Dusty Newspaper Clippings and other mental disorder: December 2004

I tell ya what, The Incredibles is a fucking awesome movie! Not being a high-brow movie critic, the methods I use to gauge the quality of a movie are: (a) whether it can hold my attention throughout without me ever checking the time, and (b) that I think about it after I leave the theater. And unfortunately my vocabulary is very limited when it comes to my reviews--it either sucks or it rocks. I'm a graduate of the Beavis and Butthead school of movie critiquing. Anyway, I'd gladly sit through The Incredibles again.

By the way, Happy New Year.

Awright, fuck this shit. Get a grip. I've got no right to complain. No right at all. I at least have a roof over my head. I'm alive and healthy with plenty of fresh water to drink. I've got no problems at all in the grand scale, and I ought to feel ashamed of myself for whining when there are so many people suffering right now. I'm a right pratt (is that spelled with one "t" or two?).

I'm trying to remember the number of times I spent New Year's Eve in the company of others, and I'm hard-pressed.

I've been so lonely all my life and I'm so tired of it.

Don't worry, I'll recover soon. Normally I'm staunchly independent and all-too-happy not to have to answer to anyone. Right now, though, I wish I at least had a t.v. so I could anesthetize myself and so it could keep me company.

I'm also bent out of shape due to the fact that the ex dumped me on this day, blah blah blah.

Bah, Eduard called. He's on his way to a New Year's Eve party. Why the fuck does he get to go out and have fun and I'm stuck here at home? Huh? Answer me that! I didn't do anything wrong, fer fuck's sake, I just refused to put up with bullshit. Insert unhappy face here: 8^(

I jerked off with my million-dollar vibrator to console myself. It didn't work.

Oh well, I guess it's better not to ring in the new year with a hangover. It's bad enough that I spent my birthday in bed, and not having any fun either.

--Forget mollifications. I just want to say to everybody: "Awww, FUCK y'all!" Thanks alot, assholes. Some friends you are. Truth is, I don't have any fucking friends.

I know, I know. I'm not entitled to anything. No one owes me anything. I'm pissed off, feeling sorry for myself, and don't know what to do about it. Seeing a movie by myself or eating a pint of ice cream feels too damn pathetic.

Awright, I made it there on time. I like Dr. H., she's way cool. She approved of my ditching Eduard, ha ha. She recommends a support group for me like CODA, Co-dependents Anonymous, because my relationship selection really needs to be addressed. I like what she says about support groups and workbooks for adult survivors of sexual abuse, which is that they tend to get stuck in what happened with the perpetrator. I totally agree with her there: I'm like, I fucking know what happened; I don't need to relive all that shit. What I need to do is address the damage it's caused to my emotional and social life.

Took the dawgs to the session because directly afterward I drove them to the dog park. They behaved beautifully in her office. Beekie didn't seem to get into the dog park scene today and stuck to me like glue for some reason. That, coupled with the fact that Mother Nature told me I must get home immediately, prompted us to leave.

On the road I was reflecting how Eduard was always good for the "one more beer" ploy. Trouble was, it always turned into, "just another beer," "Just one more," "after this one we'll leave," etc., etc., ad nauseam. We were at the tavern once when I was on my period, bleeding heavily, and didn't have any extra supplies with me. "Just one more." I lost my stack, "Aw c'mon, dude! I'm bleeding through my tampon here!" A trifle too loud and the bartender heard. Oops. That's okay, he's married.

I think hanging around in bars is a fucking waste of time anyway. People sitting at the bar think they're so fucking witty, profound and insightful, when in truth they're just inebriated. Stuck there listening to them while sober was, well, sobering. Not to mention irritating. Eduard calls those people his friends; well, all his friends are fucking drunks.

He called his drinking an "incompatibility" between us. Fine, I can use that term too. "It's because of this incompatibility that I can't see you anymore," I said.

Oh, and has he ever called back? No. Dumbass.

Oh, cocksucker. I have to get ready for my shrink appointment and I'm behind. If I'm late again she'll kick my ass.

One thing that I find mildly funny is the way that Shay puts her foot in it. I don't mean that in a malicious way at all. There was that thing with the puppies many moons ago which caused us to have a blow-out. Later, after we'd made up and I was sitting at her bar, she asked me if she'd told me about those puppies, to which I said yes, and then the whole thing flashed in her head and you could see how she wished she could bite her tongue off.

Yesterday she asked me over email what I was doing for New Year's Eve, to which my answer was, "nothing, how about you?" No word back. She probably realized that she'd put herself in a position where she'd feel obligated to invite me somewhere but she can't do that because I'm not welcome around her crowd since I dumped Eduard. Funny.

Oh yeah, I broke it off so coldly and callously. Not. There were no raised voices, no scenario where I presented a laundry-list of all his faults. I think I was as gentle as possible under the circumstances. Let's face it, breakups suck, but I don't think I made it worse.

I've been dicking around so much with this blog site that I don't even need to change my shirt anymore before walking the dogs. While cruising blog sites, it irritates me when people's templates interfere with the "next blog" link. It also bothers me that I can't find blogs that'd I'd read before unless I bookmark it on the spot. There was this one person who wrote so astutely on Bush and current events, I wanted to shake his hand. Can't find it again though.

Oh, another thing that totally bugs me is the tiny teensy weeny little font lots of people seem partial to. Please, people! I'm getting old and my eyesight ain't what it used to be. Have mercy! Then again, fuckit -- I just won't read it.

I don't comment on politics because I'm not politically savvy, but I do think Bush is a tool.

Fell asleep on the couch, fully clothed, reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Woke up drenched, absolutely drenched. It's so gross, I hate that. I've gotten night sweats intermittently all my life, having to get up in the middle of the night to change my pajamas. Don't know why. Then my friend asks if I ever get night sweats as a side-effect to my antidepressants. Like most of the side effects, I can't attribute them to the drugs because I'd already experienced them.

God, this place is such a fucking mess that I wouldn't even have Eduard over, even though he's already seen it. Oh, he never called, by the way. You know, one thing about him is that I didn't care for the way he kissed. Some guys I could kiss forever, but not him. Funny, him being such a satisfying lover and all.

I wish I could find that one article on the web that I'd found a few years ago, regarding a family training their airedale terrier to quit chasing the cats. Operant conditioning? Which reminds me, why is it that people who are zealous about obedience-training their dogs often enormous assholes?

I don't know why I still dwell on this so many years later, but it occurred to me today that my ex-husband was being "faithful" to his mistress (to put it politely) or skank ho bitch (to not). I mean like, the way he never wanted to go out and do anything with me. Just a random thought. Or perhaps not so random, given that today is the fifth year anniversary of his dumping me. Guess I wasn't meant to be with him in the new millenium. Sometimes I'm still so angry and hurt by the whole thing, so I prefer not to go there.

All those weekends spent "working." Goddammit! I was so stupid!

No, not stupid--trusting, which happens to be a very admirable quality.

Don't know why it still hurts so much. Maybe because it's four in the morning. Maybe because I needed an anniversary cry. Oh god, he left me so wounded, so broken. Yeah, I'd definitely say it's better to be the dumper rather than the dumpee. He made me feel that I can never give myself to somebody again. I wonder if that's why I collect all those useless hunks of plastic.

Paints was trying to comfort me as I cried. He's so sweet. He wasn't even born when it happened, and Beekie was only six months old (I adopted her when she was a year old). Funny to think she was already in the world. And G was a year old at that time.

There's only one person I've told about this blog, and that's my friend John in the San Francisco Bay Area. He's the only person I could tell when I had anal sex for the first time. Ol' Eduard had me doing things I'd never considered before. Funny, that.

Since I found out that they're making a movie of The Narnia Chronicles, I really must re-read those books. They were my all-time favorites when I was a kid. So dignified and magical! I feel [almost] as passionate about The Narnia Chronicles as others feel about the Fellowship of the Ring books.

And by the way, the bonehead who luvs me so has yet to call back. Grrrrrrrr...

Here's what I wrote to our mutual friend over Christmas after she asked me if I wouldn't reconsider. They make it sound like a test of wills or something; they're missing the point:

You can stick your nose in, I don't mind. But I didn't break it off with Eduard because I'm some high-faluting moralist temperance crusader. Not to mince words here, but what he has is a rampant disease and it's going to kill him. I already see signs of physical damage in him. Until he makes the admission that his alcoholism is beyond his control and seeks help, there's nothing anyone else can do. The disease is out of my control as well, and any comfort I can offer him only serves to enable and accommodate his drinking. It makes me sad and I know he loves me, but I'm helpless here and forced to think of myself first. I'm not doing this to be arbitrary, believe me. But to be brutally honest, I cannot love someone who loves the bottle first.

I've thought about this a lot and struggled with it long before I broke it off. I sometimes wish I'd broken it off earlier because maybe it wouldn't have hurt him so much.

It's more of the same, I know. Just stated a slightly different way.

Maybe I should quit listening to Abba in the car. I've had an Abba song in my head all day and it's driving me fucking crazy, and it's not even one of their better songs.

Here's the thing, one of the things that bugs me about Eduard. You never know when, or if, you're going to hear back from him. I left a message for him at home but who knows what time he'll arise--or if he's even there. Most of the time he spends the night at friends' places throughout the city. He doesn't have a cell, either, leaving no way to track him down. So here I am again, in the stupid position of waiting for a callback. Christ.

Have I ever mentioned that my dad is a serious fuckhead? Over dinner the other night he said something derogatory about my mom's cooking, then looked over at me like I was in on the joke and would find it funny. Christ. Motherfucker has all his needs taken care of by his wife and he treats her like shit. Can't believe that fucker spawned me. I wish it was the milkman.

Oh man, Eduard called yesterday and left me a voice mail. He loves me and wants to do whatever it takes to get back together. Don't know what I was doing that made me miss the call...napping?

I have to be sure not to react based on my loneliness and horniness. He wants to come back to my bed? Fuckin'-A! But crap, it's not that simple. Frankly, I don't think he can get his shit together solely on my account. Also, to be blunt, I hadn't thought of "forever" when I was with him, although it seems that he did. So I guess the answer will be no, even though I want to fuck him like there's no tomorrow.

Think about it, though. He won't want to change. Drinking is his life. That's where all his friends are. No way he'd give that up.

Something I think is really lame is how in the trailer for War of the Worlds, Tom Cruise's name comes before Steven Spielberg's. Also, how it's just Cruise. I mean, shit, what an ego on that guy. Saying that, I'll prolly wind up seeing the flick.

Eating a delightful dinner of potato chips and French onion dip. Shoulda bought Ruffles instead of Lays because the chips keep breaking off. Just came back from Walmart, where I spent a whopping $73.00. Ouch. I did buy some stuff I hadn't planned on, like a siamese fighting fish and a filter for my tank. That Astroglide was expensive, holy shit. But it should last me a long time, especially as I won't be getting any nooky in the foreseeable future.

Hanging out, waiting to snipe an auction for a doll outfit that's going cheap. $80 for a doll dress? No. $30 for the same dress? Sure. I spend more money on doll clothing than on my own, no joke.

I won! I won! Yeah, won the privilege of blowing some more cash. Here's the dress:

Cool, the html worked. Anyway, I don't ordinarily dress my dolls in evening wear, but this dress is so delicate and classy. Plus, I've got two other dolls in buttercream chiffon, so I'll display them all together. Have to decide which doll gets this dress. Uh-oh, it just might be my Showstopping Sydney.

Eh, crap. It just occurred to me that I don't have anything to do or anyone to hang out with New Year's Eve. Another fucking year at home by myself. Suck.

I also miss hanging around with someone from out of state who finds this place as bizarre and laughable as I do. Let's face it, Eduard was a fun friend. If he and I had remained "just friends," I probably wouldn't have concerned myself with his drinking.

Journal entry:

Despite knowing that I took the best possible action for myself, I feel somewhat like an ogre for breaking it off with Eduard. I know he hurts and I wish I could comfort him somehow. But what he has is a rampant disease and any amount of comfort I offer only has accommodating and enabling effects. I am fairly powerless, after all.

On a selfish note, am I ever going to find anyone as fun in bed, with confidence, experience and kink? But not too much kink. Eduard was hardcore, actually into the pain and stuff, which does NOT appeal to me, thank you very much. And don't tell me that I shouldn't discount it until I try it. I know I have a high pain tolerance and feel no reason to purposely test the limits. How is pain fun and good? WHATever.

One thing my shrink told me was that Eduard doesn't give a shit about my sleep/wake cycles or about my schoolwork, and she was right. I mean, he might have cared in theory but not in action. One thing I definitely will not miss is his scheduling: he doesn't go to sleep until four or five in the morning and then he sleeps all day. Something else I won't miss is hanging around in bars--what a waste of time! He and I never did any "normal" activity, like seeing a movie or something. Everything for him revolved around the piss. He used to bring beer over to my place to keep in the fridge. He'd get up in the middle of the night, chug a beer, and then brush his teeth and gargle with mouthwash as if that would keep me from finding out. Anyway.

I think it's a good thing I broke it off when I did, before I started to dislike or even hate him.

Took the dawgs to the dog park and they had a blast. Being a weekday with less than perfect weather, there was hardly anybody there. They ran and ran and ran. Wore their asses out. Then on the way home I bought them each a burger at McDonald's. I trust they'll crash and burn for the next several hours. I'd read about that dog park's planning and construction in the paper several months ago, and it was supposed to have ponds and things for the dogs to swim in. It doesn't. Also doesn't have enough water fountains. Guess they ran out of money. Also what cracks me up is the park is right alongside a wastewater treatment plant. Naturally they wouldn't use desireable property for a dog park. But I shouldn't carp; it's about time this city got some dog parks at all.

My head's killing me.

One highly commendable thing about Eduard: he was faithful. Unlike anyone else I'd been involved with, I could trust him that way. Even so, the price to pay was too high.

I've got so much shit to do but all I want to do is lay down and take a nap.

I slept too late. I wonder how I can set this font to default so I don't have to adjust it every time? Blog novice.

Gotta go shopping today. Super Walmart. I know, they treat their employees like shit and pay them dick, but I'm poor and need the most bang for my buck. Milk, A.G., chicken, hamburger. God, there was something else and now I can't remember. I hate that.

Let me pop my antidepressants. There.

Sometimes I feel bouts of loneliness and that I miss Eduard. No, I'm not going to cave. I try to focus instead on what I don't miss about him: his nasty toenails, stinky feet, oddly effeminate hands, restless sleep, showing up two to three hours late and drunk, etc. In a way I laugh at him: he disdains prescribed antidepressants (has boasted of weaning himself off them) but at the same time drinks himself into oblivion. Oh yeah, that makes lots of sense.

Even so, I hope nobody decides to fill me in on who he's fucking next. It will make me feel bad, senseless as that is. I mean, I think about him getting some sex from someone else and I feel a pang of jealousy. Something I'll have to deal with.

Spent a good amount of time yesterday reading the Anonymous Lawyer's blog. Entertaining stuff, but it saddens me. Do we have to be so cut-throat and forfeit our lives to earn good money? Well, it's not like I had any aspirations to become a lawyer anyway, but still, I found the accounts to be similar to other corporations in which I was employed (however briefly). Interesting to hear a "partner's" viewpoint, though, and helpful I think.

Of course, my little cartoon portrait turned out much more attractive than I really am, but who says that's a bad thing?

Yeah, I collect dolls. Tonner dolls, mainly, and my focus on those are the Tyler Wentworth et al fashion dolls. Not exactly sure why I'm so taken with those hunks of plastic and vinyl, especially when so many of the fashions look like they came straight from Dynasty. I think it's a modified form of insanity.

Looking for a source to buy food grade diatomaceous earth to treat my kittens' tapeworms. GROSS.

I'm expecting some doll stuff to be shipped to me but I can't remember what. I guess I should check my recent PayPal payment records.

Okay, I don't think that each and every entry deserves a "title." I mean, c'mon, they're not that important.

I'm keeping this anonymous so that I can go off when the mood strikes. Right now, though, I'm on break between semesters so there's not much to go off about. Especially since I just broke it off with my alcoholic boyfriend. He was awesome in a lot of ways but it's ridiculous how he expected me to put up with his self-destruction. I'm not using the term "alcoholic" loosely here, either. He's a textbook case, one of those who needs to hit rock bottom before he seeks treatment. We were only together three months anyway. Fucking awesome sex, though, GAWD. MAN I hope I can find another lover who's as good. Thank goodness for modern appliances, at least. They'll see me through.

Huh

I guess I've arrived, a blog of my very own. Not sure what to say exactly, or how far I can go in my rants. I suppose some research will be required.

However, as for now, my dogs need to be walked so I'll return later.

Dusty Newspaper Clippings and other mental disorder

Friday, December 31, 2004

Thursday, December 30, 2004

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Huh

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