it’s obvious in the way you write and move

Oh wow, what an idiot I am, right?

A friend of mine pointed out that it is obvious I am trying to format my blog like my book in some ways, taking out the spontaneity and tone and editing the shit to almost unrecognizable bits.

And it’s true and I had been thinking about that. Then I went to go look at the old blog, you know, the promised blog…the blog from 2000-2004…that’s got all manner of irresponsible photographs (if I were to be President anyways) and all kinds of swearing and fun titles. It’s true…and in order to pay homage to my past and perhaps get you peeking around, I suspect I will have to keep referencing past posts and that.

Interestingly enough, most of my themes have run parallel, almost seem tangential when you look at the mentions throughout my life. I would elaborate, but that would remove my opportunity to link back fluidly. Let’s just say this chick has been feeling a bit A-LONE for a good decade or so, it seems. And even in the midst of romances and masculine panderings, I still talk about people not getting me. I was also a bit funnier back then because the blogging thing was new and I had a bunch of tattooed and pierced and fucked up people for the audience. There was no worry about my mom or any other kind of random relative coming upon it by accident–it was entirely locked for that community. So I could say whatever I want, talk about dildos, post photographs of my ass, you know, that stuff you worry about your 16 year old doing…but I was 22. So there. I was damn cute, and I actually think I look maybe a little better now, but eh, I’m biased and of course we all like to think we look better with age, you know, that fine wine argument, etc.

Yoga, man. The best ever. These are a few of the other thoughts running through my head this week. Just because, you know, I can’t be all normal all the time.

• I need a boyfriend like I need a hole in the head. I mean, I want one, but do I need one? Nahhh.
• The boys are gone, which means my neighbors will no longer be pot smoking lads playing bad drums and music all manner of day. No, now it will be a dignified mother and her daughter, who will probably find my back porch smoke breaks less than desirable.
• I am glad I have a toy. All you guys have are mouths, really. I am sorry to say it, but for girls, eh…we get the choice cuts in terms of what we use as boyfriend stand-ins. And though I think I want a live breathing toy, I am over it pretty quickly. You know, like right after I am done.

Go ahead, be mortified. I am talking about masturbation, because really, at the end of the day, sex is a necessary aspect of my existence. If I don’t have it (yes with myself) then I start getting fussy. And then I start thinking about lowering my boyfriend standards so that I can have access to the..well, dick. And who needs that? Not me. I went through some two dozen dudes on meet and greets over the past few months, but nothing really came of any of it. I have no biological need to procreate or any clock ticking in my head making me want to go find a baby daddy. So I am going to go with the flow, just let it be.

And for those of you who are shifting in your seats all uncomfortable and mortified you know me? Get over it. My parents don’t read my blog. And if they do, oh well, sorry, you’ll learn your lesson now!

Oh yeah, and on the blog note. I know I know I know, I promised my back in the day times…and they are a little more illuminating than even I am comfortable with. But a promise is a promise. And I am going to be working on that tonight, you know, instead of leaving my house. If you were cool you would bring me dinner. And some wine. No wait, fuck dinner, desert and some wine.

I am talking to you, world wide web, since you seem to be a silly stand in for the real deal. The live breathing moving sweating tasting and fucking souls out there somewhere…

No really, bring me something. And for crying out loud, say hello.

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