F#cking f#cky f#ckety f#cking f#cker f#ck f#ck f#cking f#ckhead.
I now know where the term "whiny" comes from. Screw that www.thefreedictionary.com crap, the truth is all too clear to me now. More often than not, throughout my entire life, I won't rest until I know WHY. Something's just not settled in my stomach until I find the answer to the question: "WHY?" No matter how stupid or aggravating the outcome, my brain will chew on the question until I'm exhausted and sick, AND EVEN THEN it will continue to chew, even if the smaller, more remote corners of my brain try to settle things down with a false answer, hoping that the noise will stop and everyone might then get some sleep. Yae, though the far-reaching physical extremities of the body tremble and shake and sweat from utter exhaustion, deep within the core of the wobbly grey matter, beyond all well-travelled avenues of reasonable argument, just around the corner from the vast Sea of Let It Go Already, on the shelf that hangs above the shelf that holds my complete collection of the Encyclopedia Shutthefuckupica, the chewing persists.
I must know why. I cannot stop. It is then that I turn to such entities as LiveJournal and the silly little web log on MySpace for solace. "Maybe," my weary soul cries, "if you write it down somewheres, you'll at least have it out of your head. Relieve some pressure. It'll make ya feeeel good... everyone else is doin' it."
And so, the WHY-ning begins. Sitting comfortably? Good, now go visit someone else's blog, cuz this is about to get ugly.
I've resigned myself to the fact that I am the woman that men come to for advice on other women. It's always been that way, and despite the fact that I HAVE managed to have SOME sex over the years, if you do the math, if you make up a pie chart, you'd better pick a color you like looking at to represent the "advice" because there's gonna be an assload more of it than the "sex". I guess it means that they trust me, that they see me as a somewhat reasonable female, and that they think I have something valuable floating around in my skull somewheres that might help THEIR brain stop chewing on questions so much. So that's nice, that's ...nice. If I have to find something redeeming about it, I'll officially declare that it doesn't completely and utterly suck as much as it could and stuff. Sometimes WHATEVER, though, I'm still sleeping alone.
Recently, however, a real live heterosexual male of my species type person made it known that he was attracted to me, and even, at one point, among other flirty things and actual kissing and stuff, when I was getting a new headboard installed (see my Pics -- it fucking rocks my world), he knocked on it a few times and said, "... mmm... wanted to see what sound your head would make...." Okay, that kind of makes him sound neanderthal-ish, but in context, like I said, with other flirty things and kissing and stuff, I put it on my "Yay Hooray" list immediately, and there it has stayed.
Now, in all fairness, we never made any promises to each other of any kind, we simply have a great freaking time hanging out with each other and seeing movies and doing geeky things together because in many significant ways, we think a lot alike. But the brain... the brain needs to know why. Why, after all this time, even though I respect his need to "go slowly" into this because he just got out of a giant, ugly, nasty relationship (that actually ended EARLY LAST YEAR), and even though he repeatedly claims that nothing's wrong, everything's fine, that he "really, really" does want to keep things going between us romantically, the fact is we're ADULTS and can screw our brains out any old damned time we please, SO WHY WON'T HE?
Depression pipes up first, "Stupid, are you blind? He ain't the first guy you've met who doesn't want to fuck a fat girl, and he won't be the last."
Then the Low-Self-Esteem Sniper fires a warning shot right past Depression's ear, "Hey, she ain't no bottom feeder, you know, and she's a way cool chick to boot - how many singing, acting, improvising, drawing, painting, professional photography studio managing, multimedia-mastering videographers do you know that have authored two published books and just paid off thier own car and make enough money to live entirely on their own and throw some of the most ass-kickin' parties this county has ever seen? And I ain't even TALKIN' about what she can do in BED. He should be knocking on her door with a bottle of Elduris* in one hand and a box of condoms in the other!"
[*Elduris is Fran's favorite vodka, found while visiting Iceland, a whop bop a-loo bop, a whop bam boom. http://www.geocities.com/dbt001/fooddrink.html]
"Yeah, well," my pussy sighs, "still doesn't change the fact that the only person I've seen 'round here is her gyno. I mean, she's real nice and all, and she knows what I'm all about, but ahhh... y'know... she can poke and prod all she wants, it just ain't the same thing."
Chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing.............
Why? And why won't he talk about it? Keeps insisting everything's fine - "we're fine." So I called him on it, for what I thought would be the final time. I asked him, in an e-mail, if I was on the right track in thinking that he just doesn't want me the way I want him, so we should just cool it and just be friends, no hard feelings, for real, just friends. He then came to me and said that I couldn't be more wrong, that he really wants to keep going this way, that he understands how frustrated I am and he's sorry for making me wait so long and crap, but that he really wants to keep things the way they are, that everything's good, he "really, really" DOES want me the way I want him.
It might do you some good to get up from whatever you're sitting on at this point and bang your head against the wall a few times, maybe get a drink of water and do a lap around the house or something. Yes, you there, the kook who is still reading this shit despite it's dizzying and somewhat meaningless plot line. Hey, don't get offended that I called you a kook -- at least you're not the one who's convinced she's being forced to WRITE this just so she can try to get some real sleep later on tonight.
So what the fucking fuck, then, why did I come home alone from dinner tonight? All he has to fucking do is be honest with me. Somehow, he's not being honest with me. He's not gay, I assure you. But whatever it is, it's something he is extremely uncomfortable with, and I'm afraid if I push too hard for the answer, he'll go away completely thinking that I'm just another pushy female who wants to own him. I want to fuck him, not own him, there is a huge difference.
I've made my feelings crystal clear to him, so if he doesn't want to DO anything about it except keep declaring that "everything's fine, we're fine", then I have to let it go... right...? FUCKING FUCKY FUCKING FUCK FUCKING FUCKER. WHY?!?!?!??!?!!
W H Y ? ! ! ? ! ! ? ! ! ! ! ! ! !
W H Y W O U L D Y O U D O T H A T ? ?! ?!! ?? ! ? ! ? !!! ??????
... thank you for your time, if you've made it all the way down here. I'm not looking for you to answer this question, I'm just looking to ask it out loud. Night night.
I must know why. I cannot stop. It is then that I turn to such entities as LiveJournal and the silly little web log on MySpace for solace. "Maybe," my weary soul cries, "if you write it down somewheres, you'll at least have it out of your head. Relieve some pressure. It'll make ya feeeel good... everyone else is doin' it."
And so, the WHY-ning begins. Sitting comfortably? Good, now go visit someone else's blog, cuz this is about to get ugly.
I've resigned myself to the fact that I am the woman that men come to for advice on other women. It's always been that way, and despite the fact that I HAVE managed to have SOME sex over the years, if you do the math, if you make up a pie chart, you'd better pick a color you like looking at to represent the "advice" because there's gonna be an assload more of it than the "sex". I guess it means that they trust me, that they see me as a somewhat reasonable female, and that they think I have something valuable floating around in my skull somewheres that might help THEIR brain stop chewing on questions so much. So that's nice, that's ...nice. If I have to find something redeeming about it, I'll officially declare that it doesn't completely and utterly suck as much as it could and stuff. Sometimes WHATEVER, though, I'm still sleeping alone.
Recently, however, a real live heterosexual male of my species type person made it known that he was attracted to me, and even, at one point, among other flirty things and actual kissing and stuff, when I was getting a new headboard installed (see my Pics -- it fucking rocks my world), he knocked on it a few times and said, "... mmm... wanted to see what sound your head would make...." Okay, that kind of makes him sound neanderthal-ish, but in context, like I said, with other flirty things and kissing and stuff, I put it on my "Yay Hooray" list immediately, and there it has stayed.
Now, in all fairness, we never made any promises to each other of any kind, we simply have a great freaking time hanging out with each other and seeing movies and doing geeky things together because in many significant ways, we think a lot alike. But the brain... the brain needs to know why. Why, after all this time, even though I respect his need to "go slowly" into this because he just got out of a giant, ugly, nasty relationship (that actually ended EARLY LAST YEAR), and even though he repeatedly claims that nothing's wrong, everything's fine, that he "really, really" does want to keep things going between us romantically, the fact is we're ADULTS and can screw our brains out any old damned time we please, SO WHY WON'T HE?
Depression pipes up first, "Stupid, are you blind? He ain't the first guy you've met who doesn't want to fuck a fat girl, and he won't be the last."
Then the Low-Self-Esteem Sniper fires a warning shot right past Depression's ear, "Hey, she ain't no bottom feeder, you know, and she's a way cool chick to boot - how many singing, acting, improvising, drawing, painting, professional photography studio managing, multimedia-mastering videographers do you know that have authored two published books and just paid off thier own car and make enough money to live entirely on their own and throw some of the most ass-kickin' parties this county has ever seen? And I ain't even TALKIN' about what she can do in BED. He should be knocking on her door with a bottle of Elduris* in one hand and a box of condoms in the other!"
[*Elduris is Fran's favorite vodka, found while visiting Iceland, a whop bop a-loo bop, a whop bam boom. http://www.geocities.com/dbt001/fooddrink.html]
"Yeah, well," my pussy sighs, "still doesn't change the fact that the only person I've seen 'round here is her gyno. I mean, she's real nice and all, and she knows what I'm all about, but ahhh... y'know... she can poke and prod all she wants, it just ain't the same thing."
Chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing.............
Why? And why won't he talk about it? Keeps insisting everything's fine - "we're fine." So I called him on it, for what I thought would be the final time. I asked him, in an e-mail, if I was on the right track in thinking that he just doesn't want me the way I want him, so we should just cool it and just be friends, no hard feelings, for real, just friends. He then came to me and said that I couldn't be more wrong, that he really wants to keep going this way, that he understands how frustrated I am and he's sorry for making me wait so long and crap, but that he really wants to keep things the way they are, that everything's good, he "really, really" DOES want me the way I want him.
It might do you some good to get up from whatever you're sitting on at this point and bang your head against the wall a few times, maybe get a drink of water and do a lap around the house or something. Yes, you there, the kook who is still reading this shit despite it's dizzying and somewhat meaningless plot line. Hey, don't get offended that I called you a kook -- at least you're not the one who's convinced she's being forced to WRITE this just so she can try to get some real sleep later on tonight.
So what the fucking fuck, then, why did I come home alone from dinner tonight? All he has to fucking do is be honest with me. Somehow, he's not being honest with me. He's not gay, I assure you. But whatever it is, it's something he is extremely uncomfortable with, and I'm afraid if I push too hard for the answer, he'll go away completely thinking that I'm just another pushy female who wants to own him. I want to fuck him, not own him, there is a huge difference.
I've made my feelings crystal clear to him, so if he doesn't want to DO anything about it except keep declaring that "everything's fine, we're fine", then I have to let it go... right...? FUCKING FUCKY FUCKING FUCK FUCKING FUCKER. WHY?!?!?!??!?!!
W H Y ? ! ! ? ! ! ? ! ! ! ! ! ! !
W H Y W O U L D Y O U D O T H A T ? ?! ?!! ?? ! ? ! ? !!! ??????
... thank you for your time, if you've made it all the way down here. I'm not looking for you to answer this question, I'm just looking to ask it out loud. Night night.