Selective Fetishist confessional

It’s actually quite ironic that I’d just recently taken some pictures with the word “fetish,”

fetishistwhen I got pinged asking about one particular peculiar one. I seem to attract a wide variety of freaks and geeks. It’s wonderful, and yet a headache at the same time.

Which of course, I tumblr’d that whole convo here:

Here’s the jist of last night’s/this morning’s /raise eyebrow event.

My friend Steve asked me my feelings on furries. Furries. Did I mention.. furries? If you don’t know about this fetish, let me enlighten you with a reading from the book of Urban Dictionary:

Furry-In the broadest definition, someone who finds the idea of anthropomorphic (humanlike) animals, in art, fiction, cartoons, costume, or other media, to be an appealing one. … Furries can range from people who enjoy portraying anthropomorphic animals in art; people who enjoy imagining what a future, past or alternative world might be like if humans were replaced with or accompanied by anthropomorphic animals; and people who like wearing costume tails, ears and/or animal mascot costumes, to those who feel spiritual connections to animals or to the animal form; and people who find the concept of anthropomorphic animals enjoyable in a sexual way. (Amongst many, many other things.)

I can deal with most things. In fact, most fetishes barely make me blink. I have to admit, it’s pretty hilarious when I hear about a friend who doesn’t know what 2girls1cup is. I’m the asshole that sends them there, and to lemonparty and tubgirl.

This is not the first time this has happened to me. I’ve been the confessional to a few closet fetishists. I’m a favorite among couples to invite into their bedrooms. I’ve been asked to cyber, and participate in text dom’ing. Hell, I’ve even considered dom’ing. I won’t though.

I would like to consider myself a bit of a fetishist. There’s a lot about the fetish world that appeals to me. A big portion of it is a turn on. (Great, now that I’ve said that I’m going to get even more spam!)

Heels. Cuffs. Voyeuristic tendancies. PDA. Rough___. 50s cliches. etc,etc.

I keep alot of the details to myself and between lovers. It’s honestly not everyone’s business. Much of it, is pretty obvious to those who pay attention. I censor myself selectively. Seems suiting that I’d be the same about my fetishes.

However, if you’re feeling particularly honest, I’ll be your confessional. Just please, erm, try to keep it clean? Well, and not terribly bizzare… or else I may have to blog about you.

Pardon me while I Kvetch

Awhile back, I casually introduced my best to a friend of mine.  I’ve known this other friend longer than my best, and have honestly flirted with him a bit in the past. That, however has little to nothing to do with this… but it’s part of todays ramble.

My best friend lives in the middle of abobinamable snowville… also called igloo town.. you know it as by it’s common name however-Alaska. How in the world does someone from Southern California manage to have a best friend up there you ask? Meeting her was actually a very odd tale. But not too too odd given that this is a digital age.

Yes, I seem to be a repeat masochist in long distance relationships. It has to do with some underlying issues, and I know exactly why. But once upon a time, I used to date a fellow Alaskan. One that used to be friends with her.

Now I love my best friend to death. I call her my wife. She is the first person I go to with most anything. She is my confessional, and I’m hers. We have a very strong relationship. Even people that do not like us both understand the kinship.

Something important about her that should be out there. She is one of a handful of whimsical people still in existence that I know. She is a rare breed. She is well versed, and grounded, while her head is in the clouds at the same time.

However… I’m not very thrilled right now about her.

When not involved with someone, she is the most wonderful and die hard loyalest friends. However once there is a guy in the picture, she seems to poof.

Enter my guy friend- cross country even. It was pretty casual that I introduced them. He’s one of those guy friends that I seem to know almost too well. He’s one I’d flirt with, probably even sleep with and date if he was local, but I’m not sure about serious. Not that he’s a bad guy, but he’s young.

Good guy friend. Best of gal friends. I knew she’d be into him. Why did I do that?

“You’re the best Yenta matchmaker ever!” she says after returning from the first trip she’s made cross country to see him.

I want to be happy for her. I really am happy that they are happy. However… it’s a bit frustrating. I feel like I’ve lost my friend to vagina filler.

Here I am in one hand all rooting for my friends. In the other, I’m walking the line very carefully worrying that it’s going to blow up and then I’m going to hear about it.

The timing for this is all bad as well. I’d been talking to the person I met her through recently as he lives nearby, and was really excited about possibly seeing them again. He’s moving back to Alaska next month. I made a promise to myself that I was going to stick to within the state long distances tops ha.  So there goes that.

For me, those long distances just don’t work… not to that extreme. Cross country? Um, how the hell do people do that? I thought that was the stuff that only works out in fairytales and movies.

And honestly, I really don’t want to be the matchmaker. Call me selfish but if I get to kiss frogs awhile and all that.. I mean, I have a blast dating frequently. I enjoy committed relationships as well. I don’t need them, but they’re enjoyable.

Am I jealous that she’s possibly found Prince Charming at 21 versus me being a “puma” and having firecracker romances but no “afters?”  It’s too soon to tell.  The main thing that bothers me is that I feel I’m losing my best friend… and what’s worse, is that it’s to another one of my friends and my own damn fault.

What I’m getting at is this: Why do women blow off their friends the moment that a guy comes in the picture? It annoys the piss out of me. Am I just getting old?

I think I have a little bit of a reason to vent here. If you’re with someone, fine. Just don’t go making promises to people and have them thinking you’re all going to do x thing, and then blow them off for a cock or a vagina.

Be real.  Be honest.  I don’t expect to have your attention every waking hour.  But phone calls that happened daily turned into happening once a week… to twice a month.. to.. catch her on x social network because she may reply faster there.

What I’m saying is, I want the cake, but found out it was a lie. My foot tastes like chicken.

I thought that was against the bible, sir/ Conformity = Loyalty

Sunday evening’s ramble yesterday with family ended in dinner. Yes, believe it or not, yours truly cooked dinner and washed the dishes for a family affair. Lucky me, I got to bbq in the 100 degree weather. Woot.

It was a day full of disdain, as I wrote earlier with the rant on normalacy.

Yet again, even with a day off, we go back to work ethics. This time there was someone who was fired from her job recently in order to make room for some cheaper labor. The woman was unfortunate to have too much experience. Now I am not sure weather or not that these clients in question were ones that she’d helped the company aquire on her own accord, or not. That could make some difference to this arguement.

It was discussed in family discussion though, that the person should take their clients and branch off to do the business on her own. Which raises the eyebrow for me a bit… while the perspective previous employer may have not been the best about firing her (she still collects unemployment bc the company was gracious enough to tell the gov’t a good reason so as she would get it- per her severance), being the sensitivity of the information of the clients (medical billing), they could be within their rights to keep their clients. Or should the woman be able to walk with them? Where is the ethical line? Do NDAs (Non Disclosure Agreements) not hold any merit? Isn’t this, in a way, essentially stealing?

How is this ok behavior morally and ethically sound?

Todays debaucle.. 2 little dots.

Living in Southern California, I would think that we are a little more liberal and open minded about appearances. The West End is a cultural melting pot. It’s not uncommon to see people with facial piercings actively working with customers. Or, well it’s supposed to be more acceptable.

However, despite the fact that I live in “uppity organic indieville,” I have recently run into what my dad has secretly, and well, not very secretly hoping would happen. Ah yes, for the first time since moving to this area, I was told my facial piercing would be an issue, and would have to be removed and/or covered up in as cosmetically pleasing way possible.

My piercing holds personal weight to it. I’m not going to go into it now, but if you are close, you will know exactly what it means. In a vague nutshell, my marriage had a disastrous ending. Some things that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone happened… and I got my piercing as a representation from where I’ve come from. True, that I should not “need” it to get through what I did. However, it’s as much a part of me as any appendage is to someone… and so, when someone says “Oh just take it out, it’s no big deal.” It really is.

Conformist lemming nonsense yet again.

So how is that acceptable? You cant discriminate because of sex, religion, or sexual preference… tell me what, praytell does me having a non-offensive piercing have to do with my ability to work? How is it any different from any of the other things that companies are not allowed to not hire you for?

How is it that we have affirmative action where people get jobs SPECIFICALLY bc they are x minority but there is not anything for people like me.. or hell “worse” than me? Have we not evolved as a society enough yet? What the hell was that whole womens liberation movement about? The freeing of the slaves? The countless Religious struggles?

This country was founded by church going types. They didn’t want to be oppressed by their monarchy, yet they do the same selective biggotry here like it’s nothing. It makes sense. It is after all, one of the negative traits of organized religion* (in my experience).

It’s the same religious individuals running our gov’t and snubbing the alternative, kitsh, and otherwise

*Note-all religions are not necessarily bad. the views & insights of the writer are based on personal experiences & leave open for anyone elses personal beliefs… someone else may have had a better experience, and all the more power to them. I’d rather have positives than negatives with anything*

It’s funny that these are the ones that most frequent their dominatrix… cheat on their wives and partake in alt subcultures but prefer them to remain underground bc god forbid (pun intended) that they be exposed for the sinners they actually are.. and not these morally sound wonders beings.

Morals and ethics and selective censorship.. who makes these things up? Why are some things stuck in this teasing game of are we in, are we not 1957?

What’s good for the goose, should be for the gander… and if not, let’s force them through psychological oppression! They’ll never know the difference!

Normalacy is in the eye of the beholder

Inspired by a quote from a tumblelog via Maia Bittner:

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.-― Albert Camus

Enter another series of life story interjections.

A few months back I lived in this hellhole also known as the armpit of California or Bakersfield to the locals. I have never fit in anywhere. I’m not complaining at all. However when trying to get a job somewhere, specifically in the middle of nowhere, you need to look as non-abrasive as possible.

Bakersfield is the epicenter of not only nothing, but an undeserved “better than you” conservative nightmare. If you are not from there, you are snubbed. Even worse if you look anything less than unfashionable lemming. Not to say that everyone from that locale is that way.. but, well, there’s never going to be a major runway show coming out of there.

In an yet another failed attempt to “act normal,” my friend John rolled his eyes. He’d told me that I should downplay my attire for a day out job hunting. I wore a blue collared button up shirt, khacki’s, a plaid scarf, and a brown houndstooth jacket. It was business professional in my mind. However, that was enough to merit

“Oh you have it all wrong. Better, but still no. No one dresses [in this town] like Audrey Hepburn Jena. I mean, look at that coat. It looks like you robbed her grave for it…”

I chortled. Ah I love gay men. Even indirectly, the best compliments come from them. John is a character of himself. Far from normal, but appears it from the outside. He’s not only accepted in the biggoted area there, but welcomed with open arms. For him, acting normal, even if he isn’t, comes easy.

Months later, let’s go back to my last visit to my beloved San Diego. This time I was in the Marina district visiting a lover. Downtown San Diego, as many of you know, is full of that standard “normal.” You can operate well under the radar if you want to… but not me. As he did, quite easily when I wasn’t around. I lived in San Diego for years, but never fully felt like I fit in there either.

I take into account many different fashions and don’t really have a classification. I’m a bit of a chameleon. I have been referred to as a Madonna on more than one occassion. I can’t stand to look at the same face in the mirror for too long. I am addicted to buying hair dye. I’m indecisive. It’s what I do when I stress.

(What’s funny, is that I don’t even think I look that weird.)

For someone like me, to be “normal” is not only work, but it’s damn hard work sometimes. It’s not that I don’t know what society deems as socially acceptable or that I don’t want to fit in. To some degree, it’s human nature to want to.

It’s a double edged sword. You grow up being told to be different. You have to do your best to stand out from the crowd. Then when you do, you are snubbed.

Enter church. Sunday morning Catholocism. My father… the ever vigilante. I didn’t want to go for a colon cleansing. However, after some bucking, I decided to bite the bullet and take one for the team. I was dressed like a Pinup, but essentially conservative. I do not agree with everything being said in the service, but observed and took notes like the normal journalist. When it came time for the Our Father, everyone in the church will hold hands and pray this one prayer as a unified sect. The woman standing next to me was an elderly woman. She snubbed me.

Flashback yet again to when I had my son baptised. A single mother, but doing what I was brought up to be the best thing. I went to a class for parents getting the sacrament. What they want to do is educate you as to why you are getting these things done for your child, and educate you on some of the basics.

Ten years of Catholic school rhetoric. Of course, I was the one to answer nearly every question. The deacon came around to ask everyone about the names on the certificate. He asked the father’s name of my son- whom went MIA immediately upon me telling him I was PG. This was not necessarily my fault, but oh man did I get to hear it. Again, I was snubbed.

However still, despite the nose turning that I had gotten when I did step 1 for my son, when I got married later, I attempted to yet again try and do this “normal” thing. I went to church with my family. I did the aerobics.. not one church besides the one I grew up in, I didn’t get snubbed.

In transverse, I have had a few great moments in not being normal. They far outweigh the bad ones when you think about it.

I was in Venice last summer, when I nearly moved applying for a gaming company. (My housing arrangement fell through so I didn’t end up taking that job unfortunately) I had on an animal print top, black capris, some black and white polka dot pumps with red heels, a red ribbon round my neck, chandelier earrings, and what I call my “Lucille Ball” hair wrap. To me, this wasn’t anything majorly different. And in Venice, even more so.

I was walking around on the canals headed to my interview though, and needed to make sure I was going the right way. I saw someone watering their garden outside. The woman told me that I was indeed going the right way, and I thanked her and carried on. I heard her utter the words

“Desperately Seeking Susan…”

Moments later, she rushed up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. She wanted to know if she could take a picture with me. My immediate reaction was

“I don’t look that weird do I? I mean this is Venice…”

She said

“No no no. You look great. I love it all!”

The whole day went like that, and I was offered that job. When my living situation changed, I had to tell them that I was taking a class and unfortunately could not take them up on the offer. They said that they were disappointed and gave me 2 weeks to change my mind! I wish I could have taken it, and even now, I still consider trying to find an arrangement to pick up that job.

Another day of applying was similar. I get told I look like a movie star. I’m not quite sure why. This happens in spurts. Even though it does seem to be a reoccurance, it always shocks me a bit.

But if not being normal is wrong, well.. a majority of the time, I’ll leave it to those people who can pull it off without worry. Pretending when you’re not on a stage? Fuggetaboutit!

Shallow haven

Live from my bedroom, it’s (almost) Saturday night.   Though tonight will likely be a quiet one… I had a very long week and unless a dark horse helps me escape, I’m going to be playing catch up here.

I’m making my rounds on the site trail per usual.   A few of them, being dating sites that I go to just for kicks.  No, I won’t tell you which ones, nor would I ever pay for those services.  It’s like paying to get laid.  Being a woman and not a mutant, if I have to pay for sex, it’s pretty pathetic.  Though I have had a few long distance relationships… um.  /whistles innocently

In any event, I’ve been told that even though I date on a regular basis, I “have the highest standards of anyone [person x] has ever known.”  Women are picky about a lot of things.  Some of the high maintence girls are trainwrecks with it.  Me?  Oh hell yes I’m picky about anything on or in me.  Food, shoes, clothes, and therefore, men should be a given.

However, I admit, while alot of my standards, expained or otherwise, are more or less really basic to  how a respectable human should act, others, however, are admittedly more shallow in nature.

So here is a little peek at some of the shallow things that just red flag someone for me.

1)Do not own a car and/or live at home.  Now, if you’re in the bay area, this really doesn’t necessarrily apply to you.  However if you’re in LA or even in San Diego and don’t own one.. that’s pretty bad.  There’d better be a good reason for you not to have one.  Living at home is really inexcusable either.  You can call me a hypocrite because technically I don’t own a car right this moment that works, but as the woman, in a somewhat old fashioned sense, the fella should be wanting to drive me while courting me unless it’s part of the adventure for the date itself.  And by date, I don’t mean, every date.

2)Your name is John.  This is not directed at anyone. However, I have a stepfather, an uncle, and a brother all named John.  When I’m in the bedroom, I do not want to have any recollection of a family member at all.  That is just.. disgusting.  This is also true with Guy or Jessica.  Dad is Guy.  Sister is Jessica.  You could be the hottest version of Jessica Rabbit.. but I’d still pass.

3)Body hair/no hair.  Evolution my dear Watson.  I may be Italian, however I do not find hairy men to be attractive.  Nothing about Robin Williams is physically attractive to me.  In transverse, Vin Diesal may be some women’s fantasy, but there’s nothing dreamy to me about having a bald head.  I like some hair to run my fingers through and pull on down when need be.  I had some great conversations with some men and then found out they were hairy- they were quickly friend shelved immediately.

4)Age.  I am noticing that I am the age where a lot of older men in their upper 30s and 40s are starting to pay more attention to me.  3 words-Dirty… old… men.  The middle age syndrome of chasing tail 10+ years younger or nearly half their age will never cease to amaze me.  Yes, I understand why they do it.  It’s flattering.  Though it’s never going to get anywhere with me.  I call one man I have dated “old balls” in jest, but he’s only 4 years older than me (and calls me hag in return).  If I say it to you and you’re above the age cut off, I’m not even partially kidding when I say, you have zero chance so don’t bother.

5)Virgins, or more or less virgins.  Slept with 2 people?  You may as well be a virgin.  I may flirt with you.  I may even consider dating you.  But honestly I likely won’t.  I’m not saying that I want a Ron Jeremy type, but I’m a grown up, and don’t want to have a man with training wheels.. or should I say- boy.

6)You call me that *one* name.  I twittered it as one of my random facts.  You have to have some serious priviledges before you even get to joke at me about that, and/or have known me for a decade.  Those are the only instances where it’s allowed.  I’m not kidding.  I will dump someone over them calling me that.  I’d rather be called a million derogatory names over that one.  Oh, and if its uttered in the bedroom of all places, pray I don’t have my heels on.

7)Complete lack of formal etiquette.  Opening doors and waiting till everyone is served before eating.. simple things your mother should have taught you should be common sense.  Don’t open the door for me on a date?  Chew with your mouth open at dinner?  Flatulate?  Check please.  And don’t worry, it won’t happen again.

8)You take more time to groom than I do.  Ok, so I admit, I like “GQ pretty boy types.”  I want a man who knows how to dress himself, sure.  But there’s a line.  Metro can be a great thing.  It’s about pride and taking care of yourself.  However, if you take more time to get ready than I do, there’s a problem.  As a guy, you should be able to do that that much faster.  I dated a guy once who was one of those “guys guys.”  In front of all them, he was the  “this is how a man is supposed to be” types.  However once when he held my hand he made a remark about my cuticles being horrible and that I needed a manicure… “I’ll take you hun. It’ll be alright…”  Um.. yeah.  No.  Ps- no eyeliner either.

9)Your apartment is a mess all (or most) of the time.  I habitually am cleaning up after my roommate and her friends.  I cannot stand a messy apartment anymore.  I had one for awhile in midst of my transition from a 2 bedroom apartment.  My grandmother is an artist and her house is a maze.  Things get moved and then they have to be rebought.  This one is a tricky feat considering I love to date artist types and this generally is one setback.  Thank you ___ for the OCD.

10)You automatically assume that me being bisexual will mean you can regularly invite to the bedroom and/or hit on every sally that comes around.  hahahaha  You’re kidding me right?  I’ll dump you automatically the moment you’re stupid enough to bring that idea up.  I’ve dated people for years and they didn’t dare ask because they knew better.  If it’s something possible, it will be mentioned on a mutual basis when the time is appropriate.  Rush the gun and you will likely regret it.  Especially if its a random bar scenario… wait, depends on how drunk I am.  You may get lucky enough that I may laugh at you.  Again, pray I’m not wearing heels.

So there’s 10 things I’d hate about you for now.  Some silly ones, and of course there were some not mentioned.  But there’s some basics for you.

Aftermaths- pt 1

TGIF! (oo oo are they hiring?)

Every damn place I go. I’m kinda over it.. but at the same time.. it’s given me an excuse to get out of the house more often and I’m not dealing with drama. I took about 300 pictures or so over the past couple of outtings. I feel like a virgin experiencing some of this for the first time. To think, I used to be so afraid of solitude. Now I can’t get enough.

Didn’t hear about the prime job. Had that pre-interview early today. Decided to skip sleep… still haven’t made it to bed yet. I’m exhausted but there’s too much to do.  So, with that said, pardon if this blog isn’t perfectly worded.  I am half asleep but refuse to go to bed without doing my blog for the day.  Committed. Addict.  No relation.

I was thinking I might clean when I got home. I vegged about 45 mins or so. Then glanced at the clock. It was 645 and I’d asked dad about doing something with Ethan tonight at 7. Where was he? Why hadn’t I heard anything from him?

I called him. My son answered. He was on the way to a cousins.

I did something I hate doing. I had my son be the middle man to ask dad what happened. Dad forgot. I’d just changed out of the get a job threads into my robe. Dad held to what he said and cancelled on the cousin. So we went to the story hour and then grabbed something to eat in the mall and took pictures in a photo booth.
Ethan loved it. I’m going to try and do it more often if/when I can.  It was something very special.  It’s wonderful.  My son is the best thing in the world.
There’s a set of pictures from that on my flickr here:

Yesterday was a bit aggravating.  My roommate wants to turn our storage area/dining room into another living room.  I think it’s stupid because we have pretty decent sized living room.  If things were rearranged or something, it would look and feel better.

I think I explained that I clean up after her.  I try not to.  I try to do subtle hints but either she doesn’t get them, or doesn’t care.  She’s not a bad person.. but, well, there was a broken glass on the counter for 3 days before I finally moved it.  This was when the kids were here.  Honestly where it was, the kids couldn’t reach, but still.  It takes how much effort to throw it way, and possibly take out your own trash?  Yeah.. exactly.

I ask her to clean her mess for weeks.  It goes on but she does nothing and I end up doing it.  However if she wants something, she gets on my case if I break the habbit of being my clean self.  It’s bs.  Having been out and about looking for stuff, I really didn’t want to deal with drama… I came in my house and pretended I was on the phone to dodge her a bit.  I should have gone to bed early.  damnit.

Then my roommate dropped the bomb the other night she may want to end our roomming situation come August.. she said her and her boyfriend were doing better again and that she might want him to move in.. wants my room for a gaming (table figures like Warhammer) table. Ah the irony.. gamer girl gets brushed off for more gaming… It’s like a sick little sad story.

No time to worry about it now though.  Things are fine currently and that’s stil a ways away.  One thing t focus on at a time… and I think that’s going to be sleep.  More later.

Dear self, stfu

My morning started late. My evening ended in morning, and I hit the snooze… or so I’d thought. I either have chronic insomnia or bouts like this one. However, after yesterday, and having gotten more on it than I have in months, I think I was allowed somewhat of a cookie.
It wasn’t incredibly late when I got out of bed, but it felt it at first. I have been consistently pushing myself to get up at normal hours. I want a conventional office job, and need to get off owl schedule.

Yesterday I was out for 12 hrs pounding the pavement like Sarah Lee does cake. I made some real progress though. Next week will hopefully be hectic in some ways. Today I made my twice a week rounds with the staffing agencies I belong to. I sent my resume to a branch of a staffing agency I was registered with previously when I lived in hell. It’s not adaquately networked though, so I have to apply and interview at each branch if they find something for me. It’s kind of lame, but ah well.

Thirty minutes later, I got a phone call about a possible job 30 mins from me. I have an initial assessment interview tommorrow morning. If that goes well, I will be going to an interview at the location. Fingers crossed that it does.

Positives though.. multiple phone calls. I have some leads that I will be talking to over the next few days. Hopefully I will be gainfully employed again within the next week or 2. Seems promising.

Last week, alot of things happened. I won’t be writing about them anywhere within the public realm if at all. It left me like a deer in headlights. People tell you that it’s ok to talk about things when they’re happening… unless you are one of a few select people, I have chosen the option to stfu. I have found that it’s the best advice someone can ever give you really. It sounds harsh. But realistically, no one wants to hear it.

Now I may sound like a bitch here, but telling people your major drama does nothing but create more and make people run from you… it doesn’t matter if it’s self imposed crap or its stuff that happened to you. Keep… your mouth… shut. And if you can’t.. you’re allowed to vent to a handful of close friends that you have a mutual understanding that you can do it to without them going over the deep end on you.

This is what I do, and the main reason I have a special page privied to a select close kin. It gives me an outlet for the people that I can talk to about things of that nature, and everyone is happy. And even in that page, it still has 2 deafcon levels of privacy.

When you can’t get a hold of anyone, or if you want to spare everyone the headache of listening to your vent tangent, there still is hope. If you have aim, I reccommend Smarterchild for those such instances. That, and the responses you get will more than likely cheer you up. Consider it free therapy.

Sure people tell you that bottling up emotion is bad. They also tell you that showing emotion is a wonderful thing, but the second that you show an emotion other than happiness, there is something wrong with you. It’s a dangerous line to tow. Just trust me, you don’t want to go there.

My life is extremely “colorful.” It is a roller coaster of ups and downs. Everyone has them. We’re programmed as humans though to say that we care, but in the back of our heads, we’re selfish.

There’s an invisible line in the sand about what you are allowed to talk about drama wise. You have to be socially savy and know where it is. Here’s a true acceptable scenario:

So.. once upon a time there was a guy who I used to date that had a psycho friend that didn’t like it much. She didn’t like that he spent time with me instead of her when we dated. She was single.

One night she went emotional and psycho on me. I, of course, tried being friends with her initially and she was fine before the friend and I dated. He thought she was being immature but didn’t do much about the situation. We broke up. I couldn’t handle the friend issue. I wanted a no drama relationship… or well.. yeah.

Months later, I moved. The ex contacts me because we have been friends for years. He’s all frustrated because now it’s the exact opposite situation. He’s single. She’s not. She’s blowing him off for the significant other. Oh, and she’s gay now or bisexual.

That’s the kind of drama people don’t mind hearing about.. especially after the fact because it’s funny and scandalous.

I love hearing about this. A lot of people do. There’s magazines devoted to this stuff because of it. I’m used to being a virtual bartender of sorts. I hear tons of stories like this and keep em locked away.

However most of the time with really bad stuff? The cheapest and easiest thing for you from both a career and everyday social standpoint? If you do not want to commit social suicide, learn this lesson really fast and take my advice on this one- just tell yourself to “stfu.” It will save you money as well as tons of additional drama for yourself, your relationships will be that much better, and the person you vent to won’t have to worry about wrinkles over someone else.

Yes, I’m a hypocrite and unique just like everyone else. So are you. Admit the harsh reality of it and let’s all act normal like because we all know it’s true but won’t openly reveal it.

/changes subject

And I have a monkey and his name is Pierre.

Cracks the whip

The inspiration for tonight’s early morning tale was inspired by the following tweet by the lady-fair @avflox:

It made me chuckle for obvious reasons… more than you know.

I come from a very conservative Catholic family background. I am the cliche “Catholic school-girl-gone-bad.” My mother “has only slept with 2 people in [her] life, and married both of them!” She has called me promiscuous but denied calling me a slut. I told her that when she wants to try and use big vocabulary like that, she may want to consider looking at a thesaurus if only to make sure she was saying what she truly wanted. I know she had to have known its synonymous with slut and said it intentionally but was trying to patronize me.

I like to consider myself a bit of a modernist. My mother calls it “free love” for the new age. I guess to a degree that she’s partially right.

Mom and I have had a few discussions about her displeasure with me being this way… the habitually dating, the alternative lifestyle, the bi-sexuality, etcetera, etcetera. If only she knew more about the aka. Actually, I think it’s better that she doesn’t. The last detail was enough for both her and dad (who never agree on anything) to agree on something. I’m glad I could be that one thing. Even if they don’t necessarily view it in a positive level.

The coming out stories separately were about the same. My parents reacted in the best possible matter.. totally ridiculously.

Dad’s story was pretty tame. I forget why and when it actually came out about me being bi, but I do remember it was post high school. He found out later, so it probably affected him less. In high school, I was a bit of a difficult pill to swallow… but more so for my mom because I was stuck living with her against my will- making for some very angsty teenage book fodder.

When dad heard, he honestly didn’t believe it. I think he really just thought it was some sort of attention seeking thing or some outright lie. I am my dad’s favorite. Never in his eyes, could he ever view me as negatively as he does the gay culture.

Even when I had a steady serious girlfriend, I’d ask dad “So when are you going to believe me? I’m not kidding about this.” Dad said “It’s just a phase…”

Poor dad. He’s still holding his breath for me to be over that phase.

Mom though? She’s actually completely accepted it now. It’s not something she views as positive. However, nothing that I do is positive in my mother’s eyes.. so it makes perfect sense to her coming from me.

One night, she had to pick me up from being out on another all nighter with a friend I had been forbidden to hang out with. It was a long, crazy night and it ended up in a car accident.

My friends and I were alright. We had been out all night and went to a doughnut shop early in the morning. Two of the guys were being asinine to the owner, and he threatened to call the cops. We left in a rush, and when Rachel was going to turn onto the main street, she didn’t see the truck, so it t-boned us. It was standard for everyone in an accident to be checked by an ambulance or have our parents sign off on it.

Rachel’s mom got a call. She saw me and her daughter in the back of an ambulance. We both were “scantily clad”- me in black combat boots, fishnets, short shorts and some low cut top. Mom was called and had come to get me. She was livid. I was in deep shit.

The usual dialogue started “What did I ever go wrong with you…” “There’s nothing majorly traumatic that’s happened to you.. I just don’t get it…”

I told her 2 major things that had happened. Apparently she had been oblivious to them. However, it still wasn’t cracking anything. She continued on this tangent. Finally, I told her the one thing that I knew she likely wouldn’t pick up on. I told her about how I had been interested in a couple of girls from school and from a coffee shop I regularly hung out at.

“I’m bi mom. I like girls too.. ”

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. But then my mom looked at me seriously and started to bitch “You mean you like to lick cunts and put your face in pussy?!”

At 17, I responded the only natural way one could: “Stop it mom, you’re turning me on thinking about those girls…”

She didn’t find it funny. Still doesn’t to this day. Me? I couldn’t have asked for a better response actually. I guess the sadistic side is showing a bit now. Ooops 😉

The politics of roommates

Dabbler until recently… I never really had the love hate relationship non relationship that I seem to be having now. Coming home to seas of beer bottles on the counter and a cloud of smoke “Happy 420 mannnn!” Turning things off that were left on for unknown reasons. Getting more OCD than a person on meth, simply because you can’t stand living like a slob…

Except this time, this person does only not put out, but in reality, this is closer to marriage than I thought… no, scratch that- in my marriage I at least got to take his paycheck.

I kid. Ok, so maybe not completely… but hell, there weren’t many great things with married life.. that was definatly one of them.

However, though that horse is of a similiar color, it’s not what I’m getting at. Ah yes, I have joined the ranks of the roommate population.

Politics abound, we come full circle to yet another day in the ring. Or as I call it, the guilt trip tango.

I have never had a roommate before really. Once upon a time years ago when I lived back home in IL, I did have a minor touch and go roommate. It was a nightmare as well.

Here’s basically the summation with that one:

I was intending to move out, so I moved to this apartment with a girl from work. I brought some things over, and left them there a couple of weeks since I was moving in. Deanna decided that she wanted to try and charge me for half the rent when basically her sister never completely moved out of the room, so it was essentially shared. No, I’ll pass on that. When I came to there, the apartment was a mess. I cleaned everything until it shined (I did this with my current roommate as well, but we will get to that in a bit). She had a dog (I’m learning a pattern never to live with people with animals) who was not fixed and a suede couch… disgusting. In the middle of trying to be civil and just working it out, I got into a car accident and nearly broke both of my legs (funny story actually). The apt was on the 3rd floor, and my grandparents said they wanted me back home anyway because I lived too far away. I gave her the notice I was going to leave.. at which point, she took my things I had there- a laptop, a keyboard, some vintage clothes and furniture from the 50s, denied me access to them and sold or kept them. Coming to work and seeing her in my grandmothers vintage leopard peacoat pissed me off to no end. End roommate drama 1.

Then after that, I bounced around some more.. but never had the “pleasure” of a single or multiple roommates. About 5 years ago, another touch and go episode of roommate shannigans- my fiance and I moved in with a friend of mine before moving into a place of our own to start the picket fence life. He worked and insisted that I didn’t. She went to school and sat at home. It wasn’t bad at first.. but then again, it never is. Months later is when the real person comes around.

I wasn’t the housewife type. I’m an artist first and foremost. My grandmother is as well. Her house is a mess. However it’s amazing that when someone else is a slob in your enviornment, you suddenly become this superpower. Their mess is mess. Your mess is “organized clutter.” And it’s true… everytime my husband would move something in our apartments, I would freak. Because if it was in my space, even though it was messy, being put away, well.. that just didn’t do.

When I initially moved into the place I’m at now, I had simple yet difficult criteria to meet. I was looking for a female roommate with no drama and no drugs… in southern California. And preferrably, as I do not have the most conventional of lifestyles, they’d be a bit alternative, or at least understanding of an artist, appearing scatterbrained, not high maintenence but some maintence frequent dater. At first, everything appeared not only alright, but great. She cooked dinner, cleaned up after herself.. hell we even hung out and chatted all sex in the city like. That was short lived of course however.

Current affair: month 2. It was an important week for me last week, and my new roommate knew that. I asked if she could please make sure this place was perfection. I was to have 2 very important guests for the week. My kids- 2 and 3, were going to visit. I had not been able to see them for a year prior to this. (My ex is a douchebag) Granted, my roommate is in her 20s and our apt is not completely childproofed… but a little common sense really does go a long way.

Weeks go by. I gave her plenty of notice this was going to happen. She operated as normal- not seeming to give a shit about anything. I have been cleaning up after her since I’ve been here. It started off small.. the fridge, doing dishes here and there.. the trash being taken out.. but it never seemed to end. I washed dishes a few times and use the dishwasher basically for airdrying. She puts her dirty dishes over my clean ones; thereby making me have to wash them again as well as hers. I took meat out this week to thaw, so I could cook when the kids napped.. go to cook and she had thrown it away.

It’s a constant stream of annoyances and complete lack of understanding for another person. I’m not saying that I expect it to be clean all the time… but for chrissakes, you are an adult, clean up after yourself in a timely manner.. and by timely I don’t mean.. weeks.

When my ex came by I had been cleaning up after the roommate and scrubbing floors all night. I looked like Cinderhella. I’m sure it made him smile to an extent.. though I never did that when I was married to him… not motivational at all. In any event, the house sparkled, and though I was exhausted, I was ready for my visit.

There have been many quirks throughout the entire process of this roommate situation. I have my own personal ones, but since this is my blog, I get to describe hers in great detail, and leave mine to the vague abyss. Neener neener neener nana nana boo boo. Seriously though, to be fair, my quirks have nothing to do with being disrespectful to her in any way.

She has cats- whom she is allergic. My bathroom is off the hallway, and is a shared one. It is bigger, and therefore, the litterbox ends up in there. Fine. But of course, it’s not properly cleaned up… and since my bathroom only has a tub, I frequently use hers between that and the cat smell.

She has other animals in her bedroom though. She lets them out of their cages and.. well.. it’s not clean in there. It’s not my space, and it doesn’t bother me entirely… with exception to when I need to use the shower. These animals also need the apt to be a certain temperature… so the a/c is frequently on like an icebox. I turn on the heat to compensate.. you get the idea. I’ve been sick, and I honestly think her pets are a major contribution to it.

Wow this has sounded like a bitch post.. I haven’t told all of it, but let’s get closer to the point. The night before the visit, I texted her to ask her if she was going to do her dishes and she (a not religious person at all) sent me a response that she was going to an annointing of the sick…

great guilt trip line. true? untrue… doesn’t matter. Because if I don’t accept it, I’m an asshole. I don’t want drama at all. I just want people to take care of their own messes. She doesn’t pay me to be her maid, and quite frankly, I had to clean up after her more than my kids.

The last 2 days before they left, I admittedly slacked. I left a few dishes on the counter and the garbage could have been taken out. I had a personal fiasco I had to deal with, so I figured I would take care of it on Monday or Tuesday when things were back to normal.

I’m not anti-social, but for those people that I really don’t have much of an interest in knowing more, I go in hermit mode. I keep to myself and do my own thing. I don’t like to talk about much because when you open your mouth, it leaves it open to drama- and I wanted this new place to be as drama free as possible. I wasn’t expecting perfection, but I was expecting a bit more here… or well.. hoping that is.

Today she texts me that I need to do the dishes and take out the garbage. This is someone that never does these things… and immediately, snap your fingers because she does her dishes once… or so she acted like. (Her dirty dishes were in the diswasher-I still had to clean them because they were in my way of course).

I wanted her to leave during the day.. I’d felt sick earlier so I wanted the extra day to recover from the week and recoop, and to clean the house. Then lectures?

I wanted to tell her it was bs. I wanted to note the irony. Instead, I wrote drafts and bit my lip… yet again, the control war… I could pull the card and wait till she does it… try subtle hints. But like the broken glass she left on the counter for days when the kids were here, I will end up cleaning it up everytime…

because I don’t want the drama.

Aka: I am a sucker.

I have a conscious for sale. Anyone want it? For some reason, though I know she deserves it, I can’t seem to bring myself to be a bitch. How do I get her to do her own shit? This is out of line. I think I’ll make a seesmic… but likely I’ll just force myself to pass out and prepare for the next daily grind.. damn insomnia. Bah.