I spent part of my weekend tangled up in bed with a guy I thought I might not see again. Nothing has changed, except that he did make an apology. I’m not comfortable speaking my mind with him; I’m not really myself around him. We are nothing but good sleepover buddies. He’s proven that he’s not grown up enough for anything else (and not creative enough to come up with better excuse than “I lost my phone.”) But like always, I’m glad he came over.

There’s another fellow I’ve been on two great dates with, but we couldn’t make plans this past weekend. And we aren’t anywhere near serious. We aren’t a thing and we haven’t made physical contact.

I’m afraid I’m always going to fall back on door #1 because it is easy and comforting and an instant cure for boredom.

I like the feeling of his weight on me. I hate sending an email and being nervous that every time is the time he might not reply. I like running my hands over his back. I hate editing myself in conversation because I’m trying to be as appealing as possible, like I’m at a job interview. I like falling asleep with his arms draped over me. I hate trying to think of unique date ideas.

Sex is so easy. I always have this nagging feeling that I shouldn’t just keep doing something (someone) because I’m waiting for what I really want to come along. But I can’t think of a reason why.

On principle, with the rude ignoring thing, I was definitely not going to sleep with him again. I had kind of declared it. I was settling in for a nice, potentially long, dry season. Then I don’t know…boredom happened. I have needs!

And that was not even two days ago, and I feel like I need more. I’ve chewed on four of my fingernails.


don’t carry it all


Oh my goodness, I’ve had a day. Not a bad day but A Day.


Took time in between clients today to decorate my one bare office wall. It looked good. Satisfaction.

Vinyl stickers slowly began to unstick themselves. Disappointing, but they may hang in there yet. Acceptance.

Had a no show appointment and took a half hour or so for an unpleasant but necessary personal conversation. Various passing, cathartic feelings.

Finished my notes and put my schedule in order, chatted with my director, packed up my work things. Double satisfaction.

Walked to my car in the parking lot off of a very urban street downtown, and SAW A FUCKING CHICKEN! just chilling next to our building. Delight.

[PS, the chiropractor was FANTASTIC, though I accidentally wore a thong. So, given a gown with an open back and the area needing examination being my lower back, the long tradition of my sexual harassment of health professionals continues.]

witch doctor


I should not have mentioned feeling healthier than ever a few posts back because Thursday I went and twisted my back. I did all my stretching and icing and whatnot and did ask a close and personal friend for help in loosening it up last night (and this morning, and this afternoon) but it’s going to need to be addressed.

One thing I haven’t tried is a chiropractor and I have an appointment with one tomorrow afternoon. Also planning to get some prescribed massage therapy because I have flex spending funds and now that my birth control is free (SLUTS FOR OBAMA! WOO!) and I’ve already bought three pairs of glasses, I need to get creative.

Anyway, I once saw a 20/20 segment on chiropractors as a youngster and so I’ve spent a great deal of time believing the myths about how it’s not real medicine and also that every 3rd chiropractic patient ends up permanently disabled due to some sort of spine embolism. Yay for reeducation as an adult, but I’m still a tiny bit nervous.

S0, if I do end up paralyzed, then end up pulling a Sea Inside to make a statement about autonomy, I hope I’ve made it clear that I am not ok with RIP messages posted to my Facebook wall. If I’m dead, I’m not checking Facebook.

I’m bequeathing Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer to my sister. My book and DVD collection goes to my brother, with the condition that he adopt a hypoallergenic kitten in my honor and name him MEOW! THAT’S WHAT I CALL MUSIC. Hamlet is under no condition to be entrusted to my mother because, though I love her, I don’t want him raised with republican values. My dearest friends don’t have room for another cat – although one of theirs is morbidly obese, so they might soon have an opening. I’m decidedly against having him mummified with my corpse. I guess my brother could also use the life insurance money to get some allergy shots.

please buy my motherfucking wedding dress, somebody


It’s beautiful. Brand new. A steal. And it’s been sitting in my would-have-been-in-law’s basement for over a year, waiting to be sold for half of that time. It is the only material property that we have left between us and so needs to get sold. (I really wish I had my kitten with me, I should have fought that fight, but there’s nothingIcandoaboutthatnow and, otherwise, everything in that condo could burn down and I wouldn’t care.)

See, (if I believed in him) I (would) praise Jesus that I did not get married (to this particular individual). Sometime around November, I turned a corner. I settled into this new life and accepted, even appreciated, the whole break up fiasco.

No longer am I: brokenhearted, sad, wounded, or at all surprised by his insensitivity/general disregard for me.

The only feelings he inspires in me now, stated with confidence after just recently being exposed to said individual, are: blinding rage (my face actually turned a different color), annoyance, and mild to moderate insecurity (insofar as I really hate for people to exist in the world who dislike me and I am bothered by the fact that someone who knew me so well has seemingly not expressed a favorable opinion of me since 2010).

Look, I would have liked to have had a healthy break and maintained some semblance of a friendship. I thought with time that it might have been possible. Other people have managed to do that after all but OH I WAS SO NAIVE.

I don’t wish bad things for him (though I certainly spent time in the past doing that) and so I’m a tiny bit proud of myself. His life and happiness don’t make my life and happiness less (though it’s one thing to know that intellectually and another to feel it). I think the insecurity will fade through meditation and continued reassurances from my loved ones that I’m not Godzilla. I don’t get angry very much now, so the rage isn’t too inconvenient of a thing to deal with.

No worries. Just, internet, please buy a dress so that I don’t have this unfinished business out there in the world. It’s really very nice. And probably not infected with bitterness and disappointment.

monkey pigeon


Well, looks like I need to pick up a copy of Time magazine this week. It’s my most favorite of subjects! (In the rest of the world, the cover topic is about something lame and substantive instead of strange animal couplings. Pfft, Europe, who cares? Time sure has America’s number.)

Also, HELLO tiny chameleons I didn’t know I was obsessed with until I knew they existed!

Interesting body politics reading.

“I’m not sure how Cupid decides who will get to fall in love, because there’s this one guy at the library who looks like he could really stand to have some love in his life.” (Made me laugh. The Rumpus is so much fun.)

An article pointing out that marriage hasn’t necessarily been the institution we might think.


Meanwhile, an otherwise fun day at work has been colored by some one infecting my car with a horrible stench. Glamorous.


Since I am dead inside (or at least doubting my ability to make new romantic connections to people), I’ve decided to save everybody’s time and be totally straightforward about all my things. That is, the stuff that would be my “dirty secrets” were I ashamed of any of it. It just makes sense. I am not a perfect date but I do know who I am and so why not put it out there? If my quirkiness is too intimidating to some one then it’s not likely they are the person for me anyway.

I’m not exactly a conventional person. It’s part of why my inner circle thinks I’m awesome. I need someone at least a little unconventional too. Not shooting for Sid and Nancy or John and Yoko. And I read George Bernard Shaw had a sexless marriage so that’s not exactly the idea but…whatever.


nausea is my punishment


Fucking 2012.

Alright. I have Chlamydia.

Finally having worked out the health insurance stuff, I had an appointment earlier this week to get a current birth control prescription and to get tested for STIs, because I haven’t since my break up 7 months ago. Two days and two frustrating doctor lectures later, CHLAMYDIA!

The last time I got tested was just after I became serious with my now ex-fiance, so 4 years ago, and the (not really) funny thing about this is, is that I had chlamydia then as well. It’s rather common, I’m going to have to conclude. Rob took in in stride I think, and if I remember right, he hadn’t caught it from me, and thus didn’t need treatment.

The difference between now and then is that I can’t say this time that I have been 100 percent responsible. Since I’m confessing something taboo already, might as well keep going. I have had unprotected sex, and more than once, and with more than one person, with in the space of the last few months. I don’t want to make excuses for why. (They would boil down to I was in a dark place.) I did, is the point.

My dear friend said, “Don’t be angry. just learn from it. You dodged a bullet.” But that’s not an exactly accurate metaphor, what I did was found someone with a gun and said to them, “It’s ok if you want to try and shoot me.” Or actually, just failed to say and insist, “Wait, I don’t wanna play with your gun that way.” (This is a lovely picture I’m painting here.) And then I failed the same shitty way with an entirely different person. Ugh, I’m the worst.

It’s hard for me to admit this, which I guess is why I’m admitting it. I’m a person who certainly knows better. It’s curious though, because the average sexually-active person knows better, yet plenty of people fail to use condoms. Some on a regular basis. And WHY? I think the regular risky-sex doing people I do sort of understand. It’s harder for me to accept that someone (me or a woman like me) who is educated, progressive, and otherwise assertive, would…let it slide. Would put sexual gratification/some dude’s “comfort”/avoiding momentary awkwardness over something as important as wellness.

I already swallowed a dose of Zithromax, followed by my pride (as I filled in both partners in crime via text, that is). I probably feel about as sick as my seven month old nephew did on Christmas day, when he was taking an antibiotic as well (but not for an STD) and was moved to vomit the entire contents of his stomach onto the table at the Chinese restaurant we were eating at.

I’ll live. These were the other not cool aspects of the Getting Tested for Sex Diseases Process:

  • 50 minute wait before my first appointment
  • Matronly female doctor from first appointment who… gave me the news that I’m obese; enthusiastically consulted her BMI chart, despite that BMI is bullshit; explained to me, as if I must not know, what a balanced meal and proper meal is; told me to “stop drinking sodas” when I don’t drink soda; and when I tried to speed up the nutrition tutorial by explaining that, lately, I hardly ever even eat any meal, told me “you should eat three meals a day always” or your body goes into “starvation mode” because I must not know that either, and must be skipping meals and eating crappy foods like ramen for fun and not out of necessity.
  • They tell you that you need to schedule a follow up about your test results, but can’t tell you why until they see you in person, then (since you have a job) you get to spend two days wondering what bad news you are going to get. Hope you aren’t a neurotic person, that could be a rough two days, buddy.
  • Similarly condescending physician’s assistant from my second appointment who says “we have to talk to you every time about it” like they would if I were a smoker, you see, in defense of her colleague’s unsolicited and unhelpful information last time. Funny, this isn’t my first time at the fat rodeo, and my other doctors tended to respect me enough to say something like, “It would be preferable if you were at a lower weight. Do you want to talk about your options?” and leave it at that if “Nope” was my response. As opposed to someone who doesn’t ask anything about my eating and exercise habits, nor my feelings and concerns.
  • That this PA also explained to me that should I enter into a relationship, before going without condoms, we should both show our test results to each other. (Fucking genius, such a novel idea that I had never encountered despite having done exactly that 4 years ago!) And you know, how it might not seem like a big deal, since it’s so easy to treat, but how it’s actually no joke to have Chlamydia. (CAUSE I WAS ENJOYING IT SO DAMN MUCH that I might need a reality check! I just roam around hoping to be penetrated with infected penises,  you see, so that I might come take advantage of my cheap healthcare and the joy of antibiotics, just cause it gives me a thrill! I think I’m invincible and so I don’t worry about protecting myself ever! I, despite seeking out testing after making myself vulnerable to infection, don’t understand that my behavior has consequences!)

I don’t like admitting that I caught a very common, somewhat innocuous illness, because I feel like it makes a case for every sex-hating asshole that it’s wrong to be slutty. But I don’t want to be ashamed when, it’s not really wrong. It was stupid of me that I was unsafe (not that I couldn’t have gotten it anyway) but I don’t want to be ashamed for having a few moments of stupidity either. So. CHLAMYDIA!



It is January 6, 2012, purportedly a holiday called “Cuddle Up Day” but I’m not so sure about that.

These are things I would like to make happen this year:

  1. Savings. I have absolutely nothing in either of my bank accounts. When my car broke down Wednesday, I had to have it towed to my dad’s friend’s garage. I’m desperately now waiting for my w-2 to come in, and hoping my tax refund will cover the repair. With no reliable vehicle to drive people around in, I’m now missing work 3 days of a shortened work week. When I don’t work, I don’t get paid. I’m a week away from getting that very small paycheck and I will consider myself lucky if I make it to then.
  2. New job. It would be nice to have a job that doesn’t require constant use of my aging car. Or a job where I earn more than 1 hour of earned time off every 17,000 weeks. Regardless, I’m underemployed. Even doing this same job in Massachusetts, I would at least get paid more, but it’s not what I want to do. I will be sad to leave but I need to get much more serious about finding something more appropriate. I can easily commute to Boston from where I am so (I hope) I have options.
  3. Part to full-time spooning partner. Hamlet does cuddle me pretty frequently (it is so odd how much his temperament has changed since we moved here, he used to be too good for full body snuggles) but a) he’s a cat and I’m not ready to be Miss Havisham (at least she had tons of money) and b) he always insists on being little spoon. Seriously, I want to be in love. I wouldn’t say that I’m lonely, like I was as I was finishing college 4 years ago, but still…I would like to be with someone. In at least a “monogamish” capacity.
  4. Have a “thing.” Especially as I’m struggling with the first 3, I want to get more involved in something fulfilling. I would like to front a band so that I can become a rich and famous rock star but I’m thinking it should be more grounded in reality. Something that I will actually do and want to stick with. So there’s a local secular choral society, a Unitarian church, and/or I can take time to: listen and appreciate music, do mindfulness meditations, and write creatively. It would be Pretty Fucking Sweet if I actually wrote a book instead of saying that I would like to write one.
  5. Stage an intervention for my roommate. Who late last night, after I wrote something on her Facebook wall, responded quite randomly with “I’m gonna grab your nip!” and ran into my room and proceeded to do so. She had had a lot of wine.