I was just wondering, is there anything that inhibits the inhibitions? That won't completely destroy my brain or any sense of what it's like to still be inhibited at times or make me feel absolutely horrid the next morning?
I would enjoy that very much. Please get on that. Or me.
Did I just write that?
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Sunday, June 25, 2006
No Excuse
"And the talking leads to touching, and the touching leads to sex, and then there is no mystery left."
-Rilo Kiley
What makes me feel like even more of a freak...even the people who have built walls, are emotionally unavailable, keep people at a distance, have shut down, checked out...even they still have sex.
The Skin I'm In
Well, I did it. I went out and saw The Lake House. It is exactly what I expected it to be, except for the ending. I won’t spoil it, but the fact that I’m surprised must say something about me. I think it would have made a much better novel because, for me anyway, suspension of disbelief is a lot easier to achieve when it’s within my own imagination. That said, it wasn’t hard to enjoy because I was still able to let myself get wrapped up in the emotion of longing for love, something with which I can clearly identify.
Two things bugged me though. 1- It should have taken place many years ago, because it’s way too easy to get information about people now. Any sane person would have googled him the second she learned his name, and if she couldn't do that she could have at least opened the phone book. Perhaps that’s my suspicious side rearing its ugly head but come on, it’s not every day you meet someone who claims to be physically living in the past and the present at the same time.
2- Not surprisingly I always relate to independent female characters who for whatever reason have built up walls and can’t seem to love or be loved by anyone. I need to see (or write) a movie about a woman whose walls are much harder to break down. Course it would probably end up being a 10 hour movie showing one woman’s inner dialogue about her issues with love. Dullsville. But you see my point? I know. It makes no sense because most people don’t go to a romantic drama to be depressed about how the main character can’t find love. “'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” or so says Tennyson. Even when it’s vicarious love I suppose.
The connection between loving someone and missing them is one I have yet to reconcile. I think about the people in my life and what it means to me to have them in it. I cherish the family and friends that I have, and know I’d be crushed without them. However, sometimes I think if I don’t miss someone, presently, maybe it means I don’t love them. Objectively speaking that sounds extremely childish because I know missing someone is not purely indicative of loving them. And yet, it is still unsettling for me to think that if someone I think I love were to be completely absent from my life and I didn’t miss them, maybe I didn’t love them. I seem to have cut loose a lot of friends this way.
Then I think maybe I’ve just perfected the craft of building walls and can do it so swiftly they are up before I have the chance to feel hurt, or miss someone. Or maybe I still hold everyone at a distance even though I think I’m letting them in. Of course, then there’s always the strong possibility that I’m being naive in thinking these defenses will protect me when someone hurts me. Because I still have friends, I still have family and it’s inevitable that people get hurt, as well as hurt other people. I’m no saint.
I guess I just wish I wasn’t so sensitive. I’m like a raw nerve ending inside a glass cylinder. Most people only get to the outside layer and their comings and goings don’t bother me. I know I’m probably fooling myself in thinking that the few who get inside can be divided into further tiers, because once you’re in you have all the potential in the world to strike that nerve. I’ve been told that if someone does strike it, they get thrown over the wall and it’s twice as hard to get back in. For sobbing out loud I’m my own high-tech security system. What’s so great about me that I need so much protecting for gadsake?
It’s time to punk up miss big black boot wearing tough girl. Thicken that skin and live up to the image you so proudly present. Let them in and let them go. Let’s face it, it’s the only way you'll ever get laid. You cannot die a virgin. It’s just too gaddam precious.
Two things bugged me though. 1- It should have taken place many years ago, because it’s way too easy to get information about people now. Any sane person would have googled him the second she learned his name, and if she couldn't do that she could have at least opened the phone book. Perhaps that’s my suspicious side rearing its ugly head but come on, it’s not every day you meet someone who claims to be physically living in the past and the present at the same time.
2- Not surprisingly I always relate to independent female characters who for whatever reason have built up walls and can’t seem to love or be loved by anyone. I need to see (or write) a movie about a woman whose walls are much harder to break down. Course it would probably end up being a 10 hour movie showing one woman’s inner dialogue about her issues with love. Dullsville. But you see my point? I know. It makes no sense because most people don’t go to a romantic drama to be depressed about how the main character can’t find love. “'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” or so says Tennyson. Even when it’s vicarious love I suppose.
The connection between loving someone and missing them is one I have yet to reconcile. I think about the people in my life and what it means to me to have them in it. I cherish the family and friends that I have, and know I’d be crushed without them. However, sometimes I think if I don’t miss someone, presently, maybe it means I don’t love them. Objectively speaking that sounds extremely childish because I know missing someone is not purely indicative of loving them. And yet, it is still unsettling for me to think that if someone I think I love were to be completely absent from my life and I didn’t miss them, maybe I didn’t love them. I seem to have cut loose a lot of friends this way.
Then I think maybe I’ve just perfected the craft of building walls and can do it so swiftly they are up before I have the chance to feel hurt, or miss someone. Or maybe I still hold everyone at a distance even though I think I’m letting them in. Of course, then there’s always the strong possibility that I’m being naive in thinking these defenses will protect me when someone hurts me. Because I still have friends, I still have family and it’s inevitable that people get hurt, as well as hurt other people. I’m no saint.
I guess I just wish I wasn’t so sensitive. I’m like a raw nerve ending inside a glass cylinder. Most people only get to the outside layer and their comings and goings don’t bother me. I know I’m probably fooling myself in thinking that the few who get inside can be divided into further tiers, because once you’re in you have all the potential in the world to strike that nerve. I’ve been told that if someone does strike it, they get thrown over the wall and it’s twice as hard to get back in. For sobbing out loud I’m my own high-tech security system. What’s so great about me that I need so much protecting for gadsake?
It’s time to punk up miss big black boot wearing tough girl. Thicken that skin and live up to the image you so proudly present. Let them in and let them go. Let’s face it, it’s the only way you'll ever get laid. You cannot die a virgin. It’s just too gaddam precious.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
All Work And No Play
Makes Queen Vee a dull girl.
The band was supposed to play the small party and I got on stage to join them. I strapped my guitar on and sat down. We began to play but something (invisible) stopped me and I physically couldn’t strum. The frustration I felt was overwhelming. I practically threw the guitar and stalked off through the crowd saying, “I can’t take it anymore, I just can’t take it.” (It is something I probably say weekly with sincerity to some of my co-workers.)
I went up to my room, took off my jeans and put on the navy blue yale sweatshirt I owned when I was 12. I slipped into bed, curled up into the fetal position and began to cry. Someone came in and sat on the bed. I thought it was my friend until he put his hand on my shoulder and spoke. It was my father.
“You know you shouldn’t do that in front of your mother. It only upsets her and sends her into depression,” he said softly.
“I know I know,” I said through muted sobs. “I’m not trying to get sympathy. I don’t want anyone’s pity. I just want things to stop holding me back.”
The tears continued to fall until I woke up with a tear stained face.
That was my dream last night. It’s so blatantly telling of what’s going on in my subconscious it’s almost embarrassing. Granted I’ve felt stunted in the relationship category for a long while, feeling it at work too tips the scales too heavily to one side. On top of that, stunting myself is a completely different feeling than being stunted by egotistical, ridiculously political (dare I say even sexist at times) jealous people who don’t know their heads from their asses.
Frustrated doesn’t even begin to describe how I’ve been feeling for the past six months. I think I’m doing the right thing by hanging in there…something has to happen eventually. I’ve applied for all kinds of jobs and tapped all the connections I possibly can. Something somewhere has got to give, I just hope it’s not me. I can’t help but feel like I’m being tested, by whom I don’t know, but I’m damn tired of this test. Patience is not one of my virtues, but I am not without it either. I’ve waited for things before and no doubt will in the future. But this is starting to kill me.
Maybe it’s not patience that I’m being tested for, but strength. It seems unfair though that some people have to suffer tests of strength involving actual human survival, and here I am complaining about a corporate job that’s not worth the dirt under the feet of real sufferers. I am grateful for my job and the life I am able to live, it’s just…it’s even more frustrating to know how big life is and how small I have to live it sometimes. That’s being melodramatic I know, because most of the time I’m truly happy with the way things are, but there’s so much life has to offer and I hate that I can only get bits and pieces. Almost everyone has to work in order to live, I just wish less time had to be devoted to it. I suppose living life to the fullest is a subjective thing, but I think it’s safe to say we’d all like to do a little more living, a little less working.
Maybe this is all just stemming from having an outside source hold me back, instead of myself for once. If the tables were turned, sure I’d have to abide by certain politics but I’d take care of those who worked for me. At the very least, I would try.
The band was supposed to play the small party and I got on stage to join them. I strapped my guitar on and sat down. We began to play but something (invisible) stopped me and I physically couldn’t strum. The frustration I felt was overwhelming. I practically threw the guitar and stalked off through the crowd saying, “I can’t take it anymore, I just can’t take it.” (It is something I probably say weekly with sincerity to some of my co-workers.)
I went up to my room, took off my jeans and put on the navy blue yale sweatshirt I owned when I was 12. I slipped into bed, curled up into the fetal position and began to cry. Someone came in and sat on the bed. I thought it was my friend until he put his hand on my shoulder and spoke. It was my father.
“You know you shouldn’t do that in front of your mother. It only upsets her and sends her into depression,” he said softly.
“I know I know,” I said through muted sobs. “I’m not trying to get sympathy. I don’t want anyone’s pity. I just want things to stop holding me back.”
The tears continued to fall until I woke up with a tear stained face.
That was my dream last night. It’s so blatantly telling of what’s going on in my subconscious it’s almost embarrassing. Granted I’ve felt stunted in the relationship category for a long while, feeling it at work too tips the scales too heavily to one side. On top of that, stunting myself is a completely different feeling than being stunted by egotistical, ridiculously political (dare I say even sexist at times) jealous people who don’t know their heads from their asses.
Frustrated doesn’t even begin to describe how I’ve been feeling for the past six months. I think I’m doing the right thing by hanging in there…something has to happen eventually. I’ve applied for all kinds of jobs and tapped all the connections I possibly can. Something somewhere has got to give, I just hope it’s not me. I can’t help but feel like I’m being tested, by whom I don’t know, but I’m damn tired of this test. Patience is not one of my virtues, but I am not without it either. I’ve waited for things before and no doubt will in the future. But this is starting to kill me.
Maybe it’s not patience that I’m being tested for, but strength. It seems unfair though that some people have to suffer tests of strength involving actual human survival, and here I am complaining about a corporate job that’s not worth the dirt under the feet of real sufferers. I am grateful for my job and the life I am able to live, it’s just…it’s even more frustrating to know how big life is and how small I have to live it sometimes. That’s being melodramatic I know, because most of the time I’m truly happy with the way things are, but there’s so much life has to offer and I hate that I can only get bits and pieces. Almost everyone has to work in order to live, I just wish less time had to be devoted to it. I suppose living life to the fullest is a subjective thing, but I think it’s safe to say we’d all like to do a little more living, a little less working.
Maybe this is all just stemming from having an outside source hold me back, instead of myself for once. If the tables were turned, sure I’d have to abide by certain politics but I’d take care of those who worked for me. At the very least, I would try.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Last One Standing Still
The Lake House looks like another ridiculously cheesy, predictable yet still depressing romantic drama, and I will have to see it. I’m drawn to these stupid flicks like a moth to flame. Aside from liking Sandra and liking to look at Keanu, this movie has nothing to offer me but a contradicting eye-rolling, heart wrenching cry fest about a love that could never be. Why do I bother?
Sometimes I think I do it because I don’t have any of that kind of drama in my life. I don't know if I could handle it. I've put up so many walls, I might explode if someone else's feeling got in and mixed with the insanity of my own. God that sounds pathetic. Not only because I purposely built my life free of as much drama as I could, but also because who the hell has to experience emotion through film because they can’t do it in reality?
I'm a vicarious whore.
Every once in a while I find myself playing the “Am I The Only Virgin In The Room?” game, the details of which are fairly obvious. Most of the time, the answer is yes. A decidedly definitive Yes after all my assumptions are made based on the physical appearance and body language of whoever is unknowingly a player, of course. After hearing of my cousin’s proposal, it occurred to me that I am the only virgin left in the entire family barring my nieces, both under ten. There is a possibility of one other cousin holding the V card, but I think that has more to do with being a good Catholic.
Not that it really matters. It just brings me back to my original question of what’s my problem? Why am I such a mental freak? Why do I have to think so much? If thoughts were horses, I'd be arrested for posthumous animal abuse.
A guy I used to work with called me today to tell me he found Jesus. He called to tell me that news specifically and that he was telling all his friends. I said, “I assume that means you are a happier man?” He said, “Well no, but I am calmer and a lot less angry.” He didn’t say anything else about it.
I didn’t ask.
After I thought about it I was a little sad that the answer to my question wasn’t yes. Maybe his life has changed for the good but he's still just realistically dealing with all the hardships. We all know belief doesn’t magically absolve problems, I was just hoping they'd weigh a little less. For many religious leaf turners I suppose that's exactly what happens. That switch is hit and boom- their life is changed.
Then there are people who have horrible accidents or illnesses and suddenly they are able to take life by the balls and appreciate it. I'm not really in the market to experience a religious transformation, nor do I want to have a near-death experience...but I still want the pay off. I want that switch to be hit. I try to appreciate life the best I can, but I still hope to have a moment where a light goes on somewhere inside and the fog clears. Even if it’s just about one small issue.
For too long I’ve been at a standstill.
Sometimes I think I do it because I don’t have any of that kind of drama in my life. I don't know if I could handle it. I've put up so many walls, I might explode if someone else's feeling got in and mixed with the insanity of my own. God that sounds pathetic. Not only because I purposely built my life free of as much drama as I could, but also because who the hell has to experience emotion through film because they can’t do it in reality?
I'm a vicarious whore.
Every once in a while I find myself playing the “Am I The Only Virgin In The Room?” game, the details of which are fairly obvious. Most of the time, the answer is yes. A decidedly definitive Yes after all my assumptions are made based on the physical appearance and body language of whoever is unknowingly a player, of course. After hearing of my cousin’s proposal, it occurred to me that I am the only virgin left in the entire family barring my nieces, both under ten. There is a possibility of one other cousin holding the V card, but I think that has more to do with being a good Catholic.
Not that it really matters. It just brings me back to my original question of what’s my problem? Why am I such a mental freak? Why do I have to think so much? If thoughts were horses, I'd be arrested for posthumous animal abuse.
A guy I used to work with called me today to tell me he found Jesus. He called to tell me that news specifically and that he was telling all his friends. I said, “I assume that means you are a happier man?” He said, “Well no, but I am calmer and a lot less angry.” He didn’t say anything else about it.
I didn’t ask.
After I thought about it I was a little sad that the answer to my question wasn’t yes. Maybe his life has changed for the good but he's still just realistically dealing with all the hardships. We all know belief doesn’t magically absolve problems, I was just hoping they'd weigh a little less. For many religious leaf turners I suppose that's exactly what happens. That switch is hit and boom- their life is changed.
Then there are people who have horrible accidents or illnesses and suddenly they are able to take life by the balls and appreciate it. I'm not really in the market to experience a religious transformation, nor do I want to have a near-death experience...but I still want the pay off. I want that switch to be hit. I try to appreciate life the best I can, but I still hope to have a moment where a light goes on somewhere inside and the fog clears. Even if it’s just about one small issue.
For too long I’ve been at a standstill.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
I Still Don't
My cousin left me a message saying she had the most depressing news. The minute I heard it, I knew what it was about. When I called her back, she told me our younger cousin is getting married. He's 25. I can't even say he's too young, though in his case it may be true. My cousin and I used to argue growing up over who would get married first. Clearly it was going to be her, that bet I knew I could stake my life on. For some reason she always thought it would be me. At this point I'd even venture to say our youngest cousin will be the next to marry. She's 20.
My grandfather will be thrilled. My oldest brother is the only one of his grandchildren to have gotten married in his lifetime. He's 88. One out of six. When I say thrilled I mean he'll get to say all the nice things he's wanted to say to me in light of the event. My cousin will get some too, but not like me. She's younger and has had an endless string of meathead boyfriends.
Let's see if he can outdo my guesstimates:
Your younger cousin is getting married, when will you?
It'd be so nice to see a man sitting next to you there.
When are you going to get a husband?
I'd like to see you get married before I die.
You're getting old, don't you want to get married?
What are you, a lesbian?
Despite what you may think, no comment of his is ever well intentioned. The only way he knows how to relate to people is to insult them. Knowing that I suppose it's something I could hang on to, but I won't. I've seen what doing that can do.
My grandfather will be thrilled. My oldest brother is the only one of his grandchildren to have gotten married in his lifetime. He's 88. One out of six. When I say thrilled I mean he'll get to say all the nice things he's wanted to say to me in light of the event. My cousin will get some too, but not like me. She's younger and has had an endless string of meathead boyfriends.
Let's see if he can outdo my guesstimates:
Your younger cousin is getting married, when will you?
It'd be so nice to see a man sitting next to you there.
When are you going to get a husband?
I'd like to see you get married before I die.
You're getting old, don't you want to get married?
What are you, a lesbian?
Despite what you may think, no comment of his is ever well intentioned. The only way he knows how to relate to people is to insult them. Knowing that I suppose it's something I could hang on to, but I won't. I've seen what doing that can do.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Not Even Coitus Interruptus
Speaking of unfulfilled fantasies…here’s a little insight into my subconscious, which is obviously completely mocking my conscious self. I would laugh myself if it wasn’t so damn depressing for me.
Every single sex dream I’ve ever had (that included another person) ended before my deflowerment. I’m not even kidding. Things get going, all is well, and then inevitably we are interrupted. Sometimes it’s another person which embarrasses me and I have to stop, but mostly it’s me. Stopping things. In a dream. I mean, come on I’m not really that repressed am I?
I actually wrote down one of these dreams right after I had it because I knew one day I’d want to look back and amuse/frustrate myself with the details. To this date, it is my favorite interrupted sex dream. Here it is in all its hilarity:
Edward Norton and I were in the fancy dining room of a big hotel/high school. The door was locked. We were standing in an embrace so tight I could feel his heart beat. His hands slid down my back and we started to kiss. He was amazing of course. I felt him pick me up and lay me down on the table. I was wearing jeans and a man’s undershirt with no bra. He said, “we’re going to do this raw,” (god, even the dialogue in my dreams needs help) and got up on top of me.
We kissed again and I pulled off his shirt. He slid back down and stood at the end of the table. Man, was he hot. I got up on my elbow and unzipped my pants. Suddenly I stopped.
“Edward, I think I have to pee. Don’t move I’ll be right back.” He smiled and I went into the bathroom. The toilet was unusable so I went back through the dining room and unlocked the door. The hall was filled with students. I knew there was a bathroom three flights up so I ran up the stairs but couldn’t find it. There was a sign for a locker room one flight down so I went back down.
The rest of the dream involved me running from place to place, trying to find a usable toilet. The one I ended up finding had walls that only went down to my knees, and only added to the discomfort I began feeling a few seconds earlier when I realized a little boy was looking over the top of the stall. I actually remember thinking, I hope Edward doesn’t think I’m weird for taking so long to pee. As if I still had a shot in hell with him.
On my way back to the dining room I woke up.
Queen Vee indeed. Maybe I should get a gem-studded chastity belt. At least then I’d live up to my self-appointed Royalty. Love the little teeth. Totally makes the belt.
Every single sex dream I’ve ever had (that included another person) ended before my deflowerment. I’m not even kidding. Things get going, all is well, and then inevitably we are interrupted. Sometimes it’s another person which embarrasses me and I have to stop, but mostly it’s me. Stopping things. In a dream. I mean, come on I’m not really that repressed am I?
I actually wrote down one of these dreams right after I had it because I knew one day I’d want to look back and amuse/frustrate myself with the details. To this date, it is my favorite interrupted sex dream. Here it is in all its hilarity:
Edward Norton and I were in the fancy dining room of a big hotel/high school. The door was locked. We were standing in an embrace so tight I could feel his heart beat. His hands slid down my back and we started to kiss. He was amazing of course. I felt him pick me up and lay me down on the table. I was wearing jeans and a man’s undershirt with no bra. He said, “we’re going to do this raw,” (god, even the dialogue in my dreams needs help) and got up on top of me.
We kissed again and I pulled off his shirt. He slid back down and stood at the end of the table. Man, was he hot. I got up on my elbow and unzipped my pants. Suddenly I stopped.
“Edward, I think I have to pee. Don’t move I’ll be right back.” He smiled and I went into the bathroom. The toilet was unusable so I went back through the dining room and unlocked the door. The hall was filled with students. I knew there was a bathroom three flights up so I ran up the stairs but couldn’t find it. There was a sign for a locker room one flight down so I went back down.
The rest of the dream involved me running from place to place, trying to find a usable toilet. The one I ended up finding had walls that only went down to my knees, and only added to the discomfort I began feeling a few seconds earlier when I realized a little boy was looking over the top of the stall. I actually remember thinking, I hope Edward doesn’t think I’m weird for taking so long to pee. As if I still had a shot in hell with him.
On my way back to the dining room I woke up.
Queen Vee indeed. Maybe I should get a gem-studded chastity belt. At least then I’d live up to my self-appointed Royalty. Love the little teeth. Totally makes the belt.
Monday, June 05, 2006
To Do List
For the record, if either of these two ever met me and whispered something sexily direct in my ear, no-holds-barred. Naked time with none of these pesky inhibitions.
Of course, with my luck they're both probably gay. I can't even lose my virginity in my fantasies. Such is life! *sigh*
Of course, with my luck they're both probably gay. I can't even lose my virginity in my fantasies. Such is life! *sigh*
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Overly Sensitive I'm Sure
During one of the various “mandatory” after work drinks (don’t get me started) I chose to sit on the opposite end of the table, as far from my boss as I could possibly position myself. As per usual the invite was emailed and closed with, "be there.” It was clearly directed towards yours truly for skipping out on the last gathering for drinks with co-workers.
Trying my best to enjoy myself, I barely glanced toward that end of the table and concentrated on the conversations of the people immediately around me. Somehow there was a lull and my boss took the floor. She began to tell this inappropriate story about how a friend of hers was still a virgin.
“Can you believe it?” she said, aghast. “She’s in her thirties and she hasn’t popped her cherry. God. I mean, it’s not like she’s ugly. She’s a little chunky but still…”
I think it was probably that moment in which any respect I had for her as a person burned up in a blaze of disgust. (My personal and professional respect have both diminished greatly since the day she became my boss and for various reasons, but this sealed the deal.) First of all, that’s her friend she’s totally mocking and not in a light-hearted way. I don’t care if my friends joke with me and make fun, but if they went out and told a room full of people who worked for them how awful it was for me, I think I’d be a little hurt. Of course, I wouldn’t be friends with people who would demean me like that. At least, I hope by now I've weeded those out.
Granted, all of my co-workers who were also subjected to this insipid story (that didn’t stop there) have most likely forgotten it. Hell, they probably forgot it two minutes after she told it. I realize it is my own insecurity that prevents me from doing the same, but I know for a fact that even if I wasn’t a virgin, I still would have been offended at how she treated an alleged friend.
Trying my best to enjoy myself, I barely glanced toward that end of the table and concentrated on the conversations of the people immediately around me. Somehow there was a lull and my boss took the floor. She began to tell this inappropriate story about how a friend of hers was still a virgin.
“Can you believe it?” she said, aghast. “She’s in her thirties and she hasn’t popped her cherry. God. I mean, it’s not like she’s ugly. She’s a little chunky but still…”
I think it was probably that moment in which any respect I had for her as a person burned up in a blaze of disgust. (My personal and professional respect have both diminished greatly since the day she became my boss and for various reasons, but this sealed the deal.) First of all, that’s her friend she’s totally mocking and not in a light-hearted way. I don’t care if my friends joke with me and make fun, but if they went out and told a room full of people who worked for them how awful it was for me, I think I’d be a little hurt. Of course, I wouldn’t be friends with people who would demean me like that. At least, I hope by now I've weeded those out.
Granted, all of my co-workers who were also subjected to this insipid story (that didn’t stop there) have most likely forgotten it. Hell, they probably forgot it two minutes after she told it. I realize it is my own insecurity that prevents me from doing the same, but I know for a fact that even if I wasn’t a virgin, I still would have been offended at how she treated an alleged friend.
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