Category: Relationships


Yesterday, I found myself trapped in a haze of ADD and it was all because it snowed.

Our Neighborhood on Friday morning (picture taken by Erin Nicole Bowman)

Since, of course, I live in Texas, my response to this was to say, “What’s snow?”  Well, apparently, it’s very white, it’s very cold, and it forces you to stay inside, watching Lifetime movies and old DVDs while posting too much information on twitter and generally trying to see how much you can annoy your older sister until she asks you if you’re interested in playing “the quiet game” for a little while.

(Incidentally, I don’t know about your older sister but mine turned out to be remarkably tolerant and I’m proud of her.)

It also keeps you from going to work and I know some people claim that’s a great thing but for me, it was really, really difficult.  In fact, if not for the fact that my boss specifically called me to tell me not to bother to come in because he wasn’t going to come in, I would have braved the ice and snow just so I could spend some quality time answering the phoner and saying, “I’m afraid he’s not going to be able to meet with you today.”  Scoff if you will but I would have happily done it and I regret not being able to do it because not going to work threw me off my routine and I spent most of yesterday in an ADD haze.

Like a lot of things, though, an ADD haze is only a bad thing in retrospect.  While it’s occurring, it’s actually kinda fun.  For instance, I spent a few hours reading three books at one time while an old Dracula film (Hammer’s Dracula A.D. 1972 to be precise) played on the TV and Siouxsie and the Banshees played on my laptop and the microwave zapped up one of those “super pretzels” that I love so much.  Now you could argue that by doing 20 things at once, I end up truly experiencing not a single one of them but, to be honest, it’s so exhilarating at the time.  It makes me love ADD.

Unfortunately, the exhilaration of ADD is always followed by the times when the entire world just seems overwhelming and all the thoughts in your mind start to you weigh down, making you feel like you’re trying to run through quicksand.

Things like going to my job, watching a movie, spending Friday night with a certain someone, blogging, spending a few hours a night on twitter, or watching some silly reality TV show — these are the things that I use to pull myself out of that quicksand.  These are the things that I look at and say, “As long as I keep these things consistent, than I can force some sort of rhyme and reason on the chaotic mess that is my mind.”

The snow, as much as I loved it, took away all of my rhyme and reason for the day.  Luckily, that afore-mentioned special someone was able to make his way to the house after he got off from his job and that helped to put me back on track.

But until he arrived, I found myself spending what seemed like an eternity watching the icicles outside of the den door get bigger and bigger and bigger.  Seriously, I was scared to even let our cat near the door for fear that this one icicle would come to life and try to attack us.  Here’s two pictures of it, courtesy of my sister Erin:

I mean, seriously — that thing was scary!

Well, today, the sun is out, the temperature is above freezing for the first time since last Monday, and the snow is slowly melting.  And I know I should probably be happy but I’m sad to see it go.  I’m a Texan and as much as it disrupted my routine, I know there’s a good chance I’ll never see this much snow again for the rest of my life.

But that’s life.

You’ve got the celebrate what you have when you’ve got it and be prepared to accept that everything goes away in the end.

Advertisements

Okay, it’s confession time!

(Who doesn’t love confession time?)

Actually, it’s even better than confession time.  It’s time for a series of confessions:

1) Like many Americans, I am addicted to twitter.

2) Like many twitter users, I claim not to care how many people follow me.

3) Like many twitter users who claim not to how many people follow me, I very much care how many people follow me.

4) That I take rejection personally shouldn’t come as a big shock because most people do.  I take no shame in that nor do I feel like I should pretend like I don’t feel that I’m worth knowing.  However, what’s odd is that I actually find myself more offended when I’m rejected online than when I’m rejected in the real world (for lack of a better term).

Why is this?

Why is it that I can usually recover from real-life rejection in a day or two yet, if someone unfollows me on twitter, I’ll can carry a grudge against them for 1 year, 6 months, and counting?

I think it’s because, in real life, we can make up excuses for the rejection.  We can say, “I bet he has a girlfriend,” or “Maybe he just got really busy at work.”  We can say, “Maybe he lost my number,” or “Maybe he’s lying in a ditch dead somewhere.”  And deep down, we know that chances are, he’s alive, single, unemployed. and highly organized.  But what’s important is that we still know he might be dead.

Whereas, if you get rejected on twitter, it’s because someone specifically went to your homepage and clicked unfollow.  It takes more than one step to reject someone on twitter. 

Morbid as it may be to acknowledge, the dead can continue to follow you on twitter without you ever realizing that there’s no longer anybody around to read what you’re writing. 

Rejection may hurt but being unfollowed — now that’s pain.

Today, as I sit here typing this, I am incredibly proud of myself and it’s for the silliest of reasons.  Still, pride is pride.

It’s been a running joke in my family that “Lisa Can Not Cook.”  And, to be honest, most of the jokes started with me.  All of my life, I’ve been convinced that I am incapable of cooking.  My mom was a great cook.  My three sisters are all great cooks.  My aunts are all great cooks.  But me, I couldn’t cook.  Put me in a kitchen and you’re going to have a fire.  If the recipe says a table spoon of salt, then you know that means Lisa Marie is going to dump an entire cannister into it. 

As one of my older cousins once told me, “It’s a lucky thing you’re pretty, Lisa, because nobody’s going to marry you for the food.”

(Strangely enough, hearing that said didn’t make me feel particularly pretty or lucky.)

But last night, I wanted to cook for my friend Jeff because 1) he was out of town for the holidays and I missed him a lot, 2) every time we’ve ever gone out, he’s paid for me and I suspect like he’d probably be a millionaire by now if not for me, and 3) when I told him about what happened on Monday, he was there for me without a second of hesitation, complaint, or doubt.  Because of his job and the fact that we’re always going out to eat, he doesn’t get many home-cooked meals.  So, I wanted him to have one and I wanted to make it for him myself.

But I can’t cook, right?

Turns out, apparently, I can.  Now, I’m not saying that I’m ready to be on TV competing for my own restaurant or anything like that and I did have to get my sister Erin to help me out a little bit so I can’t really say that I deserve that much credit for it but still, dinner last night turned out to be pretty good.

Or, at the very least, edible.  And edible is a lot more than I thought I was capable of doing.

As for what Erin and I made, it was Chicken Risotto using one of my mom’s old recipes and I know that Chicken Risotto really isn’t a big deal or anything (because on Hell’s Kitchen, they’re always saying, “Who can’t make a risotto!?”) but I was still so incredibly proud when I saw it being successfully moved from the stove to the counter to eventually the kitchen table.

I guess you could say that chicken risotto was my mom’s signature dish.  It was what everyone always asked her to make if the family was getting together.  And, I’ll be honest — I’m not a gourmet.  I’m not a “foodie” or whatever you call them.  I don’t know if everyone in the world can make a chicken risotto.  For all I know, it could be the simplest dish to prepare ever.  I know my mom always acted like it wasn’t a big deal to make but I always loved it and so did everyone else.  And, even more importantly, I could tell that she always took a lot of pleasure and personal pride out of seeing how much everyone else loved it.

So, I don’t know if making Chicken Risotto is a huge accomplishment.  All I know is that I did it, I’m proud of myself, Jeff enjoyed his meal, and I think my mom would be proud of me.

Though, I also think, she would probably have noticed that I put in a little bit too much salt.  I noticed and I’m sure Jeff and Erin noticed but they were too nice to say. 

And for that, I love them.

In the beginning I wanted you to think I was beautiful

my earrings

my diamond pendant

the sheer silk panties under

the tight weave of my dress revealing more than it hid

as the flashing warmth of my thigh

in a firm

lonely curve of disdain

brushed against you as we spoke

I wanted to hold

that soft unique quality

of a stranger’s bed after sex

just before the guilt

and the doubts creep into the shared

intimacy of false love

to live for a while in the immortal terror

of our dreams

It was a moment I wanted to savor

but you couldn’t wait

and it was over too quickly for you

With my clothes on the floor

and us against the bed

adjusting our hips

locking out everything but the sensation

With your mouth on the back of my neck

Your chest against my spine

Your breath on my right shoulder

Coming in quick bursts

as my body jerked violently trapped in your arms

So hard that it hurt

As your fingers dug into my flesh

So sharp that I hid my tears

You splashing me with your scent

through the communion of idolatory

The stale air starting to fill my lungs

And I shuddered

With you trapped inside

Shuddering in fiery rapture

My eyes closed shut

as you spread through me


And I wished that time could be forced

To give me an answer

On how to tell you

Why I am what I am

Why I am not what you think

Why I am more than just this

Why you should love me

And I wished you could say

That I am not what I know I am

 

But it was over too quickly

And the hateful satisfaction on your face told me everything

In a silent voice that spit venom

Welcome to 2011!

Traditionally, January 1st is when we break all of our new year’s resolutions.  That’s why, this year, I decided not to make any resolutions until January 1st.  Hopefully, by doing this, I’ll be able keep some of them until the 2nd or maybe the 3rd.

I also know that tradition dictates that you only make two or three New Year’s Resolutions.  However, I am a lover of excess.  So, this year I made 20.

1) I will update this blog at least every other day, even if I have absolutely nothing to say.

2) I will dance everyday.

3) I will make more of an effort to control my natural tendency to act like a spoiled brat.

4) I’m going to make more of an effort to get on a regular, daily sleep cycle instead of just waiting to pass out after three or four days.

5) I will set up a definite, concrete timeline for getting my Master’s and I’ll stick with it.

6) I will never buy tampons at 7-11 again.  And you know what else?  I’m never going to apologize for talking out loud about my period again.

7) I’m going to continue to run and exercise every day.

8 ) I’m going to finish my novel-in-progress, Mizmoon.  I should warn you that this is a carry-over resolution from last year.

9) I will either find a prisoner to correspond with or I’ll stop signing up for prison pen pal programs.

10) I will discover a previously undiscovered species of cat.  It will have long red hair and mismatched green eyes and it’ll be named after me.  It probably won’t always land on its feet either so be careful if you get a Lisa cat.  Don’t let it climb trees.

11) I’m going to stop worrying about pleasing everyone because it can’t be done.

12) I will finally get around to answering all of those questions that have piled up over on my formspring account.  I’ve got about 256 questions left to answer so this one might take a while.

13) I will be more tolerant of people who disagree with me even though they will still be wrong.

14) I will no longer be ashamed about being a victim.  Instead, I will be proud of being a survivor.

15) I will think before I spend money.

16) I will have more confidence in myself.

17) I will stop obsessing about my big, Italian nose.  Or I might just get a nose job.

18) I promise that I will try to try to stop driving too fast.

19) I will start to forgive.

20) I will allow myself to love.

Happy 2011.  Let’s make it a good one because, in case you haven’t heard, the world is ending in 2012.

Hey you.

Don’t you worry, angel.  I’m not going to use your name.  I’m not going to reveal a thing about you.  I’m not even going to let you know that I wrote this.  I am going to fantasize about you accidentally coming across this on the web.  Maybe you’re doing google searches on my name.  You’ll read this and you’ll miss me.  I don’t know if I ever truly wanted to be with you but I definitely wanted to be missed.

Does that make me a bitch?  That’s the question that I’m forced to grapple with.  You know as well as any of us that society is all about labels.  If I’m too honest, I’m a bitch.  If I’m not honest enough, I’m a phony.  If I admit to enjoying sex, I’m a whore.  If I pretend not to enjoy sex, I’m a prude.  If I cry, I’m emo.  If I don’t cry, I’m an ice queen.  Perhaps it’s best that things ended the way they did because you know what society would have labeled us.  Then again, I always thought we wouldn’t care.

Sometimes, it’s just easier for me to write you a letter that I know you’ll probably never bother to read.  Of course, you could read this.  For all I knew, maybe you actually read my blogs on occasion.  Maybe you sometimes check out my twitter account. 

I say that maybe you do because I know you probably don’t.  But I say maybe as my way of saying, “I wish you did.”

My memory is my curse. Sometimes I wish I could just forget every happy memory I’ve ever had because the happier they are, the more depressed they make me.  Whenever I remember being happy, all I can think about is how fleeting that moment was.  It’s like I used to tell you.  I don’t trust happiness.  Happiness is just an interval between sadness.  Happiness is life’s joke on me.

You made me very happy.

Was that your joke on me?

I keep thinking about the first time you said that you loved me.  At the time, I was far too happy for my own good.  Now, I just wonder how many other girls heard those same words on that same day?

Or did you actually love me?

Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?  What matters is that everyone leaves in the end and you’re no different.  You did just what I thought you would do and for that, I should be thankful.  You’ve justified my cynicism.  You’ve justified my refusal to trust.  You’ve justified my dedication to never love.

Because you know what?  We talk about love and we talk about soul mates and we talk about destiny and we talk about friendship and we talk about how much we mean to each other and in the end, that’s just what we say to try to keep everything acceptable.  You didn’t give me love and you didn’t give me happiness.  All you gave me were a few brilliant orgasms.

And, considering that I’m an atheist when it comes to love and an agnostic when it comes to friendship, what more can a girl ask for?  At the very least, it was something I could believe in without any doubt or fear.

Why am I writing this?  I’m writing it because I had to say it in some way or else I would just spend the rest of my life obsessing over it.  And then you would win, wouldn’t you?

I still love you, have no doubt about it.

Je me rappelle le goût de votre sexe, mon amour.
 
Love,
 
Votre ange

The Only Habit

So, earlier tonight, I’m checking my e-mail and what do I happen to see on the Yahoo homepage but a link to the following article:

6 Habits That Keep Couples Happy

Hey, I thought to myself, maybe this will finally provide an answer to not only why I have certain issues with the idea of commitment but also what I can do to either fix or embrace this issues.

So, I read the article and, content-wise, it didn’t really provide me anything I hadn’t heard before.  A happy couple, apparently, respects each other, is positive towards each other, pursues projects on their own and together, and continue to feel physically attracted to each other even after one or both of them get so complacent in the relationship that they cease to make the effort to even looks halfway presentable.

As I read, it occurred to me that the secret to a happy relationship is probably not ever feeling the need to read any articles on how to have a happy relationship.  Seriously, if you have to be reminded that it’s important that your significant other have a life of his or her own, you probably shouldn’t be in a relationship to begin with unless you’re in one of those weird, no-actual-penetration relationships. 

(Really, the important thing is that you don’t breed because the last thing we need is another generation made up of insecure bullies who can’t handle not being the center of the universe…)

To me, the only habit that’s key to a happy relationship is respect.  And respect is not something that’s shown or earned by sacrificing your own identity just so you can be a part of a relationship.  The minute you stop being you and instead just become So-and-So’s Girlfriend or His Wife is the minute your own life ends, replaced by an existence where you have to read online advise columns just to keep up with how you’re expected to function.

I guess, for some, that’s an ideal situation.

I wish them the best of luck.

I love my Aunt Kate and I know she loves me but often times, we have trouble showing it.  To a large extent, it’s a generational thing.  She’s a part of the generation of women who rebelled against a sexist society by burning bras, protesting outside of the halls of government, and never allowing any man to get away with casually referring to her as sweetheart, babe, doll, dear, or any other term that would have served to diminish her.  Because of the society she lived in, everything she did — from the clothes she wore to the jobs she took to the way she signed her name — had to be done in a way that rejected anything that would have allowed men to stereotype her.  My aunt is part of a generation of feminists that were and are often referred to as being “strident.”  But if Kate was strident, it was because she didn’t have much choice.  Anything less than stridency would have been surrender.

As for me, I’m a part of the generation that can afford not to be strident.  I’m a part of the generation that can be feminine because we want to and not because society is holding a gun to our head and demanding it.  I’m a part of the generation that takes for granted the freedoms that my aunt fought and suffered for.  While I tend to forget that my aunt grew up in a time when women had to fight, I think she sometimes doesn’t realize that just because I might spend a while getting my makeup just right, I’m doing that for me and not because it’s demanded of me by a patriarchal society.  As a result, me and Kate argue way too much and often times, I forget to thank her for making the world a better place for me. 

I’m happy to say, however, that Kate and I have found something that we totally agree on.  We both love Tim Gunn, the former fashion school dean who is best known for playing the role of mentor on 8 seasons of Project Runway and counting.  Apparently, Tim — yes, both me and Kate consider ourselves to be on a first name basis with Tim — was recently in Frisco, Texas on some sort of promotional tour.  My aunt was among the countless women who came to see and hear him.  Kate approached him afterward, told him how much she “respected” him, and she got a hug in return.  She said it was one of the nicest hugs she’d ever received and that doesn’t surprise me at all.  He’s Tim Gunn after all!

Why do we love Tim Gunn?

Tim Gunn knows fashion.  This goes without saying.  The thing that always impresses me about Tim on Project Runway is that he’s definitely a man of another generation yet he still respects the opinions and the fashions of my generation.  He’s that rare older man who doesn’t expect or demand that a woman in her 20s either dress like 1) our grandmother or 2) like we’re posing for the cover of Lolita.

Tim Gunn is gay.  Don’t doubt just how important this one little fact is.  As a woman, you are constantly aware that every guy you meet is, somewhere in the back of his mind, deciding whether or not you are — to put it crudely — fuckable.  Everything a guy says to you, you have to wonder: Is he telling me the truth or is he just trying to get in my pants?  And if he isn’t trying to get into my pants — why not?  Obviously, this can lead to a lot of confusion, stress, and hurt feelings.  But Tim, bless him, is not only gay but openly and obviously so.  We know he is only interested in looking at the clothes on our body as opposed to our body underneath our clothes.  Tim’s a man that we can actually trust and how often do you actually meet one of those?  At the same time, since Tim is a man, a woman doesn’t have to worry that he’s been busy hating her behind her back or that he’s been spreading lies and innuendo just because her ass looks better in skinny jeans than his does.  In short, Tim Gunn is the ideal platonic male friend.

Tim Gunn has been celibate since breaking up with his boyfriend.  They broke up 20 years ago.  In interviews, Tim has explained that he’s remained celibate because he’s still in love with his former partner.  Since I have tendency to go crazy if I’m celibate for 20 hours, it’s hard for me to imagine what 20 years of voluntary celibacy could possibly be like.  That’s not a life I would really wish on anyone but it’s hard for me not to read that and go “awww…” at the fact that Tim would apparently choose to simply be celibate as opposed to just doing it with someone who he doesn’t love.

Tim Gunn could spend hours in a fabric store.  How many men can you say that about?

Tim Gunn is always sophisticated but never a snob.  One of my favorite parts of Project Runway is when the show finally leaves either NYC or L.A. and Tim visits the finalists in their own hometowns.  For whatever reason, each season seems to feature quite a few designed who come from and live out in Deliverance country.  It’s hard to describe the delight I get from seeing Tim, in his perfectly tailored suits and not a hair out-of-place, discussing fashion while surrounded by sagging pants, beer bellies, manboobs, and rampaging cellulite.  In a world where belching has become an acceptable form of debate, there is something comforting in knowing that there’s at least one man out there who still makes the effort.  What’s even more appealing is that, unlike me, Tim Gunn would never (at least not in public) use the phrase “deliverance country” when talking about the people he’s just met.  There’s a lot of be said for a man who can be sophisticated without feeling the need to call attention to that fact.

Tim Gunn has one of the few hearts in reality television.  One thing about most reality TV regulars: they’re very quick to let you know what they think of each season’s group of contestants.  On Survivor, Jeff Probst always lets us know which tribe he considers to be the most pathetic.  Julie Chen often struggles to remember just who exactly is living in the Big Brother house.  Chris Harrison can’t wait for  the Bachelor to screw up his engagement.  Don’t even get me started on those two fascists that seem to be intent on giving everyone a heart attack on Biggest Loser.  However, Tim Gunn is always seems to be sincere when he sends the latest cut designer up to the workroom to clean his or her space.  With is warm hug and his apologetic tone, Tim has probably kept more than a few failed designers from committing suicide after having to listen to Heidi Klum tell them that “We’ve seen it before and, quite frankly, we’re bored…”

Tim Gunn speaks his mind.  Tim may be nice but he speaks his mind.  One of the best things about this current season of Project Runway has been watching Tim put judgmental, catty snobs like Gretchen and Ivy in their place.  Who didn’t cheer when Tim said he couldn’t understand why the other designers were meekly allowing themselves to be “bullied” by Gretchen or when he showed up at the workroom and told Ivy to stop accusing Michael Costello of “cheating?”  There are times when I wish I could have someone like Tim Gunn with me whenever I’m at work and I know I’m going to have to deal with the women who work in the office next to mine. 

Tim Gunn is willing to call the Kardashians “vulgar.”  Somebody had to say it.

Tim Gunn does the right thing.  One of the reasons why my aunt said she “respected” Tim Gunn is because of a recent  video Tim made in response to the recent suicides of several gay teenagers.  In that video, Tim talks about how he tried to take his own life when he was 17 and still coming to terms with his sexuality.  Here’s something else that me and Kate agree on — I respect Tim Gunn too.  It takes courage to talk publicly about something that painful.  While everyone always talks about how tragic suicide is, there’s still a stigma attached to actually admitting that you have ever been in that dark of a place.  That Tim Gunn — who certainly didn’t have to — chose to open up that part of his life says a lot about who he is and why he’s earned the respect of both me and my aunt.

Tim Gunn gave me and my Aunt common ground.  After me and my aunt had spent a little while talking about how much we both love Tim, we came to an agreement.  From now on, whenever she’s tempted to admonish me or I’m tempted to get an attitude with her, we are simply going to ask ourselves, “What would Tim Gunn do?”

1) I love musicals.  I was in the drama club all through high school.  When I was in college, I was active in community theater.  I’ve never allowed the fact that I’m tone-deaf to prevent me from breaking out into a song.  Taking all that into account, I really should love Glee.  And yet, I don’t.  In fact, I hate it.  Whether it’s Matthew Morrison’s creepy smile or the way Glee pretends to be more quirky than it actually is, the show just annoys the Hell out of me. 

2) When it comes to selecting a favorite color, I’ve always been torn between red or green.  I finally settled on one of them about two nights ago but, for the life of me, I can’t remember which one.

3) I am a German-Spanish-Irish-Italian mutt with a little French thrown in for good measure.  I probably identify most with my Irish heritage even though I’m definitely closest to the Spanish-Italian side of my family.  A part of me wishes that my background was 100% Cajun. 

4) I have a degree in Art History so, of course, I’m currently working as a receptionist.

5) Along with being asthmatic, I suffer from heterochromia, i.e. my left eye is a lighter shade of green than my right.  Unlike asthma, heterochromia is actually kinda cool. 

6) I tend to talk a lot.  I mean a lot.  My sister Megan once said, “Lisa can tell the longest stories about nothing…”  At the time, it actually hurt my feelings but in retrospect, she’s right.  What people often fail to understand, though, is that the main reason I won’t shut up is because I’m actually very shy.  Rambling is my way of avoiding the dreaded awkward silence.

7) For close to a year now, I’ve been writing — off-and-on — a novel called Mizmoon.  It’s been one of the most frustrating and rewarding experiences of my life.  My plan is to have a rough draft completed by the end of 2010. 

8 ) If I had a time machine, I’d go back 11 years and tell my younger self to “wait” and enjoy being innocent for a few more years.  What’s sad is that I know my younger self would probably respond by telling me that I don’t understand how she (I) feels and that it’s her (my) life anyway. 

9) Often times, when I’m having trouble finding any inspiration for a more substantial blog post, I’ll handle the situation by writing down a few very random facts about me.

10) I’m not anti-marriage.  I just have serious doubts as to whether or not I could ever be a part of a succesful marriage.  I’m a romantic at heart but, at the same time, I hate the thought of one day waking up and realizing that I’ve sacrificed my own identity just to be “so-and-so’s wife.”  A friend of mine recently told me that “a succesful relationship is built on trust.”  I don’t know if I’ll ever be capable of trusting anyone that much.

11) I’ve often been accused of engaging in a bit too much TMI for my own good (especially when it comes to my twitter account) but there are certain things in my life that I don’t talk about even though I want to.  But I don’t because I know that if I do, people will no longer think of me as Lisa Marie.  Instead, they’ll simply see me as an object of pity or as a victim.  As much as I sometimes need to express my pain, I don’t want it to define me.

12) At the same time, I do find that it is sometimes to helpful to vent (or sometimes even cry out) on a site like twitter because 1) you can block anyone who acts like an asshole about it, 2) others can block or ignore you if they don’t want to hear about it (which makes me feel less guilty about my occasional emo moments), and 3) sometimes, if you’re lucky, someone will actually offer up either some good advice or come up with a response so perfectly absurd that it’ll snap me out of my angst.

13) Yes, I have in the past occasionally posted a risqué picture or two on twitpic, tweetphoto, and plixi.  And yes, I have occasionally had to deal with the total stranger who has taken it upon him or herself to tell me that I need to have more “respect” for myself or use better judgment.  But you know what?  It’s my body and I’m not ashamed of it.  Why is it that society continues to insist that a woman cannot be independent, intelligent, and/or liberated unless she’s also some sort of humorless, sexless celibate?

If I want to show off my body, I will.  Even more importantly, though, if I don’t feel like showing off my body, I won’t.  No matter how many DMs, YMs, and e-mails I get asking me when I’m going to post another “thong shot.”  The minute anything starts to feel like an obligation is the minute that I start to lose interest.

Someone once asked me how I’d feel if, some day in the distant future, I discovered that my daughter was posting racy pictures of herself on the Internet.  I didn’t have an answer for him then and I really don’t have an answer now.  I know it would upset me but I would also hope that if my daughter was doing that, she would be doing it because she wanted to and not because she felt like she had to.

14) Yes, I do want to be a mom someday.  If I have a girl, I’m going to name her Gloria Elena after my mom.

15) When I first started this post, I thought it was going to be a lot shorter and a lot less serious.  🙂

16) I am an obsessive list maker.  Not only do I continually make lists of everything I need to during the day but I tend to hold on to the lists even after the day has passed because the list, if nothing else, will at least help me remember the day.  Yes, I know this is probably an indication of a tendency towards hoarding.  However, I am capable of throwing aways my old lists … just as long as I’m given one last chance to read them before I do so.

17) Continuing on the obsessive compulsive theme, it’s very important to me that any numbers in my life be even numbers.  I can never, for instance, feel secure if I’m in a building that has an address that ends in an odd number.  That’s also why I’m going to end up listing 20 random facts about myself in this post.  (It’s also why, for my Lisa Marie’s Favorite Exploitation and Grindhouse Trailers series over at Through the Shattered Lens, I always include 6 trailers per post instead of 5.)

18) I used to love that Chanel commercial where Nicole Kidman was the actress having the romance with the — well, I forget what he was supposed to be but he was hot and that’s all that really mattered.  Except, for some reason, I always thought that Kidman’s character was supposed to be terminally ill and dying in the commercial.

19) I love old school Italian horror films, the gorier and more sordid the better.  Yet, in real life, I can’t stand the sight of blood.

20) Okay, one last random fact.  Hmmm…alright, I get about two to three hours of sleep a night and I like it that way.  Life fascinates me and I can’t experience it if I’m asleep.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm dancing right into a wall.

 

1

Alan was my first, the one who claimed the prize

He was older and oh so forbidden

His car was small and oh so claustrophobic

Happy Birthday

2

Johnny’s the one I taunted for so many years

But whenever we went out, it just bored me to tears

I asked him about bondage and he replied in fear

He’s stoned

3

Michael called me Pandora and I called him Lestat

The day I met his mother, I wanted to go home

He joined the Marines and he called me on the phone

Gung Ho

4

James was really skinny and so very tall

The two weeks I spent with him was really quite a ball

But he liked to wear a kilt while hanging out in malls

No thanks

5

Patrick was a blonde that I led on just for a while

Don’t know how I felt about him but he always smiled

I guess it was convenient cause he didn’t live a mile

Away

6

Kim’s the one I hope knows I never meant to lie

Don’t know what I was thinking when we gave it a try

I told her I was moving and I very nearly died

Not quite

7

Tim was the frat boy with the toothpaste smile

A summer lifeguard who never read a book

We were so very cute but his nickname wasn’t worth the look

Smiley

8

Antonio was black, he taught me to play pool

Every time I missed a shot, I surrendered a few more rules

I let him win every time, that was pretty cool

I think

9

David was a darn nice guy who now likes other men

I thank the Lord in Heaven that we’re still friends

He buys a pack of cigarettes and we hang out in the West End

He’s gay

10

Damon bartended, stripped, and sang and not a whole lot more

He left his car running as he walked me to the door

That made me so very scared, why didn’t he want more?

Who knows?

11

Doug barely knew me but he worked across the street

When we worked the same night we’d grab a bite to eat

He said I was white trash, he wasn’t very nice to me

Me too

12

Chris was the best actor I had ever seen

That tattoo on his shoulder blade almost turned me green

He was too polite, he was never obscene

I walked

13

Dane, baby, why’d you go and break my nose, you liar?

Now the thought of seeing you unnerves me to the wire

Were you the only one who hoped to see me expire?

Psycho

14

Robert was drunk and stoned almost constantly

Never took on any great responsibility

Never ate the fruit of knowledge, never saw the tree

Dumbass

15

Charlie’s a soldier, he’s fighting a war of his own

Dyed his hair blue, defied the norm

He was good in the wintertime because he kept me warm

‘Til spring

16

Allen flew airplanes, he took me out to eat

We flew out to East Texas, that was pretty neat

He said he was too busy. I got out of my seat

And left

17

Christy lives down under, she helped me stay alive

We met online and she inspired me to take a dive

She had to leave no matter how much I cried

I’m sorry

18

I guess I must get on with things although I’m not sure how

Realistic words of wisdom are hard to find now

Despite my constant promises, I’ll always break this vow

No more.

%d bloggers like this: