i'd say that 98% of my life is spent wondering how the people i encounter in my daily life are in bed. and how they'd fair with me, if given the go'head. like that super nice guy at work, all american, kind of looks like mr incred ible from that cartoon movie. sometimes his pants are a tad too short but this is more about fucking and less about fashion, right? i guess. anyway, he's the kind of guy who asks you how you're doing every time you pass him in the halls-then i feel bad because i just say fine and dont' ask back. i'll walk behind him and find myself thinking 'well, he has a kid so that means he had sex at least once. so is he like my bf-hating every minute of it, doing everything in his power to make sure he doesn't have to look at the vagina? or is he like me, completely starved and wishing on shooting stars that someone will fulfil my rape fantasy or pray that one day, ONE DAY, i'll be lucky enough to get DP'd all proper like?' i settle on the thought that he and his wife plan every encounter-mostly around her period or whether or not he was a good boy and took out the garbage without her asking. all while he's secretly searching craigslist to find and fuck a mexican tran ny with too much eyeliner and a tight, tan ass. that fat jerk two offices down: likes to be called daddy and secretly wishes he could find a hot young japchic to sh it oh him. the chic who told her (now ex-shocker!) husband that he couldn't take her in the ass until their 10 yr anniversary: gives terrible head must shower immediately afterwards. my boss: loves to bend a lady over anything, just as long as she's completely naked. the security guard at the gate of the garage: on more than one occasion has turned up in the emergency room with a litebulb up his ass. the douchebag who sold me my phone headset at the kiosk in the mall: puts a gun to his girlfriends face while he fucks her, while they lay upon a bed of dollar bills (wishes they were hundos). everybody. i study their faces looking for any clue they'll give me. how do their hands hang at their sides? how do they walk? how are they touching the person they're with. this is not a science. i'm gross.

I would tell you all about it if I thought you wanted to listen. Instead I talk about things that I know will get a response. Still, I'm having a hard time dealing with feeling like I have no control over a lot of things. It's ironic to say you just want to be taken care of, then all of a sudden you're unable to take care of yourself. I'm pretty sure that's not even irony. I'm a comedian in my own head. I will sit in an empty room and strain to think of something genius. Like when you're concentrating so hard that your tongue pokes out of the side of your pursed lips and your eyes squint and your back aches. It's disappointing when all that comes to me is the image of U ma Thur man with blotchy red eyes and a jagged cut on her left cheek making dirty love to an obese man with tits larger than her own. His frown says he's just as disappointed as you are while his fat, sweaty balls wish they saw the light of day more often than they do. U ma wishes she didn't queef while she did yoga but the fat man forces so much air up there when he fists her. She's still more content than I am.

sometimes

sometimes, you cannot speak of your love for another.

sometimes, someone will suck you in and spit you out when you get too close because that is all they know how to do.

sometimes, someone’s heart will break and crack into tiny little fragments in their chest before it even hits the ground.

sometimes, the timing is off.

sometimes, things go right and sometimes things go horribly wrong.

sometimes, you give and sometimes you take.

sometimes, you say you are sorry.

sometimes, you walk away.

sometimes, things are not your fault and sometimes others will see differently.

sometimes, love just isn’t enough.

sometimes, well…sometimes, love is too much.

sometimes, things aren’t always what they seem.

sometimes, you have no energy and it takes every ounce of strength left to open your eyes, stare up at the ceiling and force yourself out of bed.

sometimes, you can’t breathe. you can’t even whisper a barely audible hello to a complete stranger because you know the second you open up your mouth, your voice will crack and the tears will fall because your heart and mind just can’t seem to stop thinking...

sometimes, you are skipping down the street whistling a merry, little tune because you are the one that walked away.

sometimes, you are so sad and alone that you can’t even stand to be in your very own skin.

sometimes, you are in love. so much in fact, that nothing else really seems to matter and you are flying. you are flying so high that you literally cannot breathe because the beautiful feeling next to you feels that good.

sometimes, you can’t sleep at night. you toss and you turn and it sucks because you know in just a few short hours you have to force yourself to get up and go to work.

sometimes, writing in your journal just isn’t enough. so you find yourself typing uncontrollably and you send your passage to a wide, open space for all the world to see. and you find comfort in that because someone out there is going through the exact same thing as you and no matter how uncanny it is, they can 100% relate to everything you are saying/typing, feeling and thinking. you then realize that you are not alone after all.

sometimes, you sleep well. a little to well.

sometimes, you regret things; whether it be actions or words and sometimes you don’t regret a thing.

sometimes, you wake up and look over at your beautiful feeling, who is sound asleep, and think about how much you love them. then your ego takes over and tells you how much you despise them. how your beautiful feeling is no longer beautiful because it is bringing you down and everything else around you. it is too much work, too much energy for you to deal with. your beautiful feeling has gotten to close and it has made you see things in yourself that you were not ready to see, nor were you prepared to see. you start to get angry and make up every excuse as to why it won’t work. without hesitation, you get up, you get dressed, you pack up your belongings and slowly and quietly creep towards the door, knowing full well it is a point of no return. whatever reasons your ego is giving you to walk beyond that door, you are listening because your ego is a very powerful thing; despite what your heart says, your ego forces you to open that door. it’s not your fault, nor is it your beautiful feeling’s fault.

sometimes, things just happen and things occur and it is out of your control. so you open that door and you leave with no kiss on the forehead, no handshake, no peace, no wish you well, no note or message of any kind. you just simply walk away.

sometimes, you wake up and look over at a total stranger because you were trying to fill a void by having meaningless sex.

sometimes, you wake up and look over and see nothing but an empty space. so you roll over on your back and stare up at the ceiling and a tear falls and gets your ear all wet…but you don’t care because you are much too involved in your thoughts. and you begin to wonder about your beautiful feeling because it wasn’t too long ago that they lay next to you. and you realize your ego was wrong all along…you don’t hate your beautiful feeling. in fact, they were one of your greatest teachers. had it not been for them, you would not have learned all that you did since your breakup. and then you realize you never stopped loving that person. in fact, you love them just as much, if not more, today than you ever did before; even though it has been months since your last interaction. and then you get upset, sad and frustrated because you can’t call them or email them to say hi or to even say thank you for whatever reasons you have.

sometimes, you treat another horribly; even though you know it is wrong and would never want to be treated in the same fashion yourself, you do it anyway. why? after all, you did share a history with that person. it doesn’t matter how or why it ended, what does matter is respect for another human being. swallow your pride and kick your ego to the curb and at the very least, shake hands before you walk and kick them to the curb.

sometimes, you are the crusher.

sometimes, you are the crushed.

sometimes, you cannot speak of your love for another, for whatever reasons you have. no matter how intense, how strong, how passionate, how beautiful, how chaotic, how distant or how real your feelings and love are…sometimes, typing is all you have left.

sometimes, you want to talk with that person and tell them anything and everything, even if it is as just a friend. you miss this person in your life, just because. but you can’t tell this person anything because this person doesn’t want to be contacted because this person’s ego says so.

sometimes, you are the one in control and say, ‘please, no contact.’ no matter who you are and what the situation is…everyone deserves a second chance. we have all been the crusher’s and we have all been the crushed, so we all know what it feels like on either side. why spit on someone then? if you can aide in closure, in giving someone peace…please do so. if you are not willing to give a second chance to the friendship and or the relationship, at least say, ‘peace to you’…then walk away.

sometimes, when i think of you and i, i wonder...was i the crusher or was i the crushed?

sometimes, i wonder about you, just as i am sure you wonder about me. i mean, we are human after all. but god forbid one of us picks up the phone or emails the other. despite everything that has happened and every thing that was said…god forbid, because we have too much pride, don’t we? so i will continue to wonder about you, just as you will probably continue to wonder about me. and as a result, i will always wonder what could have been.

just like i know you are going to automatically think this is about you.
well, it’s not.
because you see…sometimes…
sometimes, things aren’t always what they seem.

sometimes, i forget.
which ever role i played.

sometimes i floss my teeth with my hair. only when i'm bored at work and i've run out of things to look at on the internet which means i don't do it often. i have thick, luxurious hair that works well for flossing. i also lose a lot of hair while blowdrying or flatironing or breathing, mostly because i have so much of it. one day i will weave you a fine bolero jacket from lost hair. but only after i take a handfull of margarine and smear it all over your face. ok, just your mouth. then we'll kiss hard and rough to ensure that i have equal amounts of margarine on my own face. then i'll walk away and you'll stare at my ass and shake your head in disbelief, like, AGAIN?

un-lady-like

i think this is weird but i jilled off 6 times this morning. idunno how it happened. i was on the couch putting on some makeup and watching the news and was like, it's time. perhaps it happened because i was checking out my vadge in my little hand-held make-up mirror? perhaps. i know it wasn't the news i was watching. you'd think the news would hinder the act but i was pleasantly surprised to find out it didn't. and i know girls aren't supposed to say things like this but i tasted it. i also wanted to go back to sleep but sadly i had to get dressed for work. i wonder if he knew what was going on after he got out of the shower because you know when you get yourself a lot of times in a row it smells like sex in the room. i was thinking that he notice because we both were freshly showered and you might smell something out of the ordinary that's not necessarily bad but sex'ish. like i give a shit.

85degrees of regret

Well what do you know, to bask in the warm 85 degree southern california weather was fantastic for my health. Of course it was. Laying on the beach in January is the best thing ever. i think it would be ironic if i moved to san diego and my sister decided to move back to the bay area. l.a. is an enigma to me. i saw a short little midget-esque woman doing squats with a huge weight bar on the beach. we weren't even anywhere near venice. how did she get that piece of gym equipment out to the beach anyway? i saw a very jazzersize'esque tranny strolling in front of pinkberry like only a tranny can . i took my eyes off my heavenly yogurt only for a moment to admire the legwarmers and ankle weights. he was followed by a bette midler fake impersonator. if that's red, what's orange??? i probably said that too loud. i hung with a lady with 25 mice in her home. she saved them certain death by snake ingestion. she was very hospitable and offered many varieties of stuff you put in a bong. i saw a man enjoying a leisurely beverly hills lunch with his dog on his lap. his lapdog was a 70'ish lb lab. oh beverly hills, you so crazy! spy photos! i also saw pineap ple express which is now in my top5 and it's not just because i was introduced to a certain person in that film when i went to visit his dad. if that was the case i would have liked spiderman a lot more than i did. yes, i regret not fucking him.

happy birthday jesus, you magic man!

the best christmas tradition we have is the one where we stay in new pj's all day and drink mimosas. last year we also threw in 9 hours of guitar hero. i figured we'd do the same this year but instead we had all of the single men we know with nowhere to go on christmas day over to our house. this will always seem like a good idea when you think it in your head and even maybe when you say it out loud to said single men, but when they start showing up holding bottles of alcohol you start to wonder, really? what kind of idiot are you? I was happy to see 6 more bottles of champagne, you know, to keep the mimosa train rolling. when i saw 1 bottle of cheap vodka pass through my front door i was leary but thought that might also work well with the oj. but when one bachelor showed up with 1 bottle of absinthe...well lets just say i pretty much knew right there that this would end badly. already drunk me + pj's that show off more boob than is appropriate for men other than your boyfriend + being the only "lady"/attention whore in the house + absinthe layered over vodka layered over champagne = this will end badly. like i needed to lay that equation out for you. i remember dancing in the kitchen to some bowie on vinyl while i checked out my own rack in the mirror. i remember mentally high fiving myself but real life winking and finger-gun-shooting at myself as i admired my tits. i remember watching porn in the basement with 4 dudes watching behind me. i remember not being as uncomfortable with this as i probably should have been. i remember more dancing, more absinthe, and karaoke. then the rest comes in flashes. flash to puke. flash to the shower. flash to the bed. flash to another chic. flash to the dog barking. flash to finally locking the front door and turning off all the lights. at 10pm. TEN PM! now that's how you celebrate jesus' birthday right there.
i don't drink anymore.

sometimes we'll go a week without...and when we do...we do not discuss

sometimes we'll go a week without
weeks. like, a few weeks. this is very difficult for me since i am entering my prime. your 'low drive' excuse is tired because i'm quite certain you toss off once a day. your 'catholic guilt' excuse is also tired. those two in that list of excuses are accompanied by the 'i saw my mom get hit' excuse and the 'i don't want you to think i see you as a sex object' excuse. i'm tired of all of them because being an object isn't a bad thing every once in a while. being slapped can be fun. i can get with that. also, i am not your mom. the worst on that list is the one where you say that the sex is not the most important thing in a relationship. don't you go making me feel like an addict. don't you dare. i don't go around calling you a fag because you aren't consistently fucking me, now do i? no. sometimes we'll go a week or three without.
and when we do
you don't look at me. ever. you only like to fuck me from behind. make no mistake, i do like it that way, but once in a while it's nice to feel the weight of you on top of me. you don't pull my hair hard enough. it's like you only do it to hold on and it's only for a minute. leverage. you don't say dirty things to me. you don't say anything actually. you don't make a sound. nothing. it's quiet. not peaceful. awkward, almost. it'd be nice to hear just a little grunt to let me know you're even ok with how far down my throat your dick is creeping. speaking of, your face hasn't been down near my spot in i don't know how long. i can count the number of times it has been in two years, on one hand. it seems as though you're totally put off by me. by sex. by my sex. remember that one time i pounced on you wearing only a tank & boyshorts? and you told me to get off of you because we had to go? because you had work to do? ouch. and that's just one example. and when we do it's just ok.
we do not discuss
fantasies. past experiences. there is no giggling at embarrassing old sex stories. we do not share. i'm not ashamed or afraid. i'm interested in hearing what you've done, what you want to do, what you won't do. i'm open to anything and that's not just because the times we finally do are few and far between. like i'm desperate. for affection and sex and connecting. because of all of this, it's like my ego has been stomped on by optimus prime. i've stopped asking for it. i've stopped part of who i am because no ego can recover from being stomped on by optimus prime. we do not discuss because i fear that you will resent it. the catch 22 is that i am beginning to resent that we don't. we do not discuss.

distraction

I don't think I'm going to go for that run, after all. It was one of those things that totally runs through your mind and once you say it out loud you're like "Wow me, that would probably end badly. Perhaps you would be better off sitting around playing Klondike on your iPod while you listen to something emo. You know you have something emo on your iPod, you douchebag. Oh and eat a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos once in a while too, because you're totally depriving yourself, asshole." Maybe you're not as hard on yourself as I am and that's great. I eat a lot of tuna. That is not a euphemism for something else. I also eat a lot of beets. I have very low cholesterol so there's that! Anyway, may all your guilt shoe purchases work out for you. I'm afraid to say I have sort of similar type guilt but in my version I bought a pair by a dicktress hotel tycoon's daughter. They are so high I also fear for my life since I'll be drunk when I wear them. Maybe a boob will pop out. Fingers crossed!

3 short notes

I have made some (sometimes creative) awesomeness with leftovers. Today is the very last of it...brown rice. I am so asian. I ate it with hot dogs. That might negate the asian part, but it's like heaven to me. I'm only asian'ish.

I was day drunk in SF this past Saturday. It resulted in me drunk shopping. That resulted in me drunk spending a lot of money on a dress. My intention is to drunk wear that dress to a giant corporate Vegas themed Christmas party this coming Saturday. I'm hoping the final drunk result is me getting cock-slapped for looking so gorgeously slutty. I need shoes.

I had a dream that I was (long story short) looking for someone to go down on me. I was like a feign, racing around a big space needle type building in search of a volunteer to get all oral-mania on my girlparts. Every time I'm dreaming of something sexual and trying to "plan" it out (for whatever reason) it doesn't end up happening for me. I need to learn how to just go with it in my dreams, let go, let the filthy gas station attendant go at it with the same kind of fervor that I have to get it. I'm not sure what my subconscious problem is but it's annoying. And blue-ballish.