV to watch. Boy, I feel attractive. That twenty minutes of talking to him is supposed to quell the appetite. Sorry, it doesn't.

Yes, I know he wants to be alone. Yes, I know he dumped me a long time ago. Yes, I know I'm not that attractive. But he is the only person I know that was willing to have sex with me, and it seems that now that is not only something he doesn't want, but actually eschews.

I guess I'm gross now. Disgusting girl with the glasses and stringy hair, who says stupid shit and is generally stupid. Now I feel really great about myself. I love oysters, but wonder if I should save them for when there is actually someone around who likes me, because oysters make me like people. But it will never make people like me.

Ten Pounds

I am the girl that everyone hates. I am naturally thin. Although a little unnaturally thin at the moment. And the worst part is, I can't tell the difference between 112 pounds and 127. I only know what people tell me. And they are telling me that I look unhealthy. So I've decided that I need to gain about ten pounds to look healthy again. I am the only woman alive trying to find weight instead of losing it. And it scares the shit out of me. I am already weird enough. This is just one more thing. Plus, I'm terrified of getting fat, which is probably how I got here in the first place. What if I gain ten pounds, then fifteen, the twenty, or thirty? What if I end up with a gut that makes me afraid to wear anything that fits? What if I end up looking yucky? I realize that being too thin is unattractive, but so is being fat. And being thin is so much easier and more acceptable. But maybe I'm not getting laid because I'm too skinny. Because I don't look good. Among other things.

In Like a Lion

February will be over in just over a week. I must say, I can't wait. February is not a good month for me. The downside is that March promises to be even worse. And all I can do is watch it get here. I wonder if I'll ever be in the clear.

Quirk Quizzes

I suppose things could be worse. I could be in love with someone who can't stand me. Instead it's someone who thinks I'm neat. Sometimes it drives me crazy. I'm pretty sure I have harped on this before, but I'm going to do it again. I just don't understand how someone can fit so well and still want to be alone. It doesn't make any sense. And it's dumb to think of all the ways we fit together: we like the same movies, the same people, the same politicians, the same food, the same places, the same music, same opinions, same sense of humor, same everything. But none of that matters because he just doesn't feel like it.

I almost thought that he doesn't want someone to share things with, someone that is always there for him, someone that will always listen, someone that will always at least try to understand. But that's not it. He already has those things. He just doesn't want to give those things back. It's too much work I guess.

I know I'm work. I'm sure I'm one of those dreaded girls that says she's low maintenance but is actually high maintenance. It's difficult to get past my quirks and not be annoyed by them. I actually took one of those many quizzes that I'm always taking, even though I already know the answer. It was "Are you too quirky to date?". I ended up being in the quirkiest category (I scored 18 out of 20 points), which didn't actually say I was too quirky to date, but I get the picture. It said I should be careful and make sure my quirks aren't really a cry for attention. Excuse me? I try to HIDE my quirkiness. But it's like trying to cover up a fat lady; people can always tell. I'm not fooling anybody. Fucking quizzes. They have done nothing but validate my belief that no one is ever going to want to date me.

11th Month

Today is a sad day. It's raining, which is dreary. I was hoping for some sun for a couple of days. No luck. Today is also sad because it's the mark of the 11th month. It's been almost a year since I got kicked to the curb. And I'm still just as fucked up as I was on that day. There has been no progress made. I almost started crying about it at work yesterday, and I did cry about it last night before I went to bed. This is no good.

Add to that the fact that I feel that he has been lamely neglecting me for over a week, and will probably continue to do so for a few more, and I feel really really yucky. I've come to see and experience that I am only necessary when he doesn't have something better to do. I'm last choice. Bottom shelf. Lowest rung. I don't like that. Part of me wants to not speak to him anymore because this isn't the way I should be treated. The other part of me is saying shut up, you're being stupid and melodramatic, and you like talking to him.

I'm stuck in between. I don't know what to do. But I have to come up with something that will help before I get to exactly a year and am officially the most pathetic person on the face of the earth.

Flip Side

Another lonely night. Tonight I was at work talking to a guy who can't stand his girlfriend. And he's giving me all these reasons why he doesn't like her, and I can't help but take it a little bit personally. Because I wonder how many times my ex has had the same exact conversation. How many times he's told someone that I'm not independent enough or I'm too stupid or I don't dress right or I'm just not the one. And every word is like a stake through my heart. I wonder how many other reasons there are that I'm not good enough. How many reasons there are that he was too chicken to tell me. How many things annoy him that he said were actually cute. I know that even if he never said them to another person, he definitely thought them. And it seems so unfair that he should keep them from me. Aren't I always on the path to self-improvement? I don't want to be a pain in the ass, even though I know I am.

I wonder if I would be doing everyone a favor if I just dropped off the face of the earth. It would seem so. Then my parents wouldn't have to be so disappointed, my roommates wouldn't have to be so dumbfounded, my school chums wouldn't have to be so confused, and the ex could go about his daily life just as he always wanted to: without me.

Sometimes I think he takes me for granted. They say you can't miss something if it's not gone. And I've never been gone. The last girl left him bereft, much to his surprise. And he left me, with no consequence. Because I was never actually missing. I have always been there for him and it seems that he's never really had the opportunity to miss me or maybe even recognize how much he cares for me. The flip side is that he doesn't take me for granted, doesn't care for me, has never missed me, and never will, because there's nothing there that he could possibly miss. Especially since I can't quote Yeates. I'm afraid to find out which it is.

This Stage

It's Friday. I like that. Except that I have to go to work. But the upside is that maybe I'll make some money. Maybe. And I have the house to myself, so no one will criticize me when I stay in bed until 2 and just lounge around instead of 'making myself useful'.

The goal today is to not mope about how bad I feel about everything. Try not to think about that man. Try not to think about the film roadblocks. Try not to think about family problems. Try not to think about being so broke I feel guilty buying a burrito at Taco Bell. Try not to think about homework.

So far, I'm doing ok, but I've only been up for 45 minutes. And it seems like something always happens to make things suck more than they already do. But I'm hoping for nothing to happen. Just let me stay at this stage of crappiness for today. I want life to stop for just a little bit.

The Somerville Gates

The Somerville Gates are an homage to Christo's gates, and worth a quick look.

Proust and My AT's

Today I almost had a nervous breakdown and started crying at school. The scary and sad part is it wouldn't have been the first time. But sometimes it seems like life is kicking you while you're down, and nothing can go right.

So here's the score:
Love life:0
School life:0
Family life:0
Home life:0
Work life:0
Fiscal life:0

And it's not even enough that things suck. They have to be difficult. I think I can count about 2 or 3 people right now who are being nice to me, and they don't even know how close to the edge I am. If they did, they would probably start avoiding me. The frustrating yucky disappointing times are far outweighing the happy laughing times. That's not good. And since a comment was made to me about it, I'm trying really hard to extract 'like' and 'you know' from my vocabulary. Apparently it's far from cute and makes me sound just as stupid as everyone thinks I am. But what do you expect from someone who has never read Proust?

And let's not forget how I often say "What?!" as if the person talking to me just started talking in Martian. Honestly, I think I have a hearing problem, but I'm really too proud to tell anyone that. Because getting older scares the shit out of me. I'm trying to curb the 'what' behavior too, but I have this annoying tendency (if you haven't noticed, all of my tendencies are annoying) to let things come out of my mouth before I run them through the speech filter. I'm not even sure if I have one, since blurting stupid things out is like a hobby of mine (see, there, I used 'like' and I didn't even mean to- Fuck!--Oh, and that word's gotta go too--annoying AND offensive).

When I take a good hard look at myself, I can suddenly see why my life is so lonely. It's amazing that anyone would want to hang out with me at all. No wonder every guy I ever met has run for the hills in World Record time. No wonder my phone never rings. I really AM annoying. I knew a girl in high school who tried to tell me, but I just didn't listen. (another annoying tendency--or AT) So now I'm ingrained in these bad habits that repel people as if by magic.

A partial list of AT's (partial because I'm sure I have more, but I haven't looked close enough)
1. I talk too much
2. I say stupid things
3. I say 'like' and 'you know'
4. I say 'what'
5. I blurt things out
6. I tell stories
7. I don't brush my teeth 2 times a day
8. I eat compulsively
9. I starve compulsively
10. I show up without an appointment
11. I show up early
12. I show up late
13. I bitch
14. I forget things
15. I don't clean
16. I procrastinate
17. I take the stairs
18. I like to sleep
19. I don't wake up early
20. I don't garden
21. I don't read the right stuff
22. I say what I feel/think
23. I call for no reason
24. I don't drink coffee
25. I don't ride a bike
26. I don't work out
27. I drink alcohol
28. I repeat myself
29. I repeat myself
30. I expect the worst
31. I can spell, and expect the same of others
32. I can't do math in my head (or at all)
33. I swear a lot
34. I don't cook
35. I get lost a lot
36. I park in the first space I see
37. I hate driving
38. I don't always use deoderant
39. I don't take orders well
40. I get ticked off about little stuff
41. I talk and talk and talk and talk
42. and talk and talk and talk and talk
43. I buy things on impulse
44. I spend money I don't have
45. I am sensitive
46. I am stubborn
47. I don't know how to love someone, even if I am in love with him
48. I ask for favors
49. I hope for impossible things
50. I get jealous
51. I get lonely
52. I never forget
53. I say ouch

Miranda

I was hanging out with a couple of girlfriends tonight, and we started talking about how one of them is really quiet and nice and polite and the other one kind of loud and outspoken. And it ended up being that the nice one is Charlotte, and the loud one is Samantha. And I looked at them and said, well then who am I, Miranda or Carrie??? There was a little pause, and then Charlotte says,"Well, Miranda got kind of cute towards the end"

WHAT???!!!

I realize that I am not as cool or as cute as Carrie, but please. And I can't believe that my own friends think I'm 'not that bad'. I resent being the girl that ended up being not so ugly after five years. I may be out of Carrie's coolness league, but I think I'm ahead of Miranda. For one thing, I DO dress better than Miranda. I'm not as stuffy as Miranda. I have a better haircut than Miranda. I walk better than Miranda. I'm not as bitchy as Miranda. I'm not confrontational like Miranda.

Anyway, you could say my ego took a pretty hard hit today.

Sucker

Today I was still mad and irritated. And then he tricked me by calling from a number that didn't register on my phone. And now that I'm trying to find actors, I have to answer every call.

And then I heard his voice. I wasn't mad anymore.

But then I ended up being mad at myself. Because I'm so easy. All I need is to hear his voice and everything is ok again. He doesn't even have to apologize. In fact, I end up asking him how he's doing because he sounds sad or tired or something.

It feels weird. Because I want to still be pissed off for no reason, and I can't be. That's how it has always been. I'm such a sucker. Or something like that.

Bohemia

Today I was walking around in the bohemian part of town because I had an appointment with the hippie chiro. I was early, and didn't want to sit in his hippie office, so I walked around looking at hippie houses and cars and plants and stuff. It was a beautiful day; the sky was clear and blue, the palm trees green, flowers blooming. And then I realized I had no idea what time it was because I had left my phone at home.

But I hadn't forgotten it. I left it on purpose. Because I'm mad at him for all sorts of reasons, and I didn't want to be there when he called. And I was proud of myself for about 2 seconds, and then I realized, he isn't going to call. I've gone through all this for nothing. Why would he call? He hasn't called for no reason in over a week; I don't really know when he last called just to say hey.

And when I got home I saw I was right. He hadn't called. Big surprise. I sometimes hate being right. But more than that, I hate being forgotten. I hate being unimportant.

When I was at the hippie chiro, there was a brief moment as I was laying on the table that he ran his hand lightly down my back. And I realized how excruciatingly long it's been since a man has touched me gently, or at all. I also realized how much I really want that, how much I miss it, how I'm never gonna get it. The chiro touches me because I pay him to, and it's not like that. Anyway, it's incredibly frustrating to be a human being and have human needs and wants when everyone treats you like you have some sort of communicable disease. I may as well stay at home in a bubble playing Trivial Pursuit with George.

Throwaway

I don't like feeling like a throwaway. And that's what I feel like. Like that kid that got pushed to the side when something better came along. Out of sight, out of mind. And I sit here and check the time like some lunatic, thinking, it's not too late to call me, it's not too late, still not too late, kind of late, almost too late, very late, too late, he's not going to call. And I'm constantly reminding myself that it never even occurred to him to call. It's not like he was going to and then got busy and forgot. There's no part of him thinking, I wonder what she's doing, I wonder what she's up to, I wonder how her day has been, I think I'd like to hear her voice.

So I feel like a throwaway. Like one of those forlorn mongrels at the pound that looks through the chain link fence thinking, I know the last guy thought I was awful, but please please please take me home with you. I don't like it in here. It smells funny. But no one will let me out. I'm stuck here until they send me to the gas chamber. Which is inevitable, given that I'm not one of the adorable puppies. I'm an old dog with a limp and I eat my body weight every day. They thought it was kind of funny at first, but not so much anymore. Now I'm just bothersome. Which is how I got here in the first place.

Voices

My computer just scared the shit out of me by telling me I could get a free blackberry. With a real voice. It was creepy.

Old Sweater

I ended up going to the mall today with my new friend, who is actually the first close female friend I've had in a while. And we walked around laughing and talking smack about all the jerkoffs at school and only pseudo-shopping, because we're not even there for our benefit. But I still walk around looking at all the cute stuff and wish I wasn't so broke because I really really really like those shoes and that dress would look so cute on me and I am in serious need of something purple.

And I find myself falling into that trap once again. The one where I think "I wonder if he would like me in this". And I just want to shoot myself for being so lame.

This is supposed to be the part where I make a fresh start and stop living my life in the context of him. Because it's been nearly a year (!) since he dumped me flat on my ass and shattered my fragile little pink heart into a million tiny pieces all over my living room floor.

And I want to be able to move on because he sure did, but that makes it even harder. Because I know how little my feelings for him meant to him. It was like a puppy followed him home. Or he bought a sweater on sale (he never would have paid full price for a sweater like that) that he thought he liked, but then changed his mind and now it's sitting in the back of some dark drawer until he either sells it to a thrift store or uses it for a dust rag. But he's not giving much thought to the days when it was new and kept him warm.

I am tired of feeling like I don't matter. I am tired of feeling like the person he hangs out with when there's nothing on TV. I am tired of feeling like a problem. I am tired of feeling like a disease. I am tired of feeling like a burden. Most of all, I'm tired of loving someone who couldn't care less.

44.5 Days

He says I always exaggerate the sorry sad history of my love life; that it hasn't been as bad as I say it has. But here it is, in statistical evidence. I averaged out the length of every relationship I have had in my nearly 30 years. For the guys that I hooked up with and thought was going to stay with and then he never called back, I gave a generous 7 days. Others, that slept with me and then said that we couldn't be together got 0. The ones that actually lasted for more than 14 days, I rounded off to weeks, so the actual count of days might me off by a little. But this, at least, gives a good idea of how dismal my dating history is.

The average length of my relationships is 44.5 days.

Just over 6 weeks. I think I may have stated before that the time it takes for a guy to find out that this is me and I'm not going to magically change into a princess, no matter how many times you kiss the frog, is right around 6 weeks. And this is the proof.

44.5 days. Not even 2 cycles of the moon. Just over 10% of a year. 801 days if you string them from end to end. Not even 3 years. That's less than 10% of my entire life.

Not what I would call even somewhat successful.

If I had a car that worked ten percent of the time, I would scrap it.
If I had a pet that was only healthy ten percent of the time, I would shoot it.
If I lived somewhere that was sunny ten percent of the time, I would shoot myself.

Forty-four and one half days.

Big Deal

So yesterday we went to this concert together, and it was of course awesome. This musician, she has this ability to make me feel like she's some sort of medium that takes the contents of everyone's insides and translates it into words for us. It feels like home. It sounds stupid, but that's the only way I can describe what it's like to hear those notes as they are created.

Anyway, first I have to say we had a great time. As always. Second, I have to say I also had a sad time. As always. We're sitting at dinner and the next thing I know, the conversation has died into nothing and he's staring at all the couples sitting around us. And I want to smack him because I can see that he's thinking something and he won't tell me what it is. Even though I probably already know.

He's not thinking about last year at this time when he was sick and didn't want to be around me and I was sad because I missed him and wanted to be around him, and even more sad because I felt like he didn't want me anymore and I didn't know what to do about it. No, I don't think any of those thoughts came to him; not even for a nanosecond. But what really burns the shit out of me is that he's looking around at all of these blonde SoCal girls with their super stylish clothes and just so makeup, watching their boyfriends eat everything because "ooh, I couldn't eat another bite! That cracker really filled me up", and he's thinking of her--the girl that came before me. And how sad he is to have lost her and how in love he was/is with her and how his life is empty without her. And that's why he can't tell me is because he "doesn't want to hurt me". But here's the rub: He already did. And because I can still tell what he's thinking about and he won't talk to me hurts me even more.

The truth: I don't care that he loved this other woman. That doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that he won't love me, and even lied and said he did so he could smooth things over with me when he should have just dumped me instead of trying to prove to everyone that he knew everything and they were wrong and he was right. What bothers me is that I am now living a fucking hellish existence because of his pride. Not because he ever loved me and left me. That I was nothing more than proof to all his friends that he was ok. What bothers me is that I fell in love with someone that I don't think had any intentions of ever falling in love with me. What bothers me is that I'm still in love with him, and he is more and more adamant that he will NEVER EVER EVER love me because I had the bad fortune of coming after the woman that was really worth his love and admiration. What bothers me is that I was nothing more than a distraction. What bothers me is that I feel like a whore. What bothers me is that he has the nerve to tell me things like "you'll find someone" (like who, and I had thought I already had) and "don't sell yourself short" (you mean like you did) and "you are a great person" (but not quite good enough) and "you'll get over this"(because I sure as hell did) and "trust me, I know about these things" (because I've been right about everything from the very beginning).

I realize how bitter I sound. Yes, I'm angry. I've said that before. And I also realize that not everything in here is true; that I am twisting certain details around. But the absolute fact of the matter is that I am now completely broken hearted because of the utter carelessness of a man who never seemed to consider the consequences of what he was doing and seems to still think it's not that big a deal. But I do.

Stop Blogging

I had to stop blogging because I feel like I need protection. And having my deepest darkest thoughts floating around in cyberspace is not protection. Quite the opposite.

There is something fun and silly about the whole process; that people I know and don't know can read it. Or not, as in my case. But the downside is that it seems like it has become a substitute for me. Why talk to me when you can figure everything out through the virtual me? It's like I've made myself obsolete. Phone calls are so complicated when compared to just booting up. And the screen doesn't talk back. You can close it up when you want and not only do I not protest, I don't even know. What could be better?

So the question is, is knowing me even necessary? How important can my presence be when my blog already speaks for me? And we both know that the "idea" of me is waaaayyy better than the actual me, who talks too much, has actual emotions that you have to deal with, and dresses funny. Not to mention being completely incapable of intelligent conversation because I haven't read ANY of the right books.

So this is it. No more virtual me. At least not for a while. Because believe it or not, I want to feel like my presence actually does make a difference and I'm not just some dumb chick following you around all the time like a really fucking annoying puppy. I want there to be time taken out for me and just me. I want to come before something. But most of all, I don't like that you know about my life without having to ask. That's just cheap. And lazy.

I think I'm done.

Another Other

to the sun pray
Originally uploaded by Ring.xie.

Not mine.

Bootleg Gates Gifts

Sad

Delaware County Murder Victim Called To Jury Pool

This is the actual news story.l

Jury Duty

This is funny. And ironic.

Birthday Boy

Happy Birthday Tarheel. At least you got one Duke loss for your special day. I know it wasn't the one you wanted.

P.S. Ani was awesome. As always.

Others

Originally uploaded by jen shumate.

I'm tired of my pictures, so I'm going to post some of my favorites that others have taken. These are the photos that keep me humble.

President's Day

So today was a day of work, but not exactly a day of making money. It was kind of depressing and boring and really annoying because all the lovers of the world choose this weekend to show everyone how sappy and in love they are and propose and get married and generally make a big spectacle to anyone who is a big enough loser to not be able to make a spectacle of their own. Which is me, in case you didn't know.

And I started thinking about whether or not I ever got to make a spectacle, and realized that I hadn't. Boyfriends (or maybe they're actually just guys that I was sleeping with) don't seem to coincide with Valentine's day, my birthday, Christmas, or any other holiday that requires one to show that they care for another person. How clever. And today I went back in time to remember that there have only been two Valentine's days where I was with someone, but we never did anything. The first time, we both worked, he was broke, and I paid for the romantic dinner in NYC (along with the entire trip) a week later. The second person was struck down with food poisoning and I didn't seem him at all for four days. He said we would reschedule, but we never did. And then he dumped me.

So that's it. No wonder I hate it. Because Valetine's day is only for people who are loved, and I am clearly not one of those people. Yes, I try to let it go without a lot of fuss, but it often feels like everyone is rubbing it in your face with their red roses and heart spangled sweaters and adorably wrapped jewelry boxes with heard shaped brooches inside and their heart shaped boxes of chocolates and giant teddy bears bearing satin hearts and lingerie in red and pink and lace with hearts. It's fucked up to have a holiday that excludes in such a way.

Where is the single peoples' holiday? Is that what President's day is for? Anyway, I know I am going to be fighting the urge to punch someone in the face for the next few days. And I know that many people will deserve it.

Life and Death

They say that life comes from death. I never really thought much about it until today. It seems odd. And while there is only imminent rather than recent death, there is life too. At least for now. It works for those around me. They have life. They make it. And it makes death seems less terrible.

And I wonder what that means for me. Because there is so much deadness in me, and it feels like it's really just barren; that nothing can live from it. But it's possible for others. So maybe its possible for me. I just don't see how. I wish I could fix myself and make everything work the way it's supposed to, but I've been broken for a while.

The holiday is only serving to remind me how dead I am. And how alive everyone else is. Alive with flowers and chocolates and teddy bears and jewelry and balloons and whatever else live people get. What's the point? The hearts and flowers are fragile. Just like the heart I used to have. Now it's just a hole and serves no purpose to anyone. It is death itself. And life isn't springing forth from it. Maybe that's just for other people.

Spoiled Brat

It's really dark in my house because of the lack of sun. It's pretty dreary. I kind of want to just go back to bed, but of course I have to do some of the work I've been neglecting to expertly. It's getting to be crunch time.

So I'm sitting in this house all by myself, and all I can hear is the tapping of my fingers against the keys and the rain outside. It almost sounds nice except for the voice in the back of my head that keeps telling me what a loser I am. My phone is not ringing; the tv offers no comfort. I dreamt something strange but can't quite remember it. Loneliness has sunk into the couch next to me and I know it's only there because I let it be. I don't have to feel this way. But, I'm acting true to spoiled brat decorum, and if I can't have exactly what I want, I'm going to pout about it instead of getting something else that's probably just as good. At least there is no one around me that I can make miserable (because I'm really good at that).

Ick. What a dumbass I am. No wonder no one wants to be around me. And that voice is driving me nuts. It's almost like having my mother in my head 24-7. Always saying I told you so. I can't help it. I suck. And what's more, I am always going to feel this way. All because I'm a spoiled brat to begin with, and whining comes second nature to me. Is it possible to want to know about someone without wanting to talk to them? I guess so. Talking to people involves a lot of other crap that doesn't include knowing. Argh. Now I don't even make any sense. I apologize to both people reading this.

Wasted Organs

I'm drunk and I want some.. Yeah, that's right. I want something that I can't have unless I pay for it, but who in hell would I ever find that I could even pay? What a fucking waste. What is the world coming to when a chic can't even get a guy with no strings attached?

Oh wait... I always have strings attached. God this sucks. I can't even believe how unfair it is that a hot girl like me would go to waste in this day and age. Yes, it's true. I may not be a 23 year old virgin, but I was spurned by a man and now I'm damaged goods and any guy can smell that a mile away. I might as well have it tattooed into my forehead. And while I'm at it, there are a couple of organs I could donate to someone who could actually put them to good use. Course, there's a good possibility that mine don't even work. Which would only be par for the course.

P.S. Is there some reason I keep seeing the marriage/abortion episodes of Sex and the City? I think I've seen them about three or four times without trying. Does HBO have a message for me? Something I should be grasping but I'm too stupid to figure out?

Secret Gambling

I have a ton of stuff to do so of course I'm doing this instead. And I'm not liking the rain, either. But I had a Macchiatto on the West Side today, so I can't even crawl into bed and just lose consciousness. I'm awake for the duration. The interesting thing about today involved the telling of a secret. Well, not really a secret, but something I don't talk aabout with very many people. It seemed strange to expose myself to that to someone, but at the same time, it felt like I was gaining an ally that would be there for me when I needed a little support. That's not a feeling I often feel. Life has so few allies. (You're either with us or against us, right?)

Opening up with secrets is such a gamble. You never know when it will come back and bite you in the ass. It can be so dangerous. In this case, I feel that I have confided in someone that I can trust. At least I hope so.

Worth of Work

There's no business like show business. Yeah, right. I must say I am so damn tired of phone calls and organization and touchy feely communication with people who have no clue what you're talking about, and I haven't even gotten to the actors yet. Not that anyone is really annoying me. I'm just tired of the process. It's very arduous. I finally found myself in a quiet room at school tonight (on loan, of course), and all I wanted to do was stay there where no one knew where I was and therefore could not bother me.

Anyway, tomorrow I get to do more stuff and it's supposed to be my day of rest where I take a couple of breaths and chill out before it all starts up again. Oh well. I just have to keep reminding myself that A. This is what I said I wanted and B. At least it sort of a little bit helps with the whole brooding over lost love stuff that gets so tiring so fast.

And I keep telling myself it will be worth it in the end. Hopefully this is one prediction of mine that will be right.

Interesting Ad

This is an interestingly funny ad. I couldn't get the link to work, so I just had to copy it. It's worth the extra work to check it out.

http://www.progsoc.uts.edu.au/~whophd/fd/Best_adverty_ever.jpg

Those Kooky Conservatives

White House reporter's credentials questioned

Idiocy

I am an idiot. And I am not even going to explain why, because it is always the same idiocy no matter the situation. One would think that I would learn something eventually, but I am as thick as a brick. I wish I could be stupider so I wouldn't be able to tell when I am being an idiot. As they say, ignorance is bliss. And that other part about knowledge being power is bullshit, in case you didn't already know.

Food Freak

So sorry to everyone for posting the same thing twice. At least it gives you some insight as to how scatterbrained I am right now. I'm actually blogging so I can avoid doing my homework that is due tomorrow morning. Ah, procrastination. Anyway, lately I've been really tired and not into school all that much. I find myself doing things at home that are silly and completely unrelated to school stuff that really is more important. I just don't want to do it. I haven't been able to figure out why, because I actually like most of the stuff I have to do for school. There's got to be some alterior motive living in my subconscious and telling me not to do stuff.

But what it isn't telling me to do is stop eating. I am gaining weight and I don't like it. Every day I look down at this round area around my belly button and I really want to cut it off. It's not supposed to be there. Argh. Welcome to the food freak. At least I have kept myself from actually getting on a scale, because that's when the shit really hits the fan. And I'm really afraid to see exactly how much weight I have gained. I'm guessing only about 5 pounds, but it looks like a lot more than that. On the bright side, since it's all in my belly, it's pretty easy to hide. The only time you can't hide that is when you're naked, and obviously no one is around me when that happens. So I don't really have a lot to worry about, except that it might spread to my thighs and whatnot. It's already getting to my butt. It's neverending. Really.

Kissing Strategy

So just about every day, I wander over to the blog of Tony Pierce, and then end up skimming through a bunch of stuff about the Cubs and all the chicks he's having sex with. Which is actually irritating, but every so often he comes up with something that actually is worth reading, so I come back day after day because I have faith.

Today he had a post about how to kiss a 23 year old virgin. My first thought is how misogynist it's going to be, but upon reading it, it actually made me kind of sad. It's such a process to kiss someone for the first time. I actually forgot about the process because it's been so long since anyone wanted to kiss me. How sad. And there's this part of me that wants to call ol' Tony up and say hey, I'm a 23 year old virgin--come and kiss me. But then I know that A. I don't like Tony Pierce and B. It's not such a process when she actually is dying to be kissed. And boy am I dying.

Anyway, c'est las vie, right? I had my shot at being that girl and I blew it. Nice going, eh?

Fodder

My fingers have stuff in them, but they're not really relating the message to my brain. So I don't really know what to say. Blog fodder is always there. I just don't always know what to say about it. So we watched a movie last night at my house. Gotta love film noir. I doubt there are many people who would consider an evening watching TCM fun, but we do.

And I'm always thinking of how we're dressed the same and we both want the same food and the same movies. But then he wants to go and I want him to stay. But not for the reason you're thinking. I just want someone to want to sleep next to me and make me feel like I matter; make me feel like I'm cared for in a way that no one else gets. I realize that's more than I'm going to get by a long ways. Actions may speak louder than words, but they don't speak louder than what's inside, and I know that as well or better than everyone else.

Long story short, I had a great time last night. And then I went back to The Middle by myself. Again.

Boardwalk

Boardwalk, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Not Unfair...Dirty

Went and saw a great film today. I even paid to see it. This time, I actually went with a friend and a friend of hers, and I ended up feeling like the third wheel, even though it really wasn't like that. They are great people. And I found myself wanting to call him and tell him all about it, but stopping myself because it feels pathetic to be so excited about talking to him. Especially when he's going to see it anyway, and I'm afraid I'll say something that will ruin it for him--like telling him who won the game before he gets to see for himself.

And part of me thinks that maybe he will call me and I won't look so pathetic, but then I ask myself why would he? and the possibility shrinks down to a number so small and approaching zero, you have to know calculus to figure out how small it is. And of course, this makes me sad, which is just as, if not more, pathetic.

Why can't I get this man out of my system? I have never had this much trouble. He has the ability to send sharp shooting pains through me without even trying. And I sit there and take it, hoping it will stop and trying not to show it as I clench my teeth and hold my breath. It's like getting the wind knocked out of me almost every day. And I keep thinking I'll either learn to duck or he'll stop throwing things at me. I hope for the latter because I'm obviously a very slow learner. It has already been a year since I learned that I was clingy, yet invisible. And I'm still trying to figure all that out. Maybe when I do, I'll get some Nobel Booby Prize for being the world's biggest Jackass. I'll bray my thanks to everyone.

But seriously, it is unfathomable how this man has turned out to be such a stumbling block, or more precisely, big fucking no survivors multi train wreck for me in my life. I used to think I was part duck. After a while, people rolled off my back. Occasionally I let them stick around and make me sad, but eventually I shook them off and was none the worse for wear. But this is different. Time isn't healing this wound. And I can't figure out why. And I want to say it's because this time I was really truly in love, but that's bullshit and trite and cliche and disrespectful to every other person I ever said the words to. (which isn't very many--I'm thinking two others)

But the truth is, it IS different. It feels different in my heart and in my body and in my face and my fingers and my shoulders and back and neck and ears and you get the idea. This one doesn't want to go away. I think my patience has finally run out and been replaced by resignation. What else is there? I never believed in the idea that there is only one person out there for you. I thought there was an array of people with whom you could live happily.

But I'm starting to feel it. Which really fucking sucks when that person is not only not interested, but not attracted, not inspired, not nothing. When they don't even really see you as something dateable. Is it possible that life can really be that cruel? To show you the one person you fit with, and then laugh at you because they think you are fucking nuts and they will not want you ever ever ever ever ever. God I can't even think of anything else because I'm so fully aware that this might actually be the truth of life. Not only is it unfair, it's just plain dirty.

Being Right About Being Left

So we're talking today and he makes a comment about my anger and how misdirected it is and how uncool that is. And I wanted to scream. Because in reality, anger is like an H-bomb, it just hits everybody in its way. But I also think, you bet, I'm really fucking angry. And there's nothing I can do about it.

I think about our dinner and getting drunk and arguing despite my efforts to keep the conversation as banal as possible so no one would get hurt. But eventually, it went there, and anger said 'hello'. As much as it can in a pretentiously trendy and crowded restaurant. But I really just want to yell and scream until I am hoarse about all the things I am angry about, even though they are often unconnected to each other, so they don't make sense until you are living inside my skin. And he doesn't really have much patience for anger, so I try to keep a tight lid on it because if I really unleashed it, he would never speak to me again. I would finally be the psycho ex whatever I was.

And after dinner, we took a little triip down his memory lane, which was painful, but no more than expected. I guess the thing that burned me the most was how happy he looked in all the pictures. In both the pictures I have of us, he has this smirk that looks more like pain than anything else. And as he's going through this entire roll of pictures, it occurs to me that he probably doesn't have a single picture of me. All I have to do is walk through the front door to see who really mattered. I am nowhere to be found. Which is why I try not to look( just close your eyes and try to remember where the step is). I'm not even in a shoebox in the back of some closet with dust all over it. Damn right I'm angry. And hurt. Jilted. Deceived. Jealous. All that bad stuff.

But in the end, there's still nothing I can do about it, so I hang up the phone and then lay in The Middle and sob for about half an hour because I was right from the very beginning, and so far I haven't been wrong in my predictions, and yes, I'm really fucking pissed about it. And I'm terrified that all of my predictions will be true because I'm really not sure if I can live through all of them. Or if I should even try. Because I don't know if I would even come out a better person on the other side. Is there even an other side? For once, I wish I could be wrong. Completely, totally, unmistakably wrong.

Beach Flower

Beach Flower, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Vicky's Secret

I've been left to an empty house for a few days. Hopefully I'll make good use of it instead of having a meltdown like the last time. The Victoria's Secret catalog came in the mail today. And I started flipping through it and found myself thinking almost by reflex oh here's something he would like. I wanted to slap myself for being so stupid. Stupid enough to still think there's some chance that something I wear might make some bit of difference. It's ridiculous, actually.

I think I stopped having a body a long time ago. Along with a personaility or allure or anything else that might be worth something to someone else. There is nothing left of that except for a hollow, colorless shell. Whatever Vicky's secret is, it's not going to help me now.