Monday, April 30, 2012

For some reason

I have a raging hard on for making this guy think that I am cool.  I do not get it.  This is just one of the many ways in which I am fucked up.  I just feel that it is obvious that I am smarter and funnier than him.  I need him to acknowledge that. Would that be so fucking difficult?  When somebody does think I am cool and wants to spend time with me I act like they have the plague.  David Sedaris said it, "I wouldn't want to marry anyone who would want to marry me."  I feel it.

When older men compliment me I like it more than when a younger, more attractive man does.  They say to me, without saying it, "I have seen so many bitches in my life, and still you stand out enough for me to take notice. I know a nice piece when I see one."

A friend told a story this weekend about calling her boyfriend crying and I had this pang of sadness from not having anybody I can call crying who is forced to listen because I have sex with them.  It has been working on me all weekend.  I don't have a single thing to cry about, except the fact that I don't have anybody to cry to.  That is so stupid.  It made me think of the time that Kyle was in Spain and I was delivering the paper.  I drove up on a curb and popped my tire at 3 in the morning.  I would have to change my tire and then finish my route because I had just started.  Instead of just doing that I made an international call on my cell phone to Kyle so I could sit on the curb and cry to somebody.  He didn't even seem the least bit bored with it and he had just woken up.  I wasn't even having sex with him because obviously our spacial situation didn't allow for that, and still he seemed genuinely upset that I was upset even though it was just a stupid tire.  How I managed to have such good people in my life is a mystery even to me.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

So, officially, I'm a personal trainer.  It is very tiring.  I wish I had an official nap time.  And a don't train until 9pm time.  And an official don't go to work with no food at 3 when you work until 9 time.

Oh well.  The Black Keys concert is tomorrow.

Forging ever onward.

Sunday, April 08, 2012

Exchange in the Ladies Room

Me: [washing my hands after peeing, looking in the mirror, fixing my dress (shown in previous post)]
Stranger: Oh. You must work out.
Me: I do.
Stranger: How old are you?
Me: 29
The stranger laughs (I have no idea what that laugh meant, maybe you are so young, maybe god to be 20 years younger.)
Me: How old are you?
Stranger: 49
Me: I'm a personal trainer.
Stranger: Ah.


I am feeling very thankful for my body.  I know it won't always look or feel this good.  So I am trying to appreciate every second of it.  If somebody told me "You will be in the best shape of your life when you are 29", when I was a teenager, I would have laughed in their face.

Wednesday, April 04, 2012

Things I Think About

1. I wonder what people think of my life when they see my home.  In one very small section of my apartment I have a pin with the word "Diarrhea" on it, a dry erase board with some very nonsensical stuff and at the bottom (next to where the Diarrhea pin is propped up) it says "I have an insatiable hunger for food and masturbation. L.King", and a mobile dangling from the ceiling with pictures of naked women.  I think that  combination screams, "Normal people beware. Vanilla need not apply."

2.  Though it is clear to me that tall guy isn't into me (as it should have been the first time he didn't call me back) I did get a little something out of it.  I was reminded of Bukowski and some good music.  I laid in bed reading poems and listening to music at 4 in the morning. It made me feel a little of what I used to feel a lot.  Maybe it is inspiration.  Maybe it is a kinship to troubled people.  Maybe it is awe of talent.  Maybe it is the realization that I am a little different.

If you want a little taste:

Listen to this:

Read this:

Oh Yes

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
too late. 
Charles Bukowski