Sliding clothes and Revelations

I speak to myself like a slam poet. I don't know what it is, but the cadence of my internal voice has taken on something that should be confined to a late night coffee house.

But I digress.

Why is it that whenever a woman's shoulder strap falls down, it says more than her flashing bare breasts about? Just that one hardware dazzled piece of fabric, a mere three inches from where it's supposed to be, and magic happens. Whether it's the subtle sexiness of that woman that you admire being comfortable or concentrated on what she's doing, or it's a deliberate moment, slid down by a careful finger.

Oh look! A creative segue into my next topic of conversation!

Being a sex symbol.

Oh I know you think I'm being cocky now. But while I might not be on par with Jessica Alba or Pamela Anderson, I seem to attract large amounts of males who want to have sex with me. It's disturbing, and it's annoying. Do I emit some pheromone that says, "I don't really want any sort of real emotional relationship, I just want you to do me. Really. Who would ever want a rational, intelligent connection with someone? Screw that just screw me." What person could possibly ever say that?

Granted, I have wanted that at one time or another. When you just get out of a relationship and you're hurting, you don't really want to replace that person with another person who is going to do the same things, remind you of all the good times you had and make you run screaming to the freezer with your wooden spoon to watch The Notebook over and over again. It's not healthy.

But there comes a time, after a natural period of healing, that I would like to get back to actually finding a connection. God damnit, I sound like a pitiful online dating ad. This entire blog has become one of me wordvomiting onto the page my shitty emotional feelings. Oh well.

I just would like to enter into a situation where someone went, "You know what, I don't immediately think about having sex with her every time I see her." not "I just want to be your friend, but it would be GREAT if I could slake my sexual frustration with you. Are you game?" Or even better, "I don't even really like you as a person, but you're fucking hot, so I pretend to like you so I can get to third base repeatedly."

Surely I'm not the only damn person on the planet that wants this. Surely I'm not so inhumanly twisted, so flawed in my personality that I can't manage to find and/or keep one of these people.

But maybe I am.

Days wasted searching

for gold stars faded on

too-small clothes.

Just a bit more skin

to paint my canvas of

happiness.

You know all the

lyrics to every

Beatles song written, and

I'm always amazed at

the way you twist

words in ways

I wasn't expecting

and try vainly to

imitate.

But I'm not your

white picket fence

no "Honey I'm Home"

and kiss on the cheek.

I'm your, "Hey do you

do this?" and "Are you

clean? I don't do

crotch rot."

Is it so bad to want

that hug when I

come home and

can't help but cry?

I  know it's

Guy's Night,

Poker and Cigar Smoke

that I lie about hating.

Just a phone call to

cancel plans, ignoring

the jeers and the imitated crack

sounds.

Just to sit on the couch,

without plans of

getting naked later.

Tired of sewing my soul

into bone-lined

corset tops

involuntarily.

Could someone just be

that robe waiting at the

end of the night,

to cover that flesh

it seems everyone's

seen?

Apologies and Revolutions

I've just realized that I've been bitching at you all without properly introducing myself. Here is what I consider the most important aspects of my personality. 

I believe in the power of Marvel Comics. They're proof that the independent company can fight against the major monopoly and win. They stand on the principles of realism and characterization, going out of their way to prove that their heroes are real, have real problems and real flaws just like you and I. Spider-man is my favorite. 

I am a quiet person. I don't chase confrontation instinctively. However, I have trained myself not to back away from a fight. 

I write, and my characters live in my head; specifically my two major characters, Jessica and Dacey. They argue in my head. It's a long story. 

My favorite authors are John Fowles and Kurt Vonnegut. John because he admits that his characters drive the plot themselves, and he doesn't make them do things, and Kurt because he isn't afraid to address the serious with the funny.


I have slight to moderate compulsive tendencies as well as a ceaseless mind. I obsess, and I over-analyze to the point of insanity. Hence I have a blog. 


I like to consider myself intelligent, but the only real challenge I've ever had comes from Pointe and my misshapen feet. 


I'm addicted to sex. 

I use sex and music as "testing the waters" conversations. A person's opinions on one, the other, or both can really impact where they stand in my mind. 

I like stale cheetos.


I love listening to stories and talking to people. I will sacrifice almost anything that is already on my schedule for a good conversation. 


I never show my real emotions, and I never say everything that is on my mind. I have a permanent filter between me and the rest of the world because I don't know what is acceptable and I'm paralyzed by fear of screwing up. 


I don't understand social customs or interactions. 


I'm a terrible romantic. This doesn't mean I believe there is some prince charming waiting for me. Instead I just enjoy reveling in the beauty of the world, of poetry, of fiction, and I think that analysis, that picking that thing apart kills it, and I believe it should just be appreciated at all costs. 


I don't understand that people think differently than me. I know nothing different than that, and have a hard time comprehending something I don't know.

Rejection and the God that is Onion Sam

Oh look! Another blog. "Aren't you an entertaining one?" She asked sarcastically.

Everyone knows the sting of rejection, right? Right. It's not a friendly one. Rejection is no Sour Patch Kid of emotion, kicking you in the shin before hugging you tightly. No. It is more the Warhead of the candy world, making you cry up until that very last moment, after which you are left with a confused, empty feeling in your mouth where something is missing, but you don't know why you miss it. 

A person could be rejected for many reasons. They could be rejected because a better candidate is found. This is not a comfortable rejection, but it is a rejection out of your control. Perhaps it is personal preference, perhaps that person worked harder than you. It's hard to tell. A person could be rejected on something as idiotic as their appearance or the color of their skin. This never has any standings (unless, of course, you need a person to fit into a specific dress and the one person who applied cannot possibly fit into the dress. Magic is not a viable solution.) Thirdly, and most uncomfortable of all in my opinion, a person could be rejected because of their personality. 

This one is a sticky subject, because it has two faces. A person could be rejected because of their ACTUAL personality, or because of their PERCEIVED personality. (Let the record show that on first attempt I misspelled PERCEIVED. I before E rule.....I hate you.) These situations are both equally frustrating. On the one hand, a person's personality is their personality. Sometimes they can't change it, and other times if they could change it, they won't. A personality is a person's stuff. It's what makes them them, what differentiates them, what identifies them, what defines them. It's part of how you describe someone. "Oh, he's funny." "Oh she's a raging bitch face who hates everyone." "Oh, he is an absolute pussy that never follows through with anything." That's who that person is. 

Or is it? Perhaps none of those attributes I gave those people are true. BUT I THINK THEY ARE. How easy would it be to change my mind? How easy would it be for me to change my perception of that person? Not very. That's how. If I think they're a bitch, no matter how much un-bitchy stuff they do, I'm going to think they did it for a bitchy reason. "Oh, she gave me a candy bar! She must want me to get fat." "Oh, she said something nice about me! I know there's a catch."

You know who would never judge you based on some sort of perceived judgment that they may or may not have made upon you? Onion Sam. Onion Sam is a God among men, considerate and kind, offering to fix whatever problems ail the world, or specifically, Miss Kate. Would that I were Miss Kate. But robbed of my Onion Sam, I would've resorted to such a life of crime as she did, ensuring that each and every person who ever discriminated upon my dearest Sam or I (Oh, that means you. You know who you are) paid most dearly and equally. But I digress.

All of this sounds like petty shit that I'm making up because I have some metaphorical bone to pick with he who shall not be named (NOTE: This is not the same person as He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.) Perhaps. But you know that you do it too. I'm not alone, am I? 

Quizas soy. I'm being irrational. I'm using woman's logic. I'm exaggerating. Put me into whatever box you would like. But, am I really being irrational? If you've already decided I'm irrational, and I make a rational argument, are you going to concede to me? Or are you just going to blow off my argument as irrational because you KNOW I'm being irrational? Isn't that putting the cart before the horse? Aren't you purchasing that house with that McDonald's Monopoly money you won before you cashed that paycheck which you used to buy that McDouble which you THINK has that ever important Park Place sticky square you so desire? 

At this point, I'm nigh inconsolable. Only the sweet nothings whispered in my ear by a romanticized mule-owning onion-growing archetype will repair me. 

"I can fix that."

Introductions and Hypocrisy

Hello there. 

I know what you're thinking. "Why on earth does a manipulative bitch have a blog? Why would I ever want to listen to something a bitch says?" 

It's a simple answer, really. There's a reason that bitches rule the world, and that answer is this: because we're good at what we do. Usually. It's like when someone gets angry at an animal because they've outsmarted them. "Stupid *insert animal here*" Now, that animal is not really stupid. It's more intelligent than you are. So really, stop calling it names. The reason people don't like bitches (and the reason they should pay attention to them) is because they get things done. At least, we manipulative ones do. Regular, run of the mill bitches are a horse of a different color. 


Now, the real reason I've called you all here is this: I hate hypocrisy. You are not allowed to preach to me about what you hate and how terrible your life has been and then inflict the same pain on me. I'll give you a nice example! 


Friend Zone. It's an ugly word that no one wants to be on the receiving end of. The givers use it to pacify people pursuing them, and the pursuers simply abhor and fear it. Seriously. It's the stuff of nightmares. Eternal pining, watching your "friend" go through relationship after relationship (The particular winners are the ones where they go through BAD relationship after BAD relationship. You know FOR A FACT that you could be a better boyfriend/girlfriend to them, and they simply continue to ignore you because you are a "friend.") Cruel and unusual punishment, it is. I'm sure when given a choice, any sane person would rather be stretched upon the rack as their vertebrae slowly separate than condemned to the everlasting hell that is friend zone. 

Logically, anyone who has been subjected to it multiple times, anyone who has felt its horrible breath upon their neck, the stench of festered hopes long dead and emaciated souls starving for reciprocation settling over them as permanent as that cigar smoke from that nasty bar you accidentally walked by on your way home, they would never want to put anyone else in that position again. For the most part, I don't speak the word "Friend Zone" when rejecting potential suitors. Let's face it. Not everyone that asks you out is going to get to dating territory. To each their own must apply. But being selfish and expecting to get everything you want from the relationship, yet not giving the other person everything is unfair. If they want it, they are legitimately insane and you can feel free to escort them to the sanatorium of their choice.  Finding yourself in that situation after years/months/weeks of friendship is one thing, but being forcibly put there while you want nothing to do with it is another.


I'm not going to lie. I've used it before. It goes with the territory of being a bitch, particularly a manipulative one. I twist situations and relationships to my advantage, usually ignoring the pain and suffering I place others in. (Really, what self respecting bitch doesn't?) But I swear to you, anonymous nothingness that is you people out there in cyberspace (Note to self: No one is actually reading this, that's the only reason you are comfortable putting ANY of this up here) I am going to change. Perhaps that's what this blog is really about. I've got to stop being a manipulative bitch, because it's bad for me and it's bad for those around me (or so I've been told.) This will not be over quickly. You will not enjoy this...or at least I won't.