Oh, I've Been Bad.

Real bad. I'm not happy about it. Too much liquor, too many boys. Nothing solid to drag home with me, just misses, swing batta batta, ouch, FAIL. I fell for one of you lads, fell pretty hard. But he doesn't want me. I fell for another more than a year ago, and he wants me, but he loathes me, and he loves me, and he is reactionary and unkind; he is too much trouble.

And what's with the Mexicans?
I don't want the Indie Rock Hipster Revolutionary Mexican.

I don't want Flakey Fucker Artist Mexican (though I did initially feel quite warmly toward him after he lured me in post-spending an hour pretending he was gay, graphically hitting on my friend Joe only to follow it up with the statement, "You know I'm not gay, right? I think you're gorgeous and I want to take you out sometime." Turns out one great date was all he could handle and after two flake-dates I told him he could funk off.)

I do want thick, hairy, sexy, masculine, truck driving, smart, sweet and sensitive in private, total obnoxious douchebag in public, wife beater wearing, tattooed, music obsessed, hip hop loving, slight southern drawl having, intimate, intense eye contact in the sack giving Mexican. But, I done telled you already; he don't want me.

With the way I've been acting, I wouldn't want me neither. I've been bad. Impulse control with that latter one is an extreme low. Put a little whiskey in me and TMT sets in. He's been a sweetheart, considering, but that only exacerbates the situation. If he'd just say, "Hey, little batshit girl, it just ain't gonna happen," then I'd give up the ghost and move on. Instead, he throws nuggets at me my brain holds onto. That he wants me to know him. That there's so much more inside him than anyone sees, implying he wishes for me to see those soft, squishy bits. But... I haven't spent any quality time with the lad in close to two months. AND YET I STILL CAN'T LET IT GO.

I've been bad. I need to shut the fuck up.

But damnit all, I just want someone to love. Who loves me.

Manizer

I'm a Manizer. But I'm not. The term Womanizer implies, to me, deceit, manipulation, bullshit. Doing anything one can to get into someone's pants. That ain't me, babe. But I will be completely straightforward about my intentions, and I will be trying to get into your pants. Those are my intentions. I generally also require some kind of emotional attachment, but it is by no means emotional attachment on an exclusive level. I am capable of loving, and giving love to many. Okay, perhaps "many" is a bit much. Two. Three people at a time. Maximum. Minimum, really. Which does not negate the previous blog's statement about seeking a committed relationship. Until that happens, this is what happens: I collect, sample, discard, compute, understand, probe, adore, worship, obsess, roll around in, burrow, lick, suck, sniff, compile, arrange, make mental spreadsheets, love, hate, like and enjoy the presence of people I want to enjoy the presence of. It's not complicated, but for some goddamned reason, everyone wants to make it complicated.

It's science, it's biology. Just roll with it.

On How I Am Hilarious

Text from last night, not from Texts From Last Night.

"I found a replacement crush. You're off the hook."

See... I write shit like that when I'm shit-bombed and some people get it, some people don't. I suspect the lad who received said text is in the latter party.

HE HAS NO IDEA I GIGGLE LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL WHEN I WRITE SHIT LIKE THAT.

lulz.

Short blog, said shit three times.

Good work, me.

Fuck microblogging.

Let's see if I can do this anymore. Twitter and Facebook updating have wreaked havoc upon the long-format thought. I ponder in 140 characters, or in witticisms or charms that might cause clever jabs and parries. I need a typewriter and a week long stay in a remote location. Before wifi is literally in every god damn nook and cranny of this planet...

Leaping in--

I've been thinking a lot about the nature of masculinity and how terrifically hard the balance must be. The alpha male. The leader of the pack. I have some experience here, as I am often the alpha in situations, co-ed or no. That comes with its own problems, but as a woman, my concerns are not with how blunt, vulgar or brash I am--all that's implied by this is that I have masculine qualities, which are dominant, in control, strong. But for a man, especially one who wishes to be in control, and to give the impression of stoicism, the opposite is true; show emotion, give insightful commentary, and suddenly you are not viewed as much as the Lothario, but as something soft, weak, feminine. I think this may be the hardest thing about being a man. It takes a truly confident male to strut about like a peacock giving off heady fumes of lust, but who can also meaningfully impart his thoughts, unabashedly displaying emotion, daring anyone to question the veracity of the meat dangling between his legs. In truth, of the men I have the fortune of being close to, I can think of only one who has achieved such a thing, and I know it's been a hard road for him to get there. I'd put money on him in any bar fight, but he cries like a bitch (See? Cries like a bitch; even I do it) at the Notebook. He'll be there for you for any genuine need, but he will not hesitate to tell you you're actin' a fool. He inspires strength of all kinds because he is offensive, sensitive, loving and cruel. Spending time with him is always fulfilling. Our relationship is not sexual, but our interaction is sexually potent, a reminder of our youth and fertility; I feel healthy and... yes, I think engorged is the right word, in his presence. I recently told him I wanted to find someone to love me the way he does, except, you know, with all the boyfriendy parts.

Which brings me to my next thought:

I would like a boyfriend. I want to be in love.

There, I said it. Now, the disclaimer: The above statement is not technically true. What I want on that front is still in the gestation phase, and after months now of being casually, but emotionally involved with one to three people at once, I think I'm ready for a committed phase. I miss having someone to cook for. I miss the assumption of someone next to me as I sleep. I miss the tedious things that are part and parcel of a romantic, one on one relationship. But, like many things that are a big step, I've got to say it out loud, talk about it, if you will, in order to become comfortable with it.

It's all a work in progress.