Something I have dreaded for a very long time now....

I have always known that Lover is a patient man. He is slow to anger, always understanding, rarely raises his voice, is great with children and can always find a reason to smile. But it was only after my last doctor's appointment have I fully come to terms with how patient he actually is.

(Though an actually time frame will not be disclosed,) Lover and I started having sex very soon after our relationship started. Very soon. I was actually surprised when one day, when we found ourselves alone, I jumped on him and tore his clothes off. I mean it; I ripped the button right off of his pants and ripped along side the zipper. After we were done I had to mend his clothes.

I seem to be getting of the point, so I'm going to get back on it.

From the very beginning, intercourse was very painfully for me. At first we thought that maybe it was because he was, uh, well endowed (girth wise). So naturally we expected it to be a little awkward the first few times but after a while I would get use to it (and love it), right? Wrong. So when that became obviously not the problem we went through almost everything else you could possible imagine to try and fix the problem, but nothing was working.

Lover and I have been together for a very long time, and because of it we were each others first (aww, cute I know, only when I say first I mean first willing on my part and first-first for him), and for a while we even thought that was the problem. The other was nervous, it was a new thing, yada yada, blah blah blah. Nope, that wasn't it at all.

We have dealt with this problem for quite a while now - emphasis on quite a while. You would probably slap me if you knew how long I actually put off taking it as something seriously. But the reason I hadn't gone to the doctor's until just recently was because, well, I was nervous as hell. I was terrified that they would tell me that something was wrong with me, or something would pop up from my (very rough and unseemly) past that I didn't want Lover, nor anyone else, to know about. But after I saw what it was doing to Lover, how awful he felt because he thought he was hurting me, I finally dragged my ass to the doctors.

Well, I was right. There is something wrong with me.

Apparently, I have something a lot of women have; I just have a rare and extreme case of it. I don't know what it's called, and even if I did I probably couldn't spell it, but basically it is this:

Anytime upon penetration, I spasm up, not just down there but in there. Not willingly, mind you. This is all done without me even knowing it, and I have no way of telling that it is happening. It's some kind of muscle function that can be treated in any number of ways:

1. Shots in the area that is the problem (ow).
2. Dilators put in weekly that will eventually force the muscle to relax (yeah, force).
3. Physical and emotional therapy (Lover will have to involved).
4. Yoga (for my vagina).

None of this I am too happy with. I was scolded by my doctor for coming in so late ("after how long?"), but as soon as I started crying and yelling, "Of course I'm the one with the fucked up vagina. Yeah, leave it to good ol' fucking me..." the scolding ceased.

As soon as Lover gets back from his holiday trip we are going to the doctor for the official treatment, more questioning, and a painful exam that they assure me is necessary.

As much as I want Lover back, I'm terrified to go to the doctor's.

Misery: Day Nine (I'm like a diary)

I love psychology. I love criminal psychology. I love doing what I do. But there is a down side: I'm like a diary.

What I mean to say is: though I love when my friends trust me enough to tell me their problems and ask for my "professional" advice, sometimes it can be an unpleasant experience on my part. Like last night when I went over to Dear Friend H's house for a little girl time.

After nine cups of tea, chocolate, pasta and two movies, talking time came. And out it all spilled. There were tears and hugs and lots of listening (on my part) and lots of talking (on her part). It seems she and her boyfriend are in a little bit of a rut. He's immature, insensitive and makes her feel like he isn't passionate about their relationship anymore. After two ultimatums of leaving him unless he steps up and two "stepping ups" on his part followed by going back down the same old road, she was exasperated.

So I gave my advice, lots of hugs, and then we watched three more movies. But that wasn't the problem. I enjoyed helping her and get joy from thinking that I could save their relationship or help her pull her out of one that is mentally harming, it brought up memories on my part that I try my best to forget.

Before Lover, there was Ex. And Ex was mean, and violent, and threatening. And I was with him for a year of my life (I know! Shh!).

When we broke up it was not on great terms, mainly because I finally screamed that I never loved him, he scared me and I wanted to end it from week two, and he was loosing his obsession. It was a scary time for me and when I started seeing Lover and before we became an "official" couple, I had finally gotten over it.

But H telling me about her relationship problems was startling to me because so many aspects of their relationships was like mine. C (we shall call her boyfriend) changes when she threatens to leave and then falls back into the same old pattern, and Ex would stop being violent and start being nice to me, only to start again a week later, pulling me deeper and deeper into the trap that was our relation-shit.

Shudder. For at least the twentieth time this season, I am so glad I have Lover. Remind me to give him an extra big hug when he gets back from his trip.

Books, books, books.

I request a task from all:

I need the names of authors and their best books so I can read them. I just recently extinguished both the public library and the school's library of any books I could think of, so now I need some outside help.

And please, good books. I have the kind of book curse where even if it sucks, I will read it all the way through. So, the better the book the more grateful I will be.

Any kind of book; I read them all. I mean that too. I will read any book in front of me.

Also, if you could, more than one? I can read a good sized novel in a day.

Thanks all, very much!

In return, I could offer up some good books.

For example: Anything by Joyce Carol Oats is mind blowing. I especially recommend The Female of the Species, Beasts and Black Girl/White Girl.

The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle. Don't let the title fool you; it is a beautiful book with a wonderful meaning. If you can see past all the metaphors and understand what the book is telling you, as a human you will feel like a piece of shit (I know I did, but piece of shit in a good way).

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

More on request! Much love.

Misery: Day Four (Car Crash!)

Well, it wasn't really a car crash. I didn't hit another car, nor was much damage done to my car, but I did scream a lot and there was a broken head light involved.

It was like a scene from a bad movie: I was just sitting there, waiting at a stop light when all of a sudden my car started to move. There was lots of ice on the road, and I was attempting to get home safely, but as it turns out driving wasn't what I should have been worried about. I guess a patch of ice under my car gave out because it started sliding straight to a large pole, like a magnet. A car-pole-demon magnet.

Like the news always tells me to do, I didn't slam on the brakes. Rather, I screamed like a little girl and turned the wheel, trying to pull away from the pole and save what I was imaging to be a very frightful accident. But the car just kept sliding and, indeed, I did run into the pole. Reversing out of it was the worse because the pole started to jiggle back and forth and I thought it just my luck for it break at the bottom, crash on my car, and trap my burning corpse (because the car would no doubt spontaneously burst into flame) in the wreckage. Then I would have to be in the hospital for God knows how long, getting dead people's skin grafted to my ass.

All of this flashed through my head as I tried to save my car.

When I got home and was in a safe enough position to asses the damage, I was pleased to see that all that had happened was the plastic cover that protects my light was broken. Although that probably means that the light is also broken, it is not nearly as bad as it could have been. I could have caused a huge pileup, but thankfully I was not on a major road; I was waiting to turn onto one.

All's well that ends well, in the view of a teleological thinker (which I am not).

18

Misery: Day Three (Sledding!)

Today I went sledding with a few friends, something I haven't done in years. I thought that, despite the weather man, the thermometer and my basic instinct, that it would be warm enough to have fun. So even though I dressed in layers (long johns under my pants and two coats), it was not enough to fight back the extreme cold that is the winter weather.

While everyone else was having a good time and sledding away, I was only having while I was in motion. If I stood still for too long I lost feeling in my toes and fingers and before long my face was numb. But, being a good sport, I stayed for an hour before I finally gave up and headed home. As I type this, my fingers are still thawing out and I can just begin to wiggle my toes.

Last night I texted (lame) Lover for about half and hour before he headed off to bed (three hour time difference) and hearing from him tonight will hopefully speed the day up. It's day three and though I still miss him sorely it is getting a little better. Not a lot. Just a little. Maybe by the one week mark (in four days) it will be better. Maybe. I sure hope so.

On the job front, I just called and I should be called in for an interview soon and I am praying to God that I get it. Wish me luck!

Misery: Day One.

Lover left today for three weeks. Last night went by much too fast and after tears and promises of him contacting me everyday, we finally had to say goodbye.

Today went by so painfully slowly that I felt like screaming. I hear the first three days are the hardest, and once I am over them it will get much easier. But every time I think about him being gone from me for so long with inadequate means of communicating, my stomach starts squirming. I don't know how I'm going to get over these next three weeks.

What's worse is that school is ending this week for winter break. I thought that the break would make it easier, but after not going to school today (closed because of massive snow and ice banks) I realize that being busy will be the best thing for me. Now I only have four days left before I am left alone with my mind for two weeks.

Though there is good news: I am fairly sure I will be getting a job (about time) very soon, withing in the next week even. That being the case, I can work really, really hard the next three weeks, make lots of money and then take Lover out for a nice dinner when he gets back. So, cross your fingers and hope that I get this job, because I will need it.

I was hoping that I could hang out with friends over the break, but of course they all have boyfriends and they would rather spend colds nights with them than with me (I would do the same thing). Looks like that plan isn't going to work.

I can only read so many books before I go crazy, and though I love to read I'm sure that after about a week I will extinguish by ability to see print and I will have to find something else to do. And because all the teachers are being nice, I won't have much work to do, or at least not enough to keep my mind busy.

I am a sad little blob right now, and though on Thursday I predict I will be much better, I can't see that right now.

Help me, Blogger friends! Give me advice, something to do, before I explode with grief. I might just head for the ice cream and romantic Christmas movies if someone doesn't stop me now!!

(Hopefully my next Misery update will be a happy one... like how I won the powerball or how Jorge the Unicorn knitted me a sweater)

To spawn or not to spawn?

Lover and I have been talking more in depth about having children. No, wait! Let me correct that: Lover and I have been talking more in depth about having a child (as much as he wants to pass on five boys in a litter, I utterly refuse; if I can't stand it as the girlfriend how on earth could I stand it as the mother?). If any child is coming out of me, it will be a one time thing. I'm not particularly keen on having children of my own, and if Lover and I decided to pass on his beautiful genes, only one child will come out of it.

But I digress. The question that came out of our talk was this: What do we do?

I'm getting my Ph. D, which means I have a lot more college to go through before I can contribute to the support of our household. And even though Lover will be out and working before me, is it enough to keep a home and baby afloat?

Should we plan the baby so that by the time I'm out of college and working Baby is in preschool or kindergarten and we don't have to worry about daycare, or should we wait until I have a steady job as well as Lover?

If we have Baby while I'm in college, will his salary be enough to support us all? Will I take Baby to class with me while he is at work, or do I take Baby to my college's daycare center? But what if the daycare isn't an interactive one and Baby becomes behind in cognitive and social abilities? (Such are the problems those of us who are psychologists have.... We over analyze everything when it comes it our kids because of what we have been taught.)

If we decided to wait until after I get my Ph. D...

Will I stay home until school starts for our child and then get a job? But then Lover will miss out on so much, and I don't want that to happen. So does he stay home until school starts and then get a job of his own? But then I miss out. So do we send Baby to daycare and hope it's a good one that will help development? But then we both miss out.

Will our child be like me as I was when I was a teenager (4.0, smart, rebellious, sassy, mean) or will it be like him (4.0, genius, generous, caring, well behaved)?

What is a good age to have children? Late 20's so we will be young when they are teenagers? 30's so we will be better off but closer to old age when we might need our youth the most? 40's so we can support Baby for sure but nearly decrypted when Baby is Teenager?

We both want to work for the FBI, me as a Criminal Psychologist and he as a Forensics Investigator, so what sort of affect will that have on Baby? And if we don't join the FBI, I would work in an asylum most likely and Lover might be with the police force. That doesn't sound like a healthy environment for a baby either!

Thoughts and opinions? Stories of your own?

Doing the good-girlfriend bit.

Twice a week I attend football games; approximately six and a half to seven hours of my life are spent sitting on a cold, hard bench-sometimes in the rain-, watching a sport I really, really hate. First off, I don't get it. All I do really is single out a person that this is cheering for us and what ever noise they make, I make louder and then throw in a few words of my own to make it less banal.

As well it always seems that when ever Lover makes a touch down or tackles someone or intercepts the ball, or does anything good for that matter, I am never looking. So when he excitedly bounces over to me after the game asking, "Did you see my touch down? Did you see my tackle that guy? Did you see me...", I lie, paste on a happy smile and say, "Of course I did baby! You are such the little football star!"

Which is true; he is the only one keeping the team alive... I just never notice.

Needless to say, I was happy beyond belief when football season was coming to an end. That meant that when we hung out during the weekday I wouldn't have to wait until seven for practice to be over. It also meant I wouldn't have to go to two games a week.

Surprise, surprise! "NO!" the Football God yells to me, "NO, NO! Lover, it just so happens, is going to play offs. Which means if they do well you could have MONTHS of football ahead of you. HAH HAH!"

As happy as I was for him, I couldn't help but feel unadulterated disdain for his ability to play the stupid game well at the very moment. Why did I have to go? Why couldn't he just play the damn game and then I come afterwards to see him?! Well, the answer is that he actually proposed that, knowing how much I hate the sport. But I said no for a few reasons:

1. I enjoy seeing him do what he loves, and doing it well. It makes me happy when he is happy.
2. No one else comes. His parents never come, nor do any of his friends. So I'm really the only one there to cheer him on.
3. He likes it when I come, which makes him happy; which goes back to point one.

So I go, and I smile, and I pretend that I see his touch downs and tackles.

Thursday (the 30th of October), I want to the second to last game he would be playing before going off to state (the last being on All Hallows Eve). I brought my book to read, my iPod to listen to, and even some homework to do notes because that's often what I do. But to my surprise I actually noticed his touch down! And his tackle! And everything he was doing! But I should have known...

Long story short, he broke his hand. The coaches wouldn't take him out when it was first injured, and because he just can't disappoint people, he played for another quarter with a limp hand, all the while it getting worse and worse.

I now hate the coaches for being so selfish.

Now he can't go to playoffs (though he did want to, arguing that the cast would be hard enough to protect his hand for damage) and when I am sorry that he has to wait until next year to show of his amazing skills, I'm kind of happy that I no longer have football games and practices! He is all mine!

....

Until track season.

...

And let's not forget Speech & Debate, which takes up BOTH our Saturdays, even though we don't get to see each other often.

...

And work.

...

And the 4.0 we both have to maintain. [sigh]

Opps.

I had a break down in AP U.S. History Monday. Luckily for me it was not a major one and all it really consisted of was a bunch of black tears (eyeliner) and sniffles lovingly wiped on dear friend D, who has always been my punching bag and tissue. I love him dearly.

Anyways, my teacher, Mr. Irish Man, sent me home as did Lover and my friends. So I spent the first half of my Monday morning feeling sorry for myself, doing homework and wishing it was lunch (at which time I would go back to school).

Here are the two things that most recently added to my mental break down of sorts:

[1] On Friday and Saturday I had an out-of-town/over night speech tournament. While it was a load of fun and I always enjoy doing my events, Lover and I only spent collectively 20-40 minutes together the whole time. He was in both Debate and Pattern A and I was in Pattern A and B, so by the time one was getting back from one round the other was running off to their other thing. Though that did put me into a little bit of a mood, that's not what made me upset this weekend.

Friday evening Lover and I got into a little tiff: me angry because he wouldn't talk to me and he trying to tell me it was okay and not wanting to talk about anything, only adding to my irritation. It seems that I accidentally say little things that embarrass him in front of people and it was only this Friday (after how long now?) that he told me.

He tried to assure me that it wasn't a big deal and that he dealt with it, but I would have none of it; he shouldn't have to deal with it, after all. I was mad that he had never told me any of this before as well as suddenly being struck with the realization that I'm not that great of a girlfriend. It didn't help my emotions when he weaseled out of talking to me about it, leaving my emotions out and raw.

[2] I had a mountain of homework that I had told myself I would do between rounds on Friday and Saturday... which I didn't. Lover came over on Sunday so that took that time away and by the time I was in first period I came to grips with the fact that I was 20 pages behind in AP History, 25 pages in AP Psychology, a chapter behind in Honors English, and homeworkless in German.

Factor in my imbalance of hormones at the time (PMS), months of stress prior to this, and my last good cry being at least a year ago, it was only a matter of time that day before I blew my lid. Luckily for me D was there to lend my a shoulder and the tears were to a minimum. No annoying sobbing sounds out of me!

I could see in Lover's face that he felt bad for taking my Sunday away from me and that just really added to my melancholy mood. It was unpleasant seeing him feeling guilty for something he didn't do. I willingly spent my Sunday with him knowing that I would be putting work aside (I assure you this is a first time thing; Lover and homework are equally balanced and I usually never put one above the other. I can do both).

So home I went to do everything I had fallen behind in, and by the time lunch hit and I was back in school, I was all better. Until Lord English Teacher (he is God) gave me back an A paper I had written and told me that he expected much more out of me and was disappointed. I almost started crying again.

♥

Busy, busy, busy.

Post sometime this week, assuming time allows. I haven't had much time to myself at all for the longest time, but I suppose I don't mind. 89% of the time it's a pleasant sort of busy.

Soon.

♥

Lover's Friends vs Me

I'm not going to lie: This war is wearing me down to nothing. Not only have I had to keep all my harsh come-backs and snappy replies to myself (to please Lover), but their relentless attacks on me as a person has squashed my none existence self-esteem. I was unaware that zero could be any more than just that, but I now know it can.

[For the sake of fluency, I will refer to Lover's friends by a random letter in their name; that way I don't have to keep saying 'Lover's friends' and make you guess which one I'm talking about.]

Not all of them hate me. In fact, I'm going to say that out of the major four, only two do. So about half. No, correction: two of them used to. I don't know what happen, but by biggest opponent in this game of love has shifted and we know tolerate each other, which I don't mind. I use to think that U had a crush on Lover, and that's way he hated me, because I stole his boyfriend (no, Lover is not, nor ever was, gay. I just mean they are really close). However, over the last few weeks (it's only taken this long), I've realized he is just making sure I don't hurt his best friend. Understandable.

R and O are totally indifferent towards me, which I am also fine with. I am more than fine with them not liking me, just so long as they don't hate me. I think O is just being a big brother (thank god for me the other two big ones are out of the town and the other is 12...) and is wary of me, but not resentful. I'm not sure he knows what to think.

R thinks I'm loud and sassy, which I am, so I don't begrudge him for not being to keen on me; I'm just not the type of person he would hang out with. He respects mine and Lover's connection and he is happy to see that we love each other (I believe), so his apathy to me is really nothing to me. I'm kind of apathetic to him too.

A on the other hand HATES me, and if it's not hate it is definitely something very strong and fiery. Like the earth's core... on fire. That's pretty intense, is it not? In his own mind, this man is a god, and I won't argue the point that he is very, very smart. Lover and his group are massively intelligent and all brooding genius, the kind that make Einstein look like a paint chip-- I kid not. My group is pretty smart, sure, but we are smart-asses, loud, in your face, and take-no-shit type of gals and boys.

In A's mind Lover and I dating is like a Lord fooling around with his surf; it's not okay. The upper class are not allowed to intermingle with the lower class because that produces bastard offspring. The fact that we are in love and I, the surf, actually make Lover, the Lord, happy and vice-versa is not in my favor. Apparently, there are no exceptions to A's rule.

What's worse is the fact that I try so hard to get A to like me. The other day he gave this fantastic speech and I made it a point to compliment him on it. I said it in a serious voice, so he couldn't have interpreted that I was being sarcastic, and I smiled at him kindly, but all he did was sneer and glare at me! For Speech & Debate tournaments, our coach wanted us to do PD together because he thinks he would bring home the hardware (which we would). A loves PD from what I hear but as soon as I was brought up as being his partner, he informed Coach that he would rather do LD (which is a solitaire debate form). What?! I may have no confidence in my ability to do anything, but I have to admit that I am one hell of a debater. I'm the best PD girl we got! The BEST!

Its not that I have to be liked by everyone and that's why A's intolerance for me hurts me so much: it's because I'm so tired of this battle between them and me. I'm tired of them feeling left out and blaming me if he spends too much time with me. I'm tired of me feeling left out when they completely close their group off to me and shun me. I'm sick of them thinking I'm stupid, slutty and bitchy when they don't even know me. I hate that I'm seen as not good enough for Lover. I hate that they get to me like this. I hate when Lover has to bring it up to them that I'm a part of his life and they need to accept that. I hate that he has to do that.

Point to remember: I hate it. I just hate it!

I find that I'm so busy....

I have no time to think! I have not time to form thoughts or opinions other than those that are asked of me at school. Just last month I could read five books in a week, write in depth papers about them and then discuss them with intelligent people, but with the way things are going now I'm lucky if I get five pages in a week! And that's a book of my own choosing, not the ones I'm told to read.

Even on my days off I'm busy, busy, busy working my ass off. And don't even get me started on sick days. Lover got me pretty ill, and I went to school for three days with fevers before deciding to take a day off on Friday... even then it was work! I had to perfectly orchestrate my sick day down to the last minute detail, work 5x as hard Thursday night, wake up early anyways to give my homework that we were getting for in class work and things that were due to Lover and explain to him where they went and then make sure that he had food to eat when it came to lunch time so he wouldn't starve and that he knew how to fix it properly so he didn't poison himself(Thursday I had brought some fixed pasta to school and I put it in a teacher's fridge so he could eat it on Friday).

I have typed so many papers in the last two weeks, I can't even feel the pads of my fingers. What's worse is that every single teacher- ALL OF THEM!- have taken me aside and explained to me that they see something special in me, that they are going to give me harder tests and more work because they want to challenge me. What's more, one of them asked me to challenge him on a weekly basis. To remind him of why he's a teacher I suppose. I try and tell them that I'm not special! I'm just like everyone else... but they won't listen to me.

Poor Lover keeps trying to get me to take a break, but anytime he proposes it, I nearly start to scream, loading onto him my heavy work load. I might explode. Look for it in the news, where ever you might be.

♥

Sunday is Birthday Day!!

Okay, so Lover's birthday was actually the sixth, but he was out of town both yesterday and today so I didn't get to have him. So, after some quick planning and rescheduling on my part I have arranged for next Sunday to be his birthday day all day long. From nine in the morning til nine or ten at night. I have it all planned out.

Granted, over the last month I have been showering him with an abundance of gifts, but I can't help myself; I absolutely love giving him things! I love the look he gives me when he realizes I've spent money followed quickly by the look of utter delight at something silly or stupid I had fanciful wrapped up. It's like a gift all in itself (oh, how cliché.)

About a month before his actual birthday, I surprised him by lighting a sea of candles in the bedroom, putting the stain sheets on, spending a fortune on a sexy lingerie piece and slipping into a pair of his favorite stockings and silk robe (he has a high heel and stocking fetish, but I was hesitant to snag the sheets, so I vetoed the high heel idea). That was birthday gift number one.

Two weeks later I bought him a nice shirt, and though I didn't think of it as a birthday gift, he did so that counts as number two. On Labor day I was up until one in the morning painstakingly making him a lovely little home made delight and wrapping up a stamp my grandmother got him with his name on it. Gifts three and four he opened early, adding to the list of things he had gotten for his birthday before the actual date.

I couldn't get him a gift the day of or the day after his day of birth, so I opted for:

• His favorite breakfast
• Something naughty
• His favorite lunch
• Lots more naughty stuff
• A few movies of his choosing
• Though not planned, something naughty (we are a very sensual couple)
• An expensive dinner at a highly respected establishment that will cost an arm and a leg

As you are reading this, you may be thinking that I am a silly woman who spends much too much time into my lover's birthday and to this I must say that you are wrong. I agree that it all does sound a bit romantic in the most disgusting way, and I have indeed showered him with more gifts than most people get in many years worth of birthdays, but I have valid reasons.

First: If you knew the man, you wouldn't be able to resist swooning over him at all possible moments either. Not only he is easily the sweetest, most caring individual on Earth, but he has such a low self-esteem that anytime a special day comes around (e.g. birthday, Christmas, valentines day, etc.) he insists to everyone that he doesn't deserve anything. It makes me want to prove to him what a fantastic person he is by drowning him in love, affection and things.

Second: Nearly everyday I receive a gift from him, whether it's something he bought or a giant bouquet the neighborhood contributed to. And any time I raise a fuss about how much he is spending on me, or how much he is spoiling me, he simply kisses me and tells me that I'm worth it (which I'm not mind you). So, his birthday is MY day to spoil him rotten like you can't believe. And anytime he raises a fuss (which is more than you think), I simply kiss him and tell him he's worth it.

Third: I love him and sometimes a good way to prove your love is through meaningful, material items. Not always, just some times, on some occasions. Like birthdays!

♥

Crash course of the last two weeks:

My job ended: It was only a summer fling and as sad and hard to come to terms with the fact is, it's over. I'm in the market for a new one, and have applied for a few places, one which looks quite promising. Hope with me!

The gas station lied to me: They took my 20 dollars, told me that the gas had been pumped and then let me drive off. In fact, they had not pumped any gas in my car and I drove on any empty tank to a business meeting. My cars old, so the gas gage doesn't always move right away; it wasn't until later than evening I realized that I had been cheated. Needless to say, I went back to the guilty party and demanded either 20 bucks or gas. It took four days, but I just got word that I'm getting a check in the mail. Ha! Victory is mine.

Saw The Phantom of the Opera [off-Broadway]... twice: The first time I was a lucky bastard and got to be in front row center. It was amazing. Though, I prefer Mr. Butler to the man who was playing the Phantom, I did like the cast of the play better than the film version. The second time, I was six rows back, but I was with Lover, so it was better. Aside from all the death and psychopathy, it is really a very romantic play.

Spent a lazy day in bed: Actually, it was a lazy couple of hours, but it had been a few weeks since Lover and I had done it, so between the hours of noon and two we were in bed. And, we all know how lazy days in bed generally start out... My favorite part of the afternoon was when, after going for a drink of water, I came back to the room to discover a large bundle of comforter that looked oddly like a human shape. Upon closer inspection, the cocoon opened up and Lover pulled me under, instructing me that we were to be caterpillars. It was a very cozy little cocoon. ♥

Had a badminton tournament: Lover and I were the Majestic Unicorns and our first match was against the Fighting Pandas (very dear friends of ours). At first we were leading, 8-1, but suddenly and unexpectedly, the score became 9-12. We lost when they managed to grab those last three points (we were playing to 15). Regardless, it was a fun game, and I even managed to nearly fall on my face once or twice when I put too much pitch forward and failed to hit the birdie.

Trying it out...

I've always loved writing, but I have this problem of never wanting to show it to anyone. And because of that, I don't write nearly as much as I should. Just lately I've noticed that I've regressed in my writing, so I've decided to post something that I just wrote the other day. It's just the beginning mind you, but I wanted to know what people thought of it. So I'm going to post it. And just so you know, the first line is in [] because I'm not sure if I'm going to keep it as the opening line, use the line after that one, or create a new one all together. Feedback?

[Entire populations have died, countries have fallen to ruins, and I’m just now realizing that my whole life, I was told to worry about the wrong things.] When mad leaders took up in arms and threatened to ruin my life style, I was told to worry, so I did. When the old lady from across the street died last year, I didn’t give it a second thought because it didn’t make the news. When a bag of my favorite salad mix was suddenly infected with Salmonella, I nearly had a heart attack. When someone, miles away from me with no connection what-so-ever to my life, stumbled into a hospital with an unheard of illness and infected 112 people in the last ten minutes of his life, I changed the channel.

You don’t need guns to take over the world, and you don’t need an army to threaten the life style of millions of people; all you need is one sick person. One sick person and a careless doctor to write it off as the flu. After all, all diseases started somewhere, right? All the known sickness that can be “cured” with over the counter drugs started out as just a fancy way back when and at least one person in each situation died for the sake of science and it’s ability to ignore all unknown things. And the bad ones, like this, killed a hell of a lot more than one person before science would finally take it seriously; not even slaughtered families made the cut. Are you paying attention now Science?

Three months ago Steven Wainwright was rushed to the hospital when his wife found him unconscious on the bathroom floor. He was in a puddle of vomit and his body was covered with a fine sheen of blood. As soon as his wife gasped, she was dead. It was an airborne disease. But how could anyone have known?

Is it bad when...

I feel the heat sucking my soul from my body? Because I think that's happening to me.

This is [City] Oregon, which means we should not be having heat like this. Our summers are suppose to be hot, but bearable so! The whether is not, by any means, suppose to be in the triple digits. Last night, at seven o'clock, it was 105 degrees. Oh yes, the sun was down and still the heat was coming for me.

Now, I know that a lot of people see worse heat than this and bear it, but I would like to remind you all that 98% of the people who know me think I'm a Vampire for very good reasons:

One, I'm wonderfully pale. Snow White doesn't have shit on me. It's not that I can't tan, because I can. Rather, I very much dislike it. My skin is all natural and skin-cancer free. Not many people can say that.

Two, I don't eat in front of many people. Even those who have seen me eat think I'm still a blood sucker. I do eat a lot, though no one believes me. In fact just the other day my lover told me I could always suck his blood if denying my blood lust got to be too much of a hassle. He would still love me all the same.

And three, I can't stand the heat. If you think I'm joking or exaggerating, you are sorely mistaken! When I go out in the sun, I don't burn; oh no, that would make too much sense. First, my body starts to ache all over, especially deep in the muscles. I get these painful hot flashes that sweep through my entire body and makes it so it hurt to breathe. And then finally, like a bad move, my skin starts to bubble and smoke. I get these little sores all over my exposed flesh and steam rises from my skin. AH! It only goes away when I finally give in and retreat to the shadows. Sometimes I add little effects like hissing or screaming in agony. And once, only once mind you, I latched onto a random pass-byer screaming, "I WILL TAKE AT LEAST ONE OF YOU HUMANS WITH ME! CURSE YOU SUN! CURSE YOOOOOOOOU!"

Whats worse is the fact that my house has only two ceiling fans that circulate the hot air around more than they do anything else. The majority of the time, you'll find me walking around the house in my underwear and a rolled up tank top (at least you would if I left any of the blinds open, but I keep them all tightly closed).

While Lover does enjoy seeing me half naked more than 70 percent of the time and all the blinds closed from peeping eyes(what guy wouldn't?), he enjoys even more bringing me out into the sun and trying to tell me that I won't catch on fire. "Don't worry, My Sweet," he tells me. "I won't let anything bad happen to you. Just try it. You need a little pigment in your skin... it'll make it all better."

I always win that battle. I just make a sad face, lay on the ground and tell him to just go ahead and throw a match on me. "If I must die in the Flames of Fiery Doom, I would much more prefer if it was done by you... my love."

I hate the sun.

♥

My soul is making connections without my knowing!

Setting: A sunny, bloody fucking hot day in Oregon in my dark living room.

Time: 11:24 AM

Good Friend who we shall call Cindy: I'm leaving! Wish me luck with my douchebag father and his controlling wife! Fun!

Me: Good luck! You can always cal me if you need to be rescued. I have a car. We shall call it Code Rectal Swab.

Cindy: Sounds good. My sister says she wants to date you. [Let me add here that both Cindy and her sister, who will from here on out be called Mary, are positively beautiful creatures. While flattered by the offer, and pleased that I attract hot women, I am in a loving relationship I wouldn't give up for the world.]

Me: Oh? I'm flattered. Why?

Cindy: Because you are a beautiful soul and she thinks you're connected. She says she feels your soul in her.

Me: That's all very romantic. [My lover] never says anything like that to me. ;P [This is all in a text message by the way...]

Cindy: Mary says you should dump him for her. She says she can take [him] any day. She says she knows a backhand sandwich and that she's killed 3 people already.

Me: [He] might win the battle with his insane politeness and understanding nature. You can't fight it. I've tried.

Cindy: Yeah. That would kill Mary.

Well, from there the conversation got very mundane, so I won't bore you with the details. I just thought the situation was rather hilarious so I decided to post it up to see what you all think. Not to mention I would love to hear other people's odd conversations or text messages. Or e-mails. Sometimes I forget those still exist.

♥

Why does the lesser sex have to be so...

Oblivious?
Frustrating?
Annoying?
Laid back?
Maddening?
Undeniable?

Take your pick of any of the words up above; you can even fill in your own! As much as we all love our men, they sure can be annoying. They sure can be...

Let us look at one example: Lover.

Now, naturally I'm going to think a lot more of him than other people, but I'm not stretching the truth at all when I say that he is beautiful, smart, and has an amazing body. I know it, other people know it... why doesn't he?

It has past the line of being modest and has crossed right into oblivion. Plain and simple; he just doesn't get it.

First, let me say that I'm not the jealous type. Granted I do get bit by the green bug every now and again, but it's not an overwhelming factor in my relationship; in fact, I like it when people notice that I have an attractive boyfriend... Just so long as they realize that I have an attractive boyfriend. Which means he's off limits. You see what I'm saying?

It annoys me to no end when women throw themselves at him because he's attractive and off the market. And what makes me even madder is the fact that he just doesn't get it. He doesn't seem to understand the appeal he has for other women and he never notices the way they strip him with their eyes.

I'm not worried that he's going to cheat on me because I know he loves me to death and, besides, he's just not that type of guy. As well, I'm not jealous of these women. I'm mad. Flirting is one thing when you think a guy is single and then backing off when you're corrected; flirting because a guy isn't single and then playing innocent when the girl comes around is not.

Sadly, I know a few girls who only try and attract a male when they know he is taken. In fact, one has even ruined a handful of relationships with her touchy-feely-I-wanna-be-more-than-friends attitude. Naturally, I also understand the fact that some of the blame is to be put on the men for allowing the issue to get to the point where the girlfriend feels a line has been crossed and needs to end the relationship.

As a girl, naturally I don't find myself all that attractive, but I'm not all that bad. I've got some killer points. I'm also rumored to be a Vampire; that's sexy right? What I mean to say is this: I'm not so disgustingly unattractive that these girls would think I'm not good enough for him. And the majority of the girls aren't even attractive themselves. Just because they are easy, that doesn't mean anyone wants them!

The thing is, Lover just doesn't get it. He is polite to the point of nausea, and he just really doesn't pick up on the clues. I've tried to talk to him about it, but because he doesn't see it, he just tells me that I'm worrying too much and need to relax.

He's not cheating on me and I wouldn't dream of saying that, but I kind of need help with getting him to notice and let him know how much it bothers me when this happens. I want him to be rude to them, because I'm tried of going behind his back to make the women back off [I threatened to... harm... one particular hellish-cat's overly made-up face, and I haven't seen tail nor hide of her!]. Lord knows I've used the mouth of a sailor and enough violent threats and actions to send me to hell first-class on all the guys who refuse to leave me alone, and it's worked charms! My boy is pleased with this fact, and has even complimented me on my tactics. Why can't he do it, too?!

I would love to hear stories of your own and some answers on how I can get him to be less oblivious.

♥

Things that would be helpful in life:

[I'm in a really bad mood today... Excuse the language. It's not normally like me.]

+ Dust pans that fucking work. One of the most annoying things I've ever experienced about cleaning is the fact that the vast majority of dustpans [99.99%] don't work. After sweeping up a giant mess of random things that litter a floor, it only seems fair that when you squat down to finish the job, the tool designed to help you dump the load of crap actually functions like should. But it doesn't. Ever. WHY?!

+ If flys didn't exist. Now, I'm know in their own sick way, they do a job in the world and do some good... but they are so annoying. I wouldn't mind them nearly as much if they didn't buzz around your head, have creepy fly orgies in the same spot for three hours, didn't make that annoying sound, and didn't land on me when I'm reading a book. If they only MINDED THEIR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS, we wouldn't have a problem. But they don't. So we do.

+ If my family didn't exist. Now, I know what you are thinking: Oh, now she doesn't mean that. Everyone has family issues, we just have to deal with them. She's just angry...

Well, no. I mean it. I have an ignorant, selfish, backwards family. And I hate them all. No, no, now that I don't mean. I don't hate them all. I'm fine with my uncle and most of my cousins, and even my grandmother the better half of the time. However, the rest I hate. Or extremely dislike. Extremely. [I refuse to go into details during this blog. Maybe another one. Maybe. >:1]

+ Not having periods. 'Nuff said. There has to be some way for woman to have babies without bleeding once a month. In fact, I challenge you to figure that way out, then rapidly evolve all women.

+ Magizines coming much faster than 3-5 weeks. Actually, all orders coming quicker than that would be helpful.

+ Books on demand. Always. No matter the hour.

The Show Can Start as Soon as I See Money on the Table

Now, I want every one's opinion on this one, all right? See, please comment and add your two-cents. But please, don't be snobby about it. I don't want to debate you, I want to hear your opinion. Be nice, kiddies...

Strippers. Porn stars. Hookers. Call girls. We all know they are out there. We all see them, whether it be for a brief second as we drive by, or, just perhaps, a few of you have had stolen moments with these folks. Regardless, in today's society, you can no longer deny the existence of these women.

As a woman, it seems society has put the burden on me of hating these women, finding them disgusting and grotesque... but what if I don't?

Granted, I don't want to be any of the above listed professions, but does that mean I have to hate them? Before I was... removed from my home... I lived with my mother who was a stripper, and through her I met many woman who did a multitude of sex related things for money, and maybe because of that it grew on me as a normal happening so as I grew older, it didn't faze me like it did other kids.

But what I never got was this: A lot of women I know say it's fine for a woman to be promiscuous and sleep with hundreds of men because it's their right as a woman, but as soon as money is thrown into the equation, all of a sudden the women are disgusting pigs. As an added bonus, a lot of the people who are throwing around these insulting terms have never even met a stripper or hooker.

I know women who go into stripping to put food on the tables for kids; I know women who do it because they enjoy it; and I even know women who go into selling their body because they like sex.

As a Criminal Psychologist, I understand why porn can be viewed as a hazardous, dangerous thing and the affect it has on a handful of men (women too), but the psychologist part of my also understands why women do what they do, no matter the reason.

So, what do you think?

My First Blog

Isn't that cute? This is my first real blog. Oh, it's so exciting.

The reason I opened this up was because I needed a place to... type. I'm a writer, but I didn't do it to post storys of mine [I have another blog for that]. Rather I did it as a way of releasing. Of getting stuff off my chest, you know what I mean? I don't really care if people read it... I just like to write it all down and maybe, if I'm lucky, someone will have an answer to my problem.

YAY! Blogs are fun.

P.S. For those of you who actually read my blog before, I use to be Ted Forrester, so don't be confused. I only changed it because it was awkward for people to think I was a guy...