3 posts from April 2009

So. If a guy has his cock in your mouth and you start having giggle fits and you're basically deep-throating that shit and then you can't stop giggling...plus. you're on Adderall and Xanax and youve been drinking all night and it's actually  half past 7 in the morning..( so basically no one can blame you that you're LOSING IT SO FUCKING MUCH and giggling while sucking cock ) .. I mean would you think the guy gets pissed or something?

Poor kid didn't even get to finish!

It was kind of epic. He made stupid comments about taking my shirt off while making out and i do take some pride in telling him that i only take my shirt off for people who return my calls. Others get to fumble about under my shirt catching glimpses of teh most perfect set of boobs known to men ( and few chicks )

It's stupid but it felt good. In retrospect i'm kinda happy he didn't get to get off. There's a limit on how long you can do such performance art in the bedroom after all the things listed in paragraph #1. Clearly.

And i got free drugs off it.

All my girlfriends are telling me that I "deserve better" and shouldn't let him "do this". Here's the thing. Clearly he's not interested in dating/relationship. But am I? no. I'm incapable of doing such thing. I cheat and i get the feeling of cagyness too easily. Would I love to have somebody in my life who cares for me and wants to be with me? Yes! Do i want to arrive at a party with somebody and then spend the night as a couple? Fuck no!

I like coming to parties knowing he'll be there. being all excited all day , figuring out what to wear and then ignore him until he comes over. I like being able to put my drinks on his tab without asking and I like that a random dude I have no intentions on being with can grab and pull me behind the pub and kiss me hard and heavy. Without me having to feel like i'm cheating or hurting someones feelings. 

I like that I know he'll want to go the diner because he knows I like that too and that he invites me over for drugs and then suggests the bedroom. Quite frankly I like sucking his cock.

Yes i've cried about him and wallowed in selfp itty because he wouldn't call me back. But when i think about it I cried because I was supposed to cry. Because all my girlfriends were asking me if he wasn't being rude and mean what with not calling back. And doesn't it botehr me that he doesn't reply to my txts asap? And do you really believe when he says he's only hooking up with you? and? and? and?

I'm not a girlfriend type of girl. I've seen my mum bleeding on the floor too many times. I've seen my sister being kicked in the stomache too many times. I've been hit in the faces too many times. I don't trust and i've got walls up. But it makes me happy if he buys me rum&coke and knows that's what i drink. And it makes me happy to know that he knows i like chocolate chip pancakes from the middle to the outside and that he pulls my hair when we kiss.

It's not much and for most the girls I know it wouldn't be worth even getting dressed and ready. For me it's all i want to ask for. Not because i don't want more but because I don't think i can handle more.

I have a pub again. Which is the funniest thing - one shouldn't assume that "having a pub" would make one feel insanely settled, grounded and associate with the feeling of being "at home" but it does. That lovely pub that opened up about 5 months ago makes me feel stupidly at home. And at ease. I walk in there and my bartenders are called Manchester and Liverpool and I shout their new=found names through the room when  I want more free Stella ( sometimes not entirely free. The worst deal i've gotten so far was three stella plus home made cheesecake for the prize of one Stella ) All the bartenders plus owner are Irish which I can torelate but dislike enough to yell stupid jokes at  them the later it gets.

They hug me when they're off and if I order fish&chips I get  one full plate of both instead of one all - for free. And if i want to bring 16 underaged people to say goodbye to Tina then Sean just hugs me and calls me an english cunt or a lesbian and brings more Stella. We also get cherries for free - me and anna and i'm sure if we keep playing photohunt with the nekkied pictures we'll beat the stupid high score too.

And it's nice and it feels right and i don't have to worry when i'm there.

I've been doing okay with the eating too. Cheesecake's still inside me and i doubt it'll come out. I did throw up but for the first time in three days which isn't bad. The weekend was though. The family gone I had the house to myself and I drank and ate too much and went to drink for free in the city and danced all night and the booze made my self control fly away when it came to diner food and spending time in the bathroom after. Which I did but it wasn't entirely horrible.

I'm quite soaked up in profanities these days. Worrying about Pat and if he'll ever love me ( or bring me Xanax for that matter ) and if i'll sleep with the Mosshart when I see her and how I could have missed the first show  ever but Jack and her ( and qotsa bassssssisssst!! ) but that's okay because i had a meeting with Dear Sr. Ruben who explained to me that seven years from now ill get my PhD in Psychology and it'll all be okay.

Not the last part obviously. But seven years. So little. And then i'll be able to help all those girls that i'm trying to save and pick up and i'll laugh into Dave's face for telling me i'll never make it cause i'm too screwed up. You can't be too screwed up to help other people. The darker the black you're surrounded by the easier it is to see other peoples lights - even if they can't.

And then I hear the lyrics. Of all of them. And i realize how full of pain we are. I overuse that word. "Pain", that is. I do, i'm aware. But they are. All of us have been heard so many times and we can argue that we don't live in constant fear of being hurt again. I grew up listening to Whitney Houston and we all know how her songs were written by others and you could still hear the beauty in her voice. All that.

And all she turned out to be is a beaten, battered, cocained addict who couldn't get away from her man. People pretend that the whole Chris Brown beating up Rhianna thing is this big blow up and shit but it's not. How long has the world known that Whitney Houston was being beaten up by her ex-husband? We all knew, nobody cared. We all know somebodies wife or girlfriend who is being abused physically. That guy at the dinner that tells you that his dad slapped him senseless when he was little and joked about how it didn't "do him any harm" or you girlfriend in the  car when you guys talk about raising kids once you're old and settled with a husband by the side. She tells you she wouldn't mind slapping her kids every once in a while. And you nod and agree. And in your heads you both want to kill your dads for ever raising their hands against you.

It took Houston maybe a million years to fuck up so hard to get out of there. And all of us try to get better. We try and we fail. It's so hard to be a girl once you been put down in the ground. Look at the Lohan, i think Sam is her anchor in life. She's there. And all of us girls seem to have the hardest time finding somebody who is just  "there". It's exciting to see New York City because it's so pulsating and vibrating and everything and everyone moves and tumbles, falls and stumbles, picks up and moves and moves and moves. It's like a big dance, a parade of some sort and none of us know what we're cheering for.

Which is exciting for a while but all the spinning and the colors and the drinks make you sick after a while. So sick when you stop for a second everything you left behind catches up and hooks you in and pulls you down.

Listen to Lily Allen and Adele and listen to MIA. How much of a struggle it is and how much the world hurts. I think women have this gift of wearing pain. Most men are doomed in societies parameters to stick in their grounds and be what men are supposed to be. And us women too and we mingle and dress up as drags and we cheer to Brian Molko. We blur and we fade but back in my appartment i'm still just a girl. Like Gwen Stefani said. And it still hurts. Saviour I can only seem to see in another men ( or woman that is ). Somebody I lost long ago in a different life, in a different me.

I don't believe that Love makes us seek out other people. Or make us seek relationships. I think it's being connected. Being completed. We're all half done, a little rough around the edges. We seek. I wish I would find sometime.