Can You Please Repeat the Question?

Can I just say?  OkCupid is seriously disturbing. And not just because of all the weirdos and freaks, Oh no! (And yes, I do realize that I would technically be one of the weirdos I am referring to.) But because for me, someone who has never been in a relationship before and is more than a little gun-shy with the whole getting-to-know-someone-to-see-if-they-are-a-potential-mate-type-person fiasco, deciding what I want, on the spot, and then putting it out there for all the world to see is a little… well… impossible.

The worst part of the whole scenario is the “questions” section, a never-ending survey in which you can not only select answers that match your political views and religious beliefs, but also rare treasures such as, “If someone wanted to put a collar on you and command you during sex, would you go for it?”  Or, “Say someone asked you to pull out a knife and bleed them whilst in the middle of full-throttle sex, would you do it?” Of course, these are both silly questions that should obviously be answered “No” unless you want a deranged lunatic for a boyfriend and later possibly a husband/cell-mate, but there are others that are less obvious. Questions like, “Would you ever consider an open relationship?” and “Would you date someone who didn’t want to have sex for at least 6 months?” Of course, being me, I have answered no to the first one and yes to the second. But do I really know? Not really. And what’s more is, I’m not so sure I want to know what answers a potential “match” has chosen either. Obviously I am glad there are ways of finding out who might be a psychotic killer on the loose, but other than that, isn’t mystery an essential part of the equation? If I’m going to be with someone, do I really need to know every detail of all their little kinks up front? The whole point of a relationship is that you decide to be with someone and then get to discover all the completely horrific things about them! Of course, the whole idea is to rule out the people who would be completely wrong for you and find the ones who would be… I dunno… nice to be with? But on the whole, given the option between knowing everything and knowing what you usually know when embarking on a relationship (which is, let’s face it, almost nothing), wouldn’t you choose something with a bit more… mystery?

In the end, I will be the last to know.

And They Called it Puppy Love

There is something strange that can happen when you get in the habit of meeting people online. Something so odd, and often wonderful, that you will feel like a crazy person for even mentioning it. But then, how could you not?

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine suggested, in a rather forcible tone, that I sign up for an account on OkCupid. (And yes, I can literally hear your groans, laughter and sarcastic comments from here – because they are quite possibly the exact same ones I made when he brought it up!) At first, it really wasn’t much of a diversion. I would visit peoples’ profiles, be mildly amused, maybe send a short message, etc. It seemed that all the cute ones lived in the next city over, and that most of the guys interested in talking to me were just a little bit off.  Every once in a while, I would get someone wanting to instant-message and a little message box would pop up in the bottom-left corner of the screen, usually with a pretty lame attempt at conversation. Usually from someone I wasn’t really into.

One such lame attempt appeared as follows:

“Awesome look in that last photo of yours “

However, as I’d remembered seeing his profile and not being particularly creeped out by it, I decided to respond. And then, seconds later, he called himself out on the lame attempt and started an actual conversation.

We talked for four hours.

The next day, we talked for five.

The shortest length of time we’ve talked so far has been an hour. And that is only because I told him he was being cut off so I could get some sleep!

The point is, we’re pretty much in love. I kid! But honestly, it’s been a nice week. We talk about whatever we want, laugh about the stupidest things, and flirt uncontrollably. It’s fun, it’s sweet, and it’s absolutely no work whatsoever. It’s not love, but it is infatuation!

But like with all things, when one area of your life is going really well, another part will turn supremely crappy. Unfortunately, both these parts are contained within the same specific area. Because he lives… in another State. and while he likes to say that the distance is the clincher, I’m more of the mind that the distance is the reason it’s even possible in the first place. Because the fact that we can’t meet anytime soon also means that we have nothing to lose. Which means we can be completely honest. Which means we can fall for each other much faster and more readily than we would in real life. And also, none of our flaws are very apparent. Because, you know, there is so much distance.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely happy that I met him, even though we would in all likelihood never work out. But doesn’t it just suck that the one person who can make me this happy by a) joking around with me non-stop, b) keeping up with and sometimes even outsmarting my sarcastic/combative side, and c) saying sweet things for no particular reason, has to be so fucking far away?! It’s completely unfair. And yet, it’s perfect. Because it really isn’t real.

Dream Lover

Last night was New Year’s Eve. I’m sure you all knew that, but just in case you didn’t, there you go – you are now in the loop!

Unlike many of you, I did not spend the night getting hopelessly hammered, sloshed, shit-faced or whatever else you prefer to call absurd drunkenness. Not just because I am some ludicrously sheltered American, which I am, but also because I had to work. Which is convenient, because I hate most parties and alcohol makes me rather tired.

So there I was, ringing in the new year by folding some very ugly shirts, while outside hundreds of locals were cheering, blowing into noisemakers, and generally making merry. Not that I’m bitter, but it honestly felt just a little bit odd. I had hoped, just as long as we’re on the subject of honesty, that at some point in the night (or early morning), I would finally grasp the closure I sought in regards to a certain long-standing crush. And by closure, I mean finding myself in the back room alone with the The Coworker and, in an act of total spontaneity, pulling him close and giving him such a kiss that there would no longer be any question of whether I had, in fact, tried everything. Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite find a proper opening for such a display of spontaneous affection. And, realistically speaking, it’s probably for the best.

I went to sleep that night (I mean morning) with the vague but comforting feeling that the battle for lust, love, and finally closure would at last be over. I was finished. I no longer cared. At least, not in the same way. I felt relieved and calm, rather than upset and defeated, as I had the year before, when I had wanted to tell him how much I liked him, but had lacked the courage to do so.

The night’s sleep that followed, however, was sporadic and deeply unsatisfying. You know when you really need to sleep, and your body is in absolute agony for the want of it, but your mind insists on staying up and basically performing circus tricks with all your loose thoughts? Well that is what it was like, if you know what I mean. (And if you don’t, I am very jealous of you and you should probably just shut up about it! Honestly.)

The one thing that was nice about the very little sleep I got was the dream I had, which I only remembered after reviving my mind with a giant cup of coffee. It was about a boy. In the dream, I was at work (at a place I have never been before), when a pretty famous person with lovely red hair walked into the break-room and started talking to me. Only in the dream, it didn’t seem strange at all that he should, as he worked there too, though I did recognize him as famous, which is odd, if you take into account that he was probably working part-time at some retail shop where everybody hates their life. Anyway, the really weird thing is how the memory of the dream made me feel. Because even though I was definitely attracted to this person, and even though all we did was talk, it seemed as though I had no memory of being rejected by the dozens of boys I have liked before. It was like I had no baggage. I was talking to someone I liked, and I had no motives, no paralyzing nerves, and no giant need to be accepted, loved, or lusted after. I was just myself. And it was really, really nice.

Coincidentally, I woke up wanting to watch “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.”

Comedic Relief

Sometimes, when life gets you down, there’s only one thing to do… laugh it off.

I’m not going to say that laughter is the best medicine, because apparently someone else has already said that, but I will say that comedy is the one thing I can count on to restore my faith in love, life, and humanity… you know, for a good hour or so.

Because the truth is, nothing seems quite so bad if you can get yourself to laugh at it.

Speaking of which, have you all met my new boyfriend?

We’ve never met, of course… but when you are in love, I think you will find that you have to deal with all sorts of little obstacles, and it’s best to try not to let them overwhelm you.

And now, for a quick rendition of that old classic, Slutty Sundays:

Pick a comedian to be your secret lover, and give a (semi) detailed account of your perfect date together.

For example: On my secretly loving date with Jemaine, we will walk down the streets of Paris, serenading innocent passersby with a choice selection of show-tunes, which we will sing at full volume and without apologies. Later, we will go skinny-dipping in the Seine and be caught by an American paparazzo, who just happened to be walking by at the time. After being bailed out of prison (by none other than Rhys Darby, of course), we will retire to a perfectly charming Parisian hotel (or , you know, The Ritz) and eat chocolate-covered strawberries while Jemaine sings “Business Time” whilst playing the guitar… and of course I will be so impressed by his ability to both eat and sing and play the guiture that one thing will lead to another… and well… you know…

(We’ll get slutty.)

Your turn!!!

A Different Kind of Happy Hour

One thing crashed to the floor, and then another. Piles of paper that were once simply messy were now spilled and scattered. A chair fell over heavily, hitting itself on one of the legs of the table on its way down. There was so much commotion and upheaval of things that under normal circumstances would have gone quietly un-heaved, that it would be safe to assume there was something like an earthquake going on, and that anyone inside the apartment was in a state of panic as he or she observed the danger which had suddenly come upon them. But an earthquake there was not. Rather, there were two people, attempting rather clumsily to be had by one another. For the first  (and quite possibly the last) time.

As they continued to crash into the dining room set, and one or another of them stubbed their tow and tried not to howl about it, the absolute violence of their emotions were so excessive as to render the scene almost entirely comedic. Finally, the boy hoisted the girl on to the table as she flung off her top with wild and hilarious abandon, and eventually undid her bra as well and threw it across the room in no particular direction (but not before the boy had tried and failed to unhinge it himself). The boy’s shirt was unbuttoned (or rather the buttons were ripped off ), her skirt was shimmied off her, his pants got rid of, underwear hit the floor, shoes were kicked off almost as an afterthought, and socks remained on because really, who has the time? After what seemed like years of peeling off clothing, they both clamored up the table, her scooting rather ungracefully back it as he crawled over her, inadvertently  smashing her hand under his knee, and subsequently apologized profusely. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay!” – she assured him, kissing his lips fiercely lest the moment vanish underneath them.

“Shit” he said “I forgot the condom!”

“Well you don’t need it yet!” She growled.

“Better get it out ahead of time though, don’t you think?”

She sighed.

“I’ll just be back.”

“Well hurry up!” She yelled, exasperated and impatient, as always.

“Got it!” He chirped, looking up at her apologetically.

“Well come the fuck on then!”

He cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows mockingly.

“Darling?” He said, teasing her.

“Oh, Jesus Christ… will you just get up here?”

“Only if you tell me you need me.” He answered briskly, enjoying his moment of power.

“I don’t need you!” She barked, and promptly began touching herself in front of him.

He stared, and was beaten. An involuntary groan escaped his lips too soon and she knew that she had won.

“Okay! I give up!” He sang, and began kissing her calf, her knee, her thigh, and continuing up to replace her hand.

She made a noise that was more like a smile than a sneer, and promptly dropped her malicious act to the floor where it belonged.

They had found their rhythm at last.

The two of them, though passionate and decided on this particular evening, were alas completely ill-suited for each other. Where she was ambitious and domineering, he was calm and harmonious. Where she saw potential problems and failures, he saw opportunity and hope. They would never agree on anything… but they didn’t have to. They were the exact right kind of wrong. And what should have been one quick shag after work would become the unlikeliest romance any of their friends had ever witnessed. They would become that couple who would probably kill each other if it weren’t for the fact that they were so hopelessly in love. And who could say an ill word against that? The bitch in black with the smiling child of the sun? It would be a marriage of the cynicism of reality with the dream-world of fantasy, the harsh edges with the soft lines, the water with the fire, the dirt with the air. It would be a universe all its own.

It would be a relationship.

It would be a perfect mess.

And above all, it would be hot.

Just the Two of Us

Another curse/blessing of working in Touristville? Lots of time to daydream. Today, my daydream centered on that very special topic called “my dream life”, or rather “my dream life with my dream boy.”  Here’s a look at what I came up with:

(To be clear: In my dream, we will have everything we need and more – not just because we have each other, but also because in dreams you don’t have to worry about money… you know, because they are dreams!)

In my dream,

We will dress in costume everyday… unless of course, we are in the mood to stay in our pajamas and slippers and things.

We will dance spaztically to all our favorite songs, every morning (… and afternoon… and night.)

We will read tea leaves and play with cootie catchers (dirty ones!) and read Shakespeare out loud, and with gusto! And with very little understanding of what we’re actually saying, probably, but with passion and fervor, goddamnit!

We will stay indoors for thirty days – because we can!

He will teach me how to play things like World of Warcraft, and I will teach him how to laugh at absolutely everything.

We will have a little mutt or a black cat named Pandora.

We will spend hours in bed, just talking and dreaming… when we aren’t doing the other thing, naturally!

We will sing constantly (well, a lot anyway), creating ballads out of thin air – singing our thoughts rather than saying them.

We will watch movies both ridiculous and amazing. We will know all the lines to the Flight of the Choncords songs, not to mention the dialogue. We will fall asleep watching re-runs of Lost in Space.

We will do everything the Nerve.com books tell us to.

We will throw costume parties every month, or every other month, or… a lot! We will have a disco ball and we will all dance like total lunatics, to music we actually like!

We will travel the Earth. We will go to bustling cities and deserted corners of forgotten islands. We will go to places of origin, places of culture, places of sheer madness. We will go wherever we want, whenever we want.

We will go everywhere together. Stay anywhere together. Always have each other. Love each other. Want each other.

We will be madly in love.

And someday, we will have two little girls who we will call Pippette and Theony, and maybe a boy called Aro. We will give them everything they need and teach them everything they need to know, and more than that. We will teach them how to extract the most possible joy out of life, out of every single day. We will teach them how to love, how to be loved, how to be patient and strong, how to admit to mistakes, ask for forgiveness, forgive and be forgiven. We will teach them how to laugh. We will teach them how to learn.

But before that, we will just exist together, in everything and through everything.

Just the two of us.

You Make Me Sick

Today I am VERY cranky.

But not, thankfully, at any person!

No, no – I am irritated at this stupid EFFING sickness!!!

Luckily, this is not a hormonal sickness, so I have yet to scream at any member of my family for being… insensitive… or something. (Although I did have a small tiff with my sister last night when she wouldn’t admit to having lost something VERY important – a phone charger. But that’s another story.)

And though I know that no one is to blame for my current state (we’re blaming allergies just so no one can be accused of infecting me), I still find myself wishing there was someone to help.

Currently, my sickness is really not that bad… incredibly frustrating, but not the worst I’ve been through. Still, wanting that certain someone to be there for me in my time of despair has lately been known to accompany these things. Can’t I just have some gorgeous man who will wrap me up in blankets and sing me to sleep or something? He doesn’t even have to be gorgeous… a Michael Cera type would most certainly suffice. The point is, sickness gives me an actual valid excuse to be needy. And admit to it. So I am.

God, I have so much homework and crap to do, Aqua Aerobics is tonight… I just want to SLEEP!

Okay… whew! It feels soooo good to complain sometimes!

Thanks for not metaphorically slapping me across the face!

(Not that you would, but it’s possible that I myself have a slight compulsion to greet whining with physical violence… kidding!)

The Littlest Prince

Today was another painfully un-eventful day at work in Touristville, CA.

(Except for the time the emergency alarm went off and we couldn’t find the key to lock the door that would silence it and one of the customers got all bothered and weird and told my co-worker that I had been “very rude.” Yah… except for that…)

The store was moderately busy, I was moderately irritated at being scheduled on a Sunday, and the whole thing was pretty much like any other day at work.

Now, over the past few days I have discovered something particularly useful in helping to keep me awake through the duration of my shift. This thing is Mobile Twitter.

True, Twitter and I have had our ups and downs. We got off to a pretty rocky start, what with my expecting it to be always on top of things, and its total and utter failure to do so. But we stuck with it - developed a rhythm, boundaries (sort of), and a deeper understanding of our own respective quirks. At the moment we are enjoying a period of happiness and adoration (though this could end at any time, as we’re both terribly moody!) The only problem we seem to suffer from is the horrifying thought of ever having to be apart. (Seriously, I often keep my phone next to my pillow, on silent, so that I can wake up to it in the morning. That is how bad it’s gotten.)

While being able to take Twitter with me to work is a huge advantage, it still does not solve the problem of being bored out of my skull all the time… because that would be IMPOSSIBLE. (I will say that it solves the problem about three times out of ten… which may explain why I have unceremoniously taken over your wall the last couple of days… Sorry!)

Yesterday, in one of those dreaded but inevitable moments of boredom, I discovered a toy that was rendered “un-sellable” on account of it’s having fallen apart from within it’s box. This toy was a “Little Prince.” (You may remember him… I twittered about it. Naturally.) The toy is not actually called a  ”Little Prince” but a “Frog Prince”… however, seeing as the frog head had already fallen off by the time I discovered him, I decided to rename it.

Aaaanyway, in case you don’t know what a Little Prince is (few do) it is a little toy frog in a cup which miraculously grows into a little toy prince in a cup after adding water and allowing him to sit for 72 hours (I know… he takes a while!) He has a little crown and everything… and, I imagine, is intended to make quite a catch for Thumbelina, as he would still be rather small even at full size.

Naturally, being absolutely delighted with anything that allows us to behave like children, my manager and I decided to grow him… the frog head was lost, but the frog head was merely an illusion to begin with… and we don’t discriminate! So I filled the cup with water (messy… you have to get it all in a little hole!) and placed him on the counter for constant surveillance. Or, half-assed-barely-paying-attention surveillance… but I think you get the idea!

Everything was going along pretty smoothly… he had an ink splotch under his left eye that looked like a shiner (tiny prince vs tiny peasant show-down, perhaps?) and I was too lazy to change his water so he was standing in a sea of green (frog-die)… but other than that, everything was going along according to schedule. Or was it? Little Prince, although appearing to have grown substantially since the previous night, was actually the EXACT SAME SIZE! The cup had magnifying powers, the little demon! It could, being so filled with water, trick the eye into believing that Little Prince had done his part and grown during the night. Apon peering in at the prince from the top of the cup, however, it became clear that he had not. DECEIT. I was so furious at Little Prince for his lying that I barely even protested as Third-Party Coworker carted him off to the microwave for experimental purposes. Perhaps this is what he deserves, I reasoned.

Three minutes later, Little Prince was returned. It did not look good. He had, in fact, exploded. It was… horrible. I cried (not really). There was a funeral (there wasn’t). The Queen came (she didn’t). And as I was staring into his little demolished face, it stuck me – the meaninglessness of it all. True, magnifying himself to appear larger was truly heinous. But hadn’t he always been up-front about how long it would take? He wasn’t going to get there for 72 hours! I had known this! It hadn’t even been 24 hours, though, before I became so impatient that I allowed for his certain death. What was wrong with me? Was I really so careless, so callous, so selfish as to demand more from him than that which he had promised? I couldn’t bare it… it was too much to take.

I hadn’t even remembered to take pictures for a “before and after”….

(Okay, who found all the dirty parts?)

In Conclusion

*** I would like to preface this post by saying that I in no way pretend to (fully) understand female sexuality (my own included)! I do not want to make anyone feel that I have tricked them into believing something about me, only to wind up taking it back. I also appreciate the support I recieved after writing about my confusing (or enlightening) experience. It was scary for me to put that out there, and you all really helped! So thank you. And if you feel I’m leaving anything out, please feel free to ask… I’m trying to be as honest as possible. *** 

I like boys. There, I said it. 

I feel better already!

About a week ago, I posted this blog (followed by this one… and this one) detailing my maybe-possibly crush on one of my female friends.

At the time, I thought my crush was undeniable… unquestionable… real. So I did what any rational, but confused person would do in this situation: I told EVERYONE. Okay… maybe not everyone. Just my friend Suzy, my mom, my brother, and anyone else who reads this blog (a.k.a. all of you)!

It was true, I had been attracted to girls in the past, fleetingly, curiously – and now I had even experienced a physical, chemical, sexual attraction to my friend Evie… so did that mean I was bi? I didn’t really like the term “bi-sexual”, nor did I feel any strong association with it; but when I told people about my crush, I reasoned that I must be bi… considering that the only real implication of this term is that I am attracted to girls as well as boys. But whenever I had this conversation with anyone, my confession always felt a little flat… and I couldn’t help feeling that, even though I had reacted to my friend sexually, I was basically full of shit. I was lying, somehow.

Intensifying this little suspicion was the fact I did not feel like I had a crush on my friend… at least, not a crush the in way that I had so far known crushes to be.  

I did not feel about Evie the way that I felt about boys I had liked. I did not think of her constantly, plagued by wonderings about whether or not she liked me, hypothetical scenarios about what it would be like to be together, and the strange kind of worry mixed with excitement and anticipation that necessarily accompanied every other crush I had ever had. When I thought about being involved with her romantically, my prevailing thought was – “Well that would be stupid!” I did not want Evie to be my girlfriend… I loved her, adored her… but as a friend.

Boys on the other hand… well I won’t get into the details (at least… not yet) but I can tell you with absolute certainty that I do want them. A LOT.

Love As Death

It’s possible that I will read this at the poetry thing tomorrow night… just POSSIBLE. With all the right dramatic tonations… the slooow annunciation… and some slightly heavy breathing, at just the right points.

Love as Death

A jagged cliff
I was flung myself off of
A rope I tightened too fast round my neck
That odious gas I breathed in as blossoms
You poison me with your glorious breath

 

And words you spoke, unthinking
And lines you wrote while sleeping
You do this for your own means
But you cannot see the hurt

Will you not know me as I sleep to death
Wrapped in warm, fictitious covers?
Will you desert me in my time of need
Of everything unholy?

I need you like a deity
You disappoint as such
I do not understand you
But I love you,
Or I must

We both distrust each other
You’re a liar
So am I

I wrap you in my arms
Like a lover lost in lust
You don’t know me
But you want me
I’ve convinced you of this much

But your kisses only smother me
Your clutching hands leave marks
You break me open in your haste
I come back to you for more

Still intact enough to move
I have not been broken small enough
There are fragments of me still
Still fragments to be heated
To be melted down to nothing
To become those fatal gasses
That will aggravate your lungs

So be ever what you are
My poisonous desire
The thing that kills me
Makes me still
Leaves me here with nothing
Not even myself
Nor life, nor death
Nothing at all but who you are
A murderous, disastrous love

****

Okay, so I realize there are many mistakes… especially in the pacing at the last two paragraphs (stanzas?)… so if you know how I could correct this, or have ANY advice at all, PLEASE tell me! You know, before I read it out loud to a room full of strangers.