Tuesday, February 27, 2007
So, does anyone in the Filthy and Gorgeous posse know how to remove a condom that is embedded in one's deep cavernous hole? If so, I have a...ahem, friend, that desperately needs to know how. UPDATE!!!! 3 PM. Crisis has been averted and I...er my friend has not appreciated the comments regarding her vagina being the Bermuda Triangle or some sort of intergalatic worm. No, your missing socks are not located within its realm. It has been returned to it's former foreign body free zone.
So I am down. I am very very down. I rarely get depressed but this last weekend, I did not leave my house. I wore the same "Chicago" shirt and sweat pants all weekend and ate nothing but carbs. Seriously, Friday I ate Mac and Cheese, mashed potatoes, stuffing and cornbread for lunch. I came home and ate a box of croutons for dinner. I made a batch of brownies, and ate them all. Pretty much kept the pace for the rest of the weekend. I find solice in carbs. I watched reality TV all weekend and knitted. I had plans with Boy Gorgeous Saturday night and met him at the grocery store to pick up some wine. He suggested we go out instead until I unzipped my jacket and he saw the "Chicago" shirt, with tooth paste dripped down the front, some rice caked on and a big coffee stain on my belly area. "Jesus Kat, you look like a crack head!!" He did drag me out for dinner, but I insisted on coming home directly from the restaurant. Admittedly, I was not much fun. Saw San Fran last week when he was in town for business. It was OK. I have a date with Skeptic tonight. He is making me dinner. I have requested fish sticks and tater tots (more carbs!!). He seemed stoked that I am so low maintenance. Ultimately, my itch is here (imagine me reaching out with my left hand to it's extreme extension) and my scratch is over here (mirror image with my right hand). My emotional needs are not being met and I see no relief in sight. I wish dating was like knitting, all the little "v"s stacked neatly on top of one another. By following a pattern you know you are creating something long lasting and will fit. There is something very graceful and poetic about the repetition and predictability of knitting. Perhaps that is why I am clutching my needles and holding on for dear life. It is one thing that I can control.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Dating as you get older really sucks. I am thinking about this a lot as my birthday is just around the corner. I squandered my youth. I was oblivious to the power a hot, tight bodied twenty year old possesses. My last heartbreak, when the Cracker (my age, out of shape...OK pudgy guy) dumped me for a uber hot 22yr old actress. Rubbed my nose into this fact and crushed me. My skin isn't as elastic at it used to be, nor are my joints.....literally limping around since my last weekend of shagging. What scares me is how rigid I have become with my life. I just want things my way....I don't want to be beholden to anyone. Our quirks and idiosyncrasies become more defined and refined as we age. I haven't lived with anyone for over five years. Am I capable of sharing a space with another person at this point? If so, is he? Mantits was so entrenched in his misogynist bullshit that toward the end I told him he should run for president of the He Man Woman Hater's Club. That is not going to change. The Psycho wanted to surf filthy porn morning noon and night. That is not going to change. The Jew whined, a lot. That is not going to change. I like/need the WHOLE closet. That is not going to change. Are those of us who are 30 somethings (perpetually 29 in my case) and still single doomed to die alone? Maybe the better question is how do we stay open and agile? Unfortunately, my heart isn't as forgiving as it used to be in my misspent youth. Every time I try to bounce back it changes ever so slightly.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
Back from San Fran. Think I am going to clear the decks and start filling my pipeline from scratch after this weekend. I have found that dating an alcoholic is a double edged sword......it is fun when he is drinking and whispering all of the flowery boyfriendy type things in my ear; (IE. I am beautiful, he is lucky to be with me, he is going to marry me.) It is not so cool when he is dropping his pants in a club, hitting street signs and threatening to have the cab driver leave me at the curb in the rain in "anywhere" San Francisco. When sober, he gives me a blank stare (no emotion at all behind his glance.) We don't have much to talk about. He seriously could not get rid of me fast enough yesterday (had his door open and seat belt off before he had pulled up to the curb and stopped the car at the airport.) He is what the Doc would call SFAR (single for a reason.) This begs the question am I SFAR? I very well may be; I smoke, I like to party, I have a lot of hot male friends, I have two unruly dogs (that will punch any newcomer male in the junk), I knit. Nuff said. I think most of all the fact that I am smart and want a relationship makes me SFAR and scary to most men. SFAR sounds like a horrid medical affliction and sometimes it feels like it is. Is there a mask you can wear to defend yourself against this evil disease? (or better yet, in my case, a pill you can take to rid yourself of it.) This reminds me of the last time I was at my gyno and he asked me what I was doing for birth control. I told him it was unnecessary, yet he pressed on with "the talk" about being responsible reproductively until I was forced to lay it all on the line and say, "Dr. K, I find my personality is all the birth control I will ever need." He didn't laugh. Perhaps the mask I currently wear as the Dating Misanthrope is hindering my quest for a relationship. As Chelsea Handler says, "I just want a serious two, maybe three week relationship." Is that really too much to ask for? I have read all of the books and am no closer to having the answers on how to date than I had prior to reading them. Maybe I should go on a man fast until I decide which "me" I will share with the male outside world. I am tired of being the "cool guy girl" that just rolls with every shitty experience I have with men thus excusing their behavior and blatant disregard for any woman's feelings. More specifically, mine. It is not cool. It is not OK. I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!! I am a woman, an awesome woman that deserves an awesome man. What does that mask look like? Maybe I should look in my *magic* mirror to find it.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
I have been in a perpetual state of "red alert" since Sunday. What I mean is, I have been messed with by a clit tease. I now know what it is like to be a man and CONSTANTLY be thinking about sex. A new form of terrorism.......and now I suffer with my own personal "G"ihad. It was supposed to happen Sunday....did not. Was supposed to happen Tuesday...did not. Was supposed to happen tonight...will not. He is Lucy, and I am Charlie Brown having the football pulled away from me at the last minute. Repeatedly. Physically, it is not unlike when you REALLY have to pee, and you are doing fine until you get close to the bathroom and then the desire increases ten fold and you are unsure if you are going to make it. That is me right now thanks to Skeptic. We spoke on Monday night and the conversation went something like this; Skeptic, "You like reality TV right?" Kat, "Why yes, I love it." Skeptic, "Change of plans for Thursday, one of my coworkers is on Survivor Fiji and she is having a party to kick off the season." (Are you thinking what I was thinking? I was thinking he was asking me to go to the party with him.) Skeptic, "So, can we hook up earlier so I can go?" To quote Charlie Brown, "ARGHHH!!!" Skeptic claims to be horny too. To quote Osama Bin Laden, "he accused me of having his malady, then snuck away." Rarely have I been turned down for sex so I cry bullshit to his claim of hornyness (while shaking my fists at the sky). Fortunately, the weekend is creeping up on me and I shall celebrate by going to San Fran and working out some of this frustration. He has NO idea what he is in for. I am in a "whorey" war and I intend to die fighting.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Been a little bit since I posted. Just going to ramble about the last month or so and the goings on so please, buckle up and bear with me......have been seriously dating San Fran. He was in town a couple weeks ago throwing red flags left and right. He is good looking. He is smart. He makes good money. He likes to party. A lot. Not necessarily a bad thing but I am not sure how I feel about dating someone that cannot handle their alcohol as well as I do (those of you that know me are saying a communal, Uh Ohhhhhh right now). The last night he was in LA was interesting...the Bears vs. Sea Hawks game (he is originally from Seattle and broke up with me roughly six times during the game). We went to the Fox and Hound, he started drinking early.....I did not. Bears win!!! (insert Bears fight song here) and we ended our day at the Green Frog. He was buzzy, but in a cute way. Initially. We were talking to a couple of guys at the bar. Nice guys, cool and interesting. One was a casting agent, and of course I asked him if he could make me a star. Anyway, San Fran got increasingly fucked up and began, how shall we put this, um....acting out. Started saying stuff about how we were going to go home and fuck. He loves me. He is going to marry me. ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME??? WANT A PIECE OF THIS?!?!!??! At one point he lost track of his drink and climbed up on the bar....now mind you he is a big and muscly guy. I grabbed his arm and literally braced myself against the bar by planting my feet on the base and throwing my ENTIRE body weight backward while pulling on his arm. I got him down. Phew. He did it Again!!! Sweaty and exhausted from my struggle, I asked for the bill so we could get out of there. The casting agent said, "So, where did you meet this guy? The Internet?!!??" Har DE har...we all had a good laugh and I paid the tab and left. San Fran was hammered but wanted more alcohol and insisted we stop at the liquor store on the way home. I stayed outside and had a smoke until an inordinate amount of time seemed to pass and I surmised I should go inside and see what the hell (could be anything at this point in my mind) was going on. I walked inside to find the clerk arguing with San Fran about his purchases, he was buying non alcoholic beer. The clerk, I assume accessing his inebriation, was arguing FOR alcoholic beer.....once again, only in LA my friends.....I cleared up the error and we began the short walk home. At one point, San Fran stepped into a mud puddle and started fighting with it. "Don't you know who I am?!?!?!? How DARE you!! I am San Fran!" Honestly, I would like to say that it was a first for one of my paramours to fight with an inanimate object....but sadly it is not. We FINALLY get back to my place, and now San Fran is feeling randy. He aggressively shoved his hand down my pants and I shut him down. I later referred to this as his attempt at making meatloaf. Ow. At this point, he pulled the Donald Trump on me and told me, "You're Fired!!" Done. If I wouldn't do it with him that was it. Deep sigh. No. Go to bed. I know you won't remember this tomorrow. And he didn't. I did. I am going to visit him next weekend. What is wrong with me? He is GU (geographically undesirable) and crazy when he drinks. But he is fun. And hung. Is this what it has come to? What is it about me that attracts this and makes it ok? Wonder why I have been quiet? Reflection is a solitary business. There is more from the last month....I just cannot go there tonight.