Only to be read in extreme boredom. Very long, and mostly pointless
Alas, I'm home alone (somewhat...I choose not to make my sister's presence count), and I'm somewhat bored.
Anita just called me, and I feel like the most horrible person ever for telling her that I'd rather be watching TV than speaking to her. I didn't say it quite like that, but, well, I would have taken it that way. The plan was to call right away and undo what I'd done, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. Instead, I sit here, wallowing in my guilt, hand hovering over the phone, wanting to call her back and bawl "I'm sorrrrry!", and mentally running over all the directions that a potential conversation with Anita could go in. I know this sounds somewhat bizarre; like I'm in love with her or something. For this reason, I choose to just drop the subject.
Yesterday was kind of the shit. Brisco, Gilligers, Kathleen, Robin and I all went to the movies. And I missed them, and so to see them again was a great boost. We ended up going to see a late showing of Harry Potter. The film, in and of itself, was alright. What made it more fun was laughing at the serious parts. And totally missing the moral of story, if, of course, there was one. I was more preoccupied with thinking "Damn, that Cedric Diggory is a FOX!". (And I guiltily admit to sending a lust-filled eye or two in Victor Krum's direction. I don't know what it was...the lack of brain or overabundance of muscle, but for whatever reason, Krum was foxy).
Yes, "fox" is the new old term that I've adopted to start describing pretty boys. Before, I was content to settle for a mere "that guy's hot" or an "I so want in that guy's pants", or other sayings along that general vein. But I find "fox" is the suitable all-encompassing adjective. And I'm nothing if not efficient.
Last Sunday was also good times with Angel in her bed. Well, the good times were had outside of the bed, at a restaurant, with a group of her co-workers and their boyfriends. But I mean, that bed is just so damned comfortable. It pretty much made that night. I tried to order a Pina Colada at dinner, and he wouldn't let me, because I didn't have I.D. I was really annoyed, because I had to cop out with an "I don't have ID", just like a minor would! Annoyance to the utmost degree.
Damn, I should really call Anita. Fuck me and my fear of the fucking phone! (Ooh, alliteration. I'm a word wizard, biznatches).
So the Monday after Angel's, I went shopping. Remember, Muslims dont celebrate Christmas, so it wasn't for any of you, but alll for me, baby. I spent two hundred dollars on treats all for me, and I really couldn't be happier. I don't even feel badly for spending it this time. I'm on holidays, and in my mind, whether the spending gods agree or not, I deserved to make those expenditures. I even bought a belt to hold up my pants. But it appears that it won't be needed, because with all the eating I've been doing this holiday, my fat ass will just do that. Not trying to sound bitter, because I'm not. Just...concerned. I try to cut back, but then, when you're home, and bored, and nothing's on but TV, and people are calling you, but you pick up only to tell them that you're watching TV and don't want to be interrupted, well...Frosted Flakes just taste so damned good.
Wednesday I went to hell: it was hellish as always. Afterwards I bought my sister a sweater, and a new ceramic flat iron that has become my new best friend. I hope we're never parted.
Hey guys, I'm thinkin' about becoming a bartender. Whatchya think?
So I have this online friend named Malcolm who I met when I was about sixteen years old. Over time, I guess we've gotten kinda close-ish. He tells me about his girlfriend problems, and asks for advice that I never offer, because frankly, I'm the worst person to ask about relationships. Of any kind. Even between friends. (If you don't believe me, please scroll up to the beginning of this entry). I tell him about whatever, as friends do. We share tellings, I guess you could say. Lately, though, he's been kind of weirding me out. Like, I don't mean he'll randomly come out with "so...what are you wearing?" or anything of the like, because I could handle that by laughing it off. At first it started with some "Aleya, you're awesome". Which was fine, because I would respond in kind. It's the nice thing to do.
But lately, he's asking for more and more pictures of me, because he "thinks I'm hot". And he goes really overkill with it. Whether or not I'm physically attractive or not is the point here, it's that he just comments on my looks alll the time. And how much he'd like to take me out. (Even though he lives hours up north). Often, when he asks me out, and I laugh, he becomes angry with me. "Why do you always think I'm joking?!" I laugh at that, too. He tells me, instead of gifts, he "wants me wrapped up for Christmas". Now. Does that seem...creepy-ish to you? Or is that a sweet thing to say? I don't know. I kind of think he just wants to get laid, but then, he HAS known me for three years - he knows I don't just randomly hook up....
All that to say: Mal's weirding me out, but I don't know if I want him to stop or not, because all the "you're hot" compliments are pretty flattering.
Now that the rant is over, what else? Oh yes. I think I'm a home-wrecker. I can just imagine the looks on your faces after having read that, but it's true! I haven't gone out and destroyed anyone's relationship by helping their boyfriends cheat...but this, may be a path my life takes in the future. I just seem to have this thing for guys who are desired by others. What the hell? Why can't I just find my own?! But I guess the first step is admitting that you have a problem.
Now for my introspective thought of the day. And you may just guess that it's about relationships, as everything else in this whole cut seems to be related to.
So today, I was watching Oprah. The episode was about straight women, and their gay husbands. After being "happily" married for years and years, their husbands finally came out to them, and revealed that, while married, they had basically been leading secret lives as homosexuals. Some of them for years. The wives on the receiving end of this news, were, naturally, heartbroken. They felt, upon learning the truth, that their lives had been shattered, turned upside-down; that dreams they had fostered for their families had been irrevocably lost, and that their husbands, as they knew them, had died to them. The saddest of all though, I thought, was that they blamed themselves, and hated themselves for not knowing. They felt like they had lost themselves with the loss of their husbands.
And this got me to thinking about love, dreams and hopes we associate with it, and why we dream about falling in love, when, in a world like ours, knowing a person, really and truly knowing them is growing increasingly difficult. Love is supposed to be as powerful as a god, right? This all-healing, flaw-hiding, blinding, bring-together-of-two-halves-ing...energy-thing. But it isn't. Love is awesome, but it doesn't heal all scars. It doesn't take away imperfection. It blinds, but when you get your sight back, some people don't end up liking what they see. And it's inconsistent. These gay men loved their wives - but they still liked boys more. So love is not to be counted on.
Well, not the only thing. Wouldn't it just be easier if we all forgot about the dreams that come with love, and just loved? I think it would be lovely if everybody could feel what love is like at least once in their lifetime. I'm still waiting, and I don't know if it'll ever happen, but I keep my fingers crossed, but when it happens, maybe it'd be wise to not plan ahead. Maybe I'll be able to just ride it like a tidal wave until or if it peters out. But I think the key with loving someone is to just take it at face value - now thyself, and trust thyself, and in this, you will feel the most secure. Love should be the joining of two wholes, not two halves. So just in case your husband tells you he's gay, you can be hurt, ok, heartbroken, but not in a personality crisis. You should complete you, and not anyone else.
Anita just called me, and I feel like the most horrible person ever for telling her that I'd rather be watching TV than speaking to her. I didn't say it quite like that, but, well, I would have taken it that way. The plan was to call right away and undo what I'd done, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. Instead, I sit here, wallowing in my guilt, hand hovering over the phone, wanting to call her back and bawl "I'm sorrrrry!", and mentally running over all the directions that a potential conversation with Anita could go in. I know this sounds somewhat bizarre; like I'm in love with her or something. For this reason, I choose to just drop the subject.
Yesterday was kind of the shit. Brisco, Gilligers, Kathleen, Robin and I all went to the movies. And I missed them, and so to see them again was a great boost. We ended up going to see a late showing of Harry Potter. The film, in and of itself, was alright. What made it more fun was laughing at the serious parts. And totally missing the moral of story, if, of course, there was one. I was more preoccupied with thinking "Damn, that Cedric Diggory is a FOX!". (And I guiltily admit to sending a lust-filled eye or two in Victor Krum's direction. I don't know what it was...the lack of brain or overabundance of muscle, but for whatever reason, Krum was foxy).
Yes, "fox" is the new old term that I've adopted to start describing pretty boys. Before, I was content to settle for a mere "that guy's hot" or an "I so want in that guy's pants", or other sayings along that general vein. But I find "fox" is the suitable all-encompassing adjective. And I'm nothing if not efficient.
Last Sunday was also good times with Angel in her bed. Well, the good times were had outside of the bed, at a restaurant, with a group of her co-workers and their boyfriends. But I mean, that bed is just so damned comfortable. It pretty much made that night. I tried to order a Pina Colada at dinner, and he wouldn't let me, because I didn't have I.D. I was really annoyed, because I had to cop out with an "I don't have ID", just like a minor would! Annoyance to the utmost degree.
Damn, I should really call Anita. Fuck me and my fear of the fucking phone! (Ooh, alliteration. I'm a word wizard, biznatches).
So the Monday after Angel's, I went shopping. Remember, Muslims dont celebrate Christmas, so it wasn't for any of you, but alll for me, baby. I spent two hundred dollars on treats all for me, and I really couldn't be happier. I don't even feel badly for spending it this time. I'm on holidays, and in my mind, whether the spending gods agree or not, I deserved to make those expenditures. I even bought a belt to hold up my pants. But it appears that it won't be needed, because with all the eating I've been doing this holiday, my fat ass will just do that. Not trying to sound bitter, because I'm not. Just...concerned. I try to cut back, but then, when you're home, and bored, and nothing's on but TV, and people are calling you, but you pick up only to tell them that you're watching TV and don't want to be interrupted, well...Frosted Flakes just taste so damned good.
Wednesday I went to hell: it was hellish as always. Afterwards I bought my sister a sweater, and a new ceramic flat iron that has become my new best friend. I hope we're never parted.
Hey guys, I'm thinkin' about becoming a bartender. Whatchya think?
So I have this online friend named Malcolm who I met when I was about sixteen years old. Over time, I guess we've gotten kinda close-ish. He tells me about his girlfriend problems, and asks for advice that I never offer, because frankly, I'm the worst person to ask about relationships. Of any kind. Even between friends. (If you don't believe me, please scroll up to the beginning of this entry). I tell him about whatever, as friends do. We share tellings, I guess you could say. Lately, though, he's been kind of weirding me out. Like, I don't mean he'll randomly come out with "so...what are you wearing?" or anything of the like, because I could handle that by laughing it off. At first it started with some "Aleya, you're awesome". Which was fine, because I would respond in kind. It's the nice thing to do.
But lately, he's asking for more and more pictures of me, because he "thinks I'm hot". And he goes really overkill with it. Whether or not I'm physically attractive or not is the point here, it's that he just comments on my looks alll the time. And how much he'd like to take me out. (Even though he lives hours up north). Often, when he asks me out, and I laugh, he becomes angry with me. "Why do you always think I'm joking?!" I laugh at that, too. He tells me, instead of gifts, he "wants me wrapped up for Christmas". Now. Does that seem...creepy-ish to you? Or is that a sweet thing to say? I don't know. I kind of think he just wants to get laid, but then, he HAS known me for three years - he knows I don't just randomly hook up....
All that to say: Mal's weirding me out, but I don't know if I want him to stop or not, because all the "you're hot" compliments are pretty flattering.
Now that the rant is over, what else? Oh yes. I think I'm a home-wrecker. I can just imagine the looks on your faces after having read that, but it's true! I haven't gone out and destroyed anyone's relationship by helping their boyfriends cheat...but this, may be a path my life takes in the future. I just seem to have this thing for guys who are desired by others. What the hell? Why can't I just find my own?! But I guess the first step is admitting that you have a problem.
Now for my introspective thought of the day. And you may just guess that it's about relationships, as everything else in this whole cut seems to be related to.
So today, I was watching Oprah. The episode was about straight women, and their gay husbands. After being "happily" married for years and years, their husbands finally came out to them, and revealed that, while married, they had basically been leading secret lives as homosexuals. Some of them for years. The wives on the receiving end of this news, were, naturally, heartbroken. They felt, upon learning the truth, that their lives had been shattered, turned upside-down; that dreams they had fostered for their families had been irrevocably lost, and that their husbands, as they knew them, had died to them. The saddest of all though, I thought, was that they blamed themselves, and hated themselves for not knowing. They felt like they had lost themselves with the loss of their husbands.
And this got me to thinking about love, dreams and hopes we associate with it, and why we dream about falling in love, when, in a world like ours, knowing a person, really and truly knowing them is growing increasingly difficult. Love is supposed to be as powerful as a god, right? This all-healing, flaw-hiding, blinding, bring-together-of-two-halves-ing...energy-thing. But it isn't. Love is awesome, but it doesn't heal all scars. It doesn't take away imperfection. It blinds, but when you get your sight back, some people don't end up liking what they see. And it's inconsistent. These gay men loved their wives - but they still liked boys more. So love is not to be counted on.
Well, not the only thing. Wouldn't it just be easier if we all forgot about the dreams that come with love, and just loved? I think it would be lovely if everybody could feel what love is like at least once in their lifetime. I'm still waiting, and I don't know if it'll ever happen, but I keep my fingers crossed, but when it happens, maybe it'd be wise to not plan ahead. Maybe I'll be able to just ride it like a tidal wave until or if it peters out. But I think the key with loving someone is to just take it at face value - now thyself, and trust thyself, and in this, you will feel the most secure. Love should be the joining of two wholes, not two halves. So just in case your husband tells you he's gay, you can be hurt, ok, heartbroken, but not in a personality crisis. You should complete you, and not anyone else.