A Blog By Me

Oldies but goodies. Is it me, or has my writing just totally crapped the bed in the last 6 months? Not like I could write in the first place…

Oh you got a tattoo? It’s the cover art to an album? Wow, your fucking original.

Svint. A blog in which I take a nose dive into the really-fucking-stupid-idea-tree and hit every branch coming down.

Blue’s Day  

I never did get Beast that dildo…..

Please excuse the following post. I have discovered that my pills and wine make me a little pissy/bitchy and make me more or less a shameless whore.

Enjoy,

Angry

I haven’t spoken to Fuck Buddy for the better part of a month. The last time I slept with him it was…less than savory. For whatever reason I had some sort of mental block that I couldn’t put my (or his) finger on at the time, and we had the inevitable “Is this wrong talk” Which more or less turned into an Ex bashing party somehow. As much as I love screwing this guy, something finally snapped in the back of my head. Maybe it was his age, maybe it was the way the situation evolved, or simply maybe it was just time for me to let him go in some way or another.

Either way, the last time I slept with him, I had some of the worst nightmares I have had in a very long time. One of which involved him waking me up. After he woke me up, he asked me what my dream was about, stupidly, I said

“You.”

To which he seemed greatly surprised. He asked me what the dream was about…More or less he’s fucking me and won’t heed the safe word and ends up killing me in one dream, the other is more or less fragments of not so happy emotions. I don’t tell him any of this, I simply say, “I don’t know, all I know is you were in it.”

Talk for a bit, he goes back to sleep cradling my head on his chest. Listen to his heartbeat and think of all the reasons why I should be getting out of his bed and going home, sleeping alone and deleting his number from my phone first thing in the morning.

BUT. We all know how much I love dick, in this case, his dick, not so much the person it’s attached to, just what it can do to me. However, somewhere along the line, this got a little old, too predictable for me. Once or twice a week, a booty call, more so a text, go over, talk for a little bit, watch about 3 seconds of a movie he puts on to down out the sound of us fucking, and get down to business. Both come, he takes a couple hits off his bong, I smoke a couple cigarettes and check my voice mail, all the while somehow still talking about nothing in particular.

Yup, that pretty much sums up l’affare di Arrabbiato e Fotte l’Amico.

Completly and utterly predictable. Kinda like the dude I was seeing this past fall. Which by the way, this pretty much sums up darlin’s I.Q

“Dude, I was drinking an Amstel and I couldn’t figure out why it smelled like pot, and I looked on the bottle, you know where that stuff is brewed?”

“No Ben, where is it brewed?”

“AMSTERDAM!!!”

Then you hear me sigh. And then this was the mental dialog..

“Sweetie, you are so lucky you are so stunning and your dick is 8 inches long…”

Anyhow, Fuck Buddy sent me a text a little while ago tonight.

“Fuk. Now?”

Part of me was a little…miffed…insulted, like, c’mon, that not even a complete coherent sentence dude, really, like Jesus H Christ on a raft. Even I show a little more respect than that. My texts are usually along the lines of

“I’m horny, don’t make plans.”

If I wanted to be that familiar with him, I would have made at least a half assed attempt to have a little bit more of a relationship with him. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. (Sorry Geoff)

I was tempted to text him back and tell him to get a pocket pussy, sadly,I just shot a text back lying and said I was out of commission for the next week, I’ll call you later, blah blah blah…

Ladies and Gents, my mother fucking birthday is in about a week, I will be 23 fucking years old. If any of you want to get me something. Get me a normal fucking life. Or send me an e-mail telling me how to stop doing this type of shit so I can have a normal life. Because, seriously, if I’m not told to do something, I won’t do it.

Just because you are driving a Government Issued does not give you the right to drive like an ass, and pitch garbage out of the vehicle.

Cock sucking douche bag. The dude in the GI was actually my old recruiter, which gives me more incentive to take a little trip down to his office and ream him a new one. Four years later, there are still hard feelings. Asshat.

Driving to work this morning I got this bitchin bloody nose. It was great, I had to pull over, get out of the fucking car, and sit on my hood for like twenty minutes until the Old Faithful of red blood cells stopped gushing out of my nose. Oh, and I’m on the fucking high way with cars wizzing by at like 60-70 mph. My nose stops bleeding, go to get back in my car on the passenger side, since the traffics heavy, and I see that locked myself out of the fucking car.

I locked. Myself. Out. Of the car. On Suicide Ally.

And then my nose starts to bleed again. So, I’m sitting there, like an asshole, crying my fucking eyes out, with an already blood soaked paper towel stuffed in my face when I see that the driver side window is open.

I stare at the window. I put my hand though the open window just to make sure that it’s open and the blood loss isn’t fucking with my head. I move my hand in and out of the window.

Are you getting the picture of how big of a retard I looked like on the side of the highway?

So, I get to work, and find six boxes of shoes Boss Man decided to leave for me to process, receive and put away.

How thoughtful. It’s not like I left yesterday at 2 p.m, and UPS came at 2:30 and he closed at 5:30. It’s not like he was busy, it’s not like he sat around for two hours and didn’t do anything. Christ, I am starting to sound like him….

My nose is still trickling, so I’m tempted to go up stairs and take my bloody finger tips and touch the letters
F U C K

on his keyboard. And then attach a little note underneath that says “you”. But, not only is the slightly gross, I’m pretty sure that would actually get me fired.

I chose a red dry erase marker instead.

But I really can’t help but not. Vanessa Paradis, Johnny Depp’s baby momma. Actually, if I don’t watch the vid, its kinda tolerable….Thoughts??

Beast’s birthday is coming up this weekend, 24. I have no idea what to get her. One suggestion was a blow up doll or a blow up sheep. I’m not sure where I can get either of those around here, and I think it’s a little late to order online….. The past couple years have taught us both that life is way to short to be taken seriously, and to be honest, my sister is an up tight bitch who needs to loosen the fuck up a little more. I love Beast very very much, (I loved her a whole lot more when she was living in Canada though…) she was always my protector growing up, and since were hardly a year apart in age, it only makes her that much more special to me. But then I spend more than 20 minutes in her presence and I honestly feel like I have to kill her for the sake of mankind. And then, she pulls a stunt like she did about ten minutes ago and shows up at my work with a snack for me.

So, ya. This is a lame ass post. Maybe I’ll get her a big, black, veiny dildo. Yea. I think I might.

Bored? I am, here are some gems found via Fark, since all I have been reading in the news has been depressing, here, it’s time fora pick me up. That doesn’t involve jail bait.

Man says its not rape if the wombat pulls out

Petra and her paddleboat were taken to the zoo.

It’s no secret that crack makes you do silly things.

FUCKIN HELL YEAH CANADA
(click for the slide show, it may make you a little sad, but damn, they got it…)

BOOM

I recently jumped down RoomMates throat about the “sheer amount of crap” that currently occupies our small two bedroom apartment. It’s not really crap, just stuff that he has acquired over the past couple years that doesn’t have a home since ours is so small. So, I more or less bit his head off for what seemed to me, no apparent reason about his belongings yada yada yada.

But, seriously, heres the thing. When a person is conditioned (for lack of a better term) to do things a certain way do to an abusive relationship, it’s hard to let go of those habits and simply accept things for how they are. Like, a less than tidy apartment, or a bed thats not made. I’m still trying to let go of these ticks, I know, in reality that I’m not going to get a new set of raccoon eyes for not doing the dishes, or not putting the shoes back in their rightful spots in the hall way, but sometimes, when I come home and I see what I think is a mess, my first reaction is to get shit cleaned up before I get my ass handed to me.

And then RoomMate comes home and asks what the fuck I am doing and I kinda snap back into reality and see that a) I’m not with Ex anymore and b) RoomMate isn’t going to hand my ass to me on a silver platter.

I was talking with my sponsor a while ago and she reminded me that I’m no longer in that situation, and the people I have in my life are good people, they (holy fucking shit) love me, and would never ever hurt me.

Leaving one life and starting over seems like such an easy thing for some people, you pack a bag, fill up your tank and just go. That is just the geography. It’s not romantic, it’s fucking terrifying, leaving a lifestyle that you have known for X amount of time, and getting use to a new one that doesn’t involve abuse, self abuse and drug abuse. I honestly thought that this shit would be over in like 6 months, addictions aside. But, I still come home and obsessively clean. I have made some progress though, I don’t make my bed all the time, (actually I hardly ever make it) my closet isn’t in the OCD order that it use to be in (who knew junkies were so clean?!) and holy crap, the beer bottles from like 6 months ago are still sitting on my window sill. So, it all just takes time, and processing.

I’m lucky that RoomMate and Wifey are as understanding and patient as they are, I really don’t think I would be able to deal if I was in their shoes.

So, thanks guys.

Duuuude. Imagine that. A safe life!

I saw that an old friend (who use to actually be a teacher) had some sort of “going to Church” related status on her spacebook page, so I sent her a comment

“You go to Church?”

Not the most intelligent thing I have ever written, or asked someone, but an honest inquiry. And thing is what I get back: