New blog!

I’ve started the new funny blog. Not sure what I’m doing with this one, leaving it up for now in case I become a basket case and need to work it out with words.
Sweet Bird of Youth and Denial

Vagina and Jesus

Sooooo…it’s Saturday night and I’m actually going out. Shock! Generally I stay home, drink a beer, take an Ambien, watch a few Episodes of Cathouse (a reality show about the Moonlight Bunny Ranch in Nevada…which is a whorehouse, by the way), briefly consider if I could suck the dick of a balding, overweight dude who smells like Fritos for $1000 (of course I could, mama needs a boob job!), start to pass out midway through the show, wake up slightly only to enjoy the sensation of being drugged, fully pass out, wake up at 3 am to the sound of the Lesbian House still partying next door, inexplicably decide I need to to change my underwear if I intend to sleep more (thanks Ambien!), pass back out and rise at 8 AM after hitting the snooze button 18 times.

But tonight, since I have no clients tomorrow as of yet, I say fuck it, I’m going out. I’m sitting here waiting for my friend to get off work, debating on whether or not I want to shower off the stink of the day. I’m not looking to impress anyone but I do smell like a vagina/armpit hybrid. Other people’s vaginas though, not my own. My own smells great. The smell of my clients wriggles it’s way into my pores. The first year I did this job I couldn’t get the smell of pussy out of my nose after work. I’d go home and complain to Andy that all I smelled was vag stink. I’ve built up a tolerance now.

Later…
I caved and showered. I’m a very clean person. I’m not planning on having sex for a while but since I have had sex with the person I’m hanging out with tonight I felt that I should make an effort in case I ever need to have sex with him again. Though the thought of sex in general right now makes me want to puke up my burrito. Seriously, I can’t even fathom a dick coming near me right now. Nonetheless, I’m a planner and I might need dick someday, therefore, I showered.

But the god damn point is that I was sitting here killing time on the internet and came across a blog called TheBloggess.com. The woman who writes is probably someone I would attack with a shovel in real life but as words on a page she’s pretty damn funny. She abuses Xanax, talks about fucking bears, curses too much and has low self esteem. JUST LIKE ME!!! I read way too many pages on her blog which is basically about nothing except the random shit in her life and how she deals with it pretty poorly (and with drugs)…JUST LIKE ME!!!!! I’m a huge fan of anyone with the writing chops to make the mundane interesting. David Sedaris and Beth Lisick rock my dick because they excel at that shit. So anyway, reading the chick’s blog got me thinking about how I’m pretty damn funny….and totally modest.

I’ve been doing all this belly aching and serious soul searching shit lately and quite frankly I’m even boring myself. As someone who owns a vagina, it’s in my nature to explore how bad I fuck things up and what I can do better next time. If I owned a dick instead then I wouldn’t have to have a blog and I could spend more time trying to find where the fuck that “Monkey Plumber” porn clip disappeared to. Alas, I have a vag and I need to write my emotional shit out.

BUT…I think I might start a new blog, chronicling the mundane existence of a Portland vag waxer, possible alcoholic, Atavan abuser and dog lover. Why? Because I’m funny. And I need to write more. It’s not like I think I’m gonna pull a Diabolo Cody and get plucked out of blog obscurity and offered a three picture screenwriting deal….But we all spend a fair amount of time online, why not add one more thing for you to read. Why not make you read about dirty buttholes and fireman balls? So once I think of a new blog name I’ll start it up and keep all my funny shit over there. I’ll probably keep this one for any emotional crap I might have to spew. Though the fact that there won’t be any dick in or around me probably means that my emotional crap spewing will be at a minimum. Unless I turn to the clam side. Thought I’m pretty sure that living next to the dyke bar has cured me of any gayness I was harboring.

On that note, it’s ’round about time for me to venture out into the warm summer night, have some cocktails, play some Buckhunter and enjoy myself.

One tidbit: Today while I was waxing the vag of a lovely but socially awkward young girl I asked my standard question, “what are your plans this weekend?”
Her, “It’s my friend’s birthday so I’m taking her out to dinner and then out after”
Me, “Cool, where are you taking her?”
Her, “Well I met this amazing preacher on a plane the other week and he’s doing a revival at this ‘black’ church. I want to take her to that.”
Me…………pause to stare down at crotch while being perplexed. Wonder if her friend knows what a shit birthday is in store for her. Unless she digs Jesus a lot, then good for her.
Her, “What are you doing tonight? Wanna come be the third white girl in the church?”
Me, “Ahhhhhh, uuuuuuuuum…..I don’t get off work til late.”

She looked sad that she couldn’t save me. I was hoping she’d ask her about my right arm tattoo so I could tell her it was in honor of the abortion I got when I was 13 just so I could terrify her. I don’t know why religion brings that kind of reaction in me.

I think Jesus would have laughed though.

So black and blueeeeeeeooooooohhhhhoooohhh

I surprised myself today by singing along to a bad love song and not feeling like I wanted to tear out my eyes and shit my pants at the same time. I was figuring on a period of shouting at the stereo and smacking blindly at the volume control while choking back sobs. Pop songs will do that to you after a break up. Alas, while I’ve had several two minute intervals of intense gut aching melancholy, I’ve also been quite chipper. Chipper enough to sing along to a cheesy pop song that expounds on the feeling of love smacking you in the face.

Also, I was trying on dresses in a shop today and was struck by a moment of body appreciation. I realized for the first time in months I was looking for things that I liked not things that he might like. As I pulled a summer dress over my head I found myself admiring how the fresh tattoos on my hips sat above slouchy cut off shorts. Now that is sexy to me. Hips in beat to shit jeans. Tattoos and sun dresses. Cowboy boots and high hemlines. Big sunglasses and big earrings. Things that I like to see in the mirror. These past few days I’ve felt the freedom of being comfortable in my skin again. The freedom to not try to be fucking sexy all the time. I hadn’t realized how hard I had been trying to give him visual treats.

I have always taken pride in the fact that if you end up dating me for long enough for us to crash on the couch while I’m in sweat pants, I will be wearing some damn cute panties under those sweats. And when we go to bed, I’ll be wearing those cute panties, not the sweats. I’m a firm believer in not slacking in terms of attracting your partner. Who the fuck cares if you’ve been together 5 years? Do not shit with the door open, do not pick your nose in front of each other, do not gain 20 pounds or start dressing like shit. You have to keep trying.

I have never made such an effort in my life as I did for this man. I was constantly buying new lingerie and dresses. I wore stockings and garter belts. I wore short skirts with nothing underneath. I wanted him to constantly want me. To be wowed every time I opened the door for him. I wanted to do these things for him because they made me feel good. The fact that he never seemed to notice made me want to do it even more.

But….I learned a lesson. Or two. One, I can feel sexy as hell but if he doesn’t notice then my self esteem goes out the window and I start to doubt I even look hot in my new dress. Two, I’ve learned to appreciate past boyfriends simple enthusiasm for everything I am without trying. And their massive enthusiasm when I put in that extra bit of effort.

I feel so fucking free right now. Free and strong…and sad that I can’t be this person with him.

I’m inspired to keep writing every time sweet Rinbot writes me a comment about how much she can connect with what I’m saying. Knowing that she’s been through it to also makes me feel better. We’ve all squeezed the mouse too hard. We’ve all made someone miserable. We will all fall in love again and hopefully not repeat the same mistakes. I have an enduring faith that everything will always be okay.

It also made me feel better to belt out Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” in front of a room full of hipsters in a basement karaoke room while everyone laughed and danced.

Here’s to going out on school nights, keeping plans, river trips, making new friends and enjoying every minute of my first Portland summer.

Speaking of cheesy pop love songs…..It’s fitting.

Sunshine….

So I took everything down with the intent of re-birthing this blog to only feature weird, crafty shit that I do or any urban mischief me and the boys might get into.

But really now, we all know who’s talking. There’s no way I couldn’t get this shit out of my head and down in words. At first I thought, oh no I can’t write anything there because what if I end up writing TO him and not about what I’m thinking. Well fuck that. If I know him like I think I do then I know that he’ll be staying far away from this page due to the fact that he doesn’t want to read what I’m writing. Because he probably thinks I’m writing some woe is me shit and how he’s so great…which is not what he wants to be hearing right now.

(Though on the off chance that he’s enough of a sadist to be reading this….Read on! It’s enlightening. I had epiphany after epiphany in the last two days. I’m a genius!!!)

Well he’s not great. And I’m not great. We weren’t great together. There ya go.

After the Boy with No Skin and I broke up I was thrilled to not be crying every day of my life. I was thrilled to not be held accountable for someone’s tiny baby feelings anymore. He had made me his life. He had ditched all his friends and hobbies. He held me under a microscope and analyzed everything single little thing I said and did. I made him miserable by being myself and he made me miserable by making me think that being myself was such a terrible thing. I thought to myself, how could anyone think that this is love??

Oh shit, son, then I turned around and did the exact same thing to someone. THE EXACT SAME FUCKING THING!!!

I was SO EXCITED to be in love with someone that I was super stoked about that I completely fucked the dog, screwed the pooch, smacked the donkey and killed the kitten. I fucked up. I lost myself. I ditched out on people and projects. If my time wasn’t being spent with him than it was worth nothing to me. I analyzed everything he said and did. Well not at first, at first I was just in love and having wicked good sex. But unfortunately, his situation led to high stress and a whole lot of seriousness. I had been getting every bit of my happiness from him so when shit started getting harder and harder well then I found it harder and harder to stay happy. DUH. Instead of relaxing and investing more in my own life I let myself get more and more tangled in his. At a point when I should have been hanging out with my friends I was too busy worrying about him and his well being. And I would stress myself out sooo much that I’d try and break it off without ever even thinking that maybe if I relaxed and took a step back I wouldn’t NEED break it off. The motherfucker had no place to live for a while, HOW THE FUCK DO I RELAX when my BF has no home?? That’s not how my brain works. Whatever, nonetheless, I should have handled things way differently.

He always told me to relax. I didn’t understand how to relax with all the drama going on. To me it seemed like trying to yoga on a battlefield.

But I get it now. Kinda.

And don’t get me wrong, he screwed the pooch too. And he might be immature, socially inept and at times, completely clueless…but I have to cut him slack because he has less than half of the relationship experience that I have. I should know better.

Now if said boy was reading this by chance, get this:
I’ve been really fucking happy in Portland!!! Dammit, I’ve been happier here than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I love this city, I love myself and my friends. Wheeeeeeee, I’m so god damned happy….and then I met you. And I was even happier for a while.

And then I started to fuck it up. But in no way am I a miserable bitch.

But the great thing is, now I get what the fuck the Boy With No Skin was thinking. He loved me soooo much that he wanted to hold onto me any way he could. His method was smothering. Like the little mouse in Of Mice and Men, he loved me to death. He squished my little mouse body til I could no longer breathe.

I have always been loved by the men in my life more than I have loved them. I don’t think I’m secure enough to love someone as much as they love me. I suck at being vulnerable. I always have one foot out the door. Is that a good thing? Fuck no. But at least I know what my issues are.

Somewhere along the way with this guy, i realized that I loved him just as much as he loved me. And it scared the holy hell out of me. I had never felt more vulnerable or terrified. Now I had something to lose.

And I lost it. I squeezed the mouse. And it died.

Now any of my friends reading this who know me and this guy will surely say to me “Uh dude, you know he did this and this and this and we don’t really get what you fell so hard for….” yada yada. It’s true. I’ve had better matched boyfriends. I’ve had more romantic, funnier, less socially awkward boyfriends. But I fell hard for this kicked puppy of a man. For his talent, his kindness, his smarts, his buried drive and his sense of responsibility. I was charmed by the way that he seemed constantly uncomfortable and out of his element. I am a sucker for that shit. I’ve fallen for it before. We were an odd couple to be sure but you can’t help who you love. Maybe in the end his cluelessness about women and relationships would have driven me to run screaming for the door. Or maybe not. Who knows.

Cuz I killed the mouse. We won’t know.

The best thing for me about a break up is the gusto with which I tackle life again. I have classes planned, dates with friends set up and trips to the coast and LA in the future weeks. All things I wouldn’t have done if I was with him. Things I should have done, yes. But I was too busy focusing my entire life on him. Now I feel invigorated and oddly happy. Yeah, sure i cried this morning but it’s a fucking break up, you cry.

Onward. So anyway, this blog was immature and insightful. Sometimes I astound myself with my ability to take a step back and see in complete detail the mess I just made. It doesn’t mean that I won’t make mistakes but I do recognize them which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for some other people. These mistakes were brand spanking new mistakes that totally blind sided me. I have now officially had my ass kicked by love. I loved harder than the other side and I paid the price.

I think it’s pretty damn awesome that I got a chance to do it. To know that my little metal heart has the ability to get so excited about someone gives me great hope. In the future, I will pet the mouse and then let the mouse run around and play. I will not squeeze the mouse. And hopefully, the mouse will stay.

All gone

It’s gone.

Maybe someday I’ll go back and read through it and figure it all out. In the meantime It’s back to auto pilot.