I tried. My arms hurt too. Innuendos, baby.
So. I have tried to pull out all the stops. Figure a way out to get to the barbecue in Toronto tomorrow. The issues? My car and it’s broken windshield wiper situation. And then there’s the whole release from my license suspension. Here they suspend your license for unpaid parking tickets. I know this has been referred to in my previous postings, but, I being the undoubtedly stubborn ass that I am, have allowed it to happen once again. I contacted people who were supposedly driving, I called the airlines. Not enough planning time I am afraid. I am a fucking procrastinator. I need to learn how to stop. Either way, little Eville, I will either come see you by the beginning of next year or fly your slickness my way. Shit. I’m sorry, bunny. ;(
Anyhow, outside of the minor drama I have caused myself by being a dumb ass, things are still swimming. I had to cancel my photo shoots yesterday to work at the bar. So I worked, spun around in my little half-nakedness. Fun. But not. The pussy power again seemed to hypnotize a few of my unsuspecting customers. I think I am that perverse kind of flirt. The kind that sticks her face so close to yours and then backs away, teeth exposed, laughing. I wonder if I could look at myself from another’s perspective and see what I deem inappropriate. Fuck it. I am just having fun. Twirling the hearts of the drooling around my finger while quietly snapping the illusion. Women as sex objects, objectified, magnified, so large you can’t help but look. I didn’t do anything to have this face or what the fuck ever I have esthetically that’s so inviting. Blame it on my mom. And I am not complaining. SHit. I just wonder why it always is this underlying sexual current that makes the world go round. I was talking to someone yesterday about how I grew up with this fucked up perspective on attraction and animal magnetism. Like if I weren’t deemed attractive by someone else, I would never have anyone. This a running theme in my life. Fear of being alone, but subjecting myself to isolationist activities that feed and foster that fear. ANYWays..back to the point. I never saw any kind of value in myself, just that I was an ugly kid. I never quite fit into any molds of beauty, but figured out later that my bad skin and fucked up proportions would disappear someday. And that day I would become a woman. Strange. People refer to me in that manner sometimes, and I am like, dude, I am a nice girl. That’s it. But, as I grow older, absorb more, give back little bits of myself and further integrate and rationalize my dreams as distant realities, I can say I almost am there. THat doesn’t mean I have no room for growth, or change. Just that the basic skeleton and foundation has been set.
My mind thinks of a million things a minute. The entire point of the original sub-category was how interesting it is to watch people and how they refer to their significant others. When I love someone, and I mean really love them, the physical representation is never really the issue. It’s the space. I have been with some esthetically un inviting people in my life. One of the most important was the lead singer of a sxe hard core band who had broken teeth, a big nose, and bad skin but he, to this day, remains one of the most positive influences and is still such a huge part of who I am today. I didn’t give a fuck about any of that physical crap, because his mind and what he taught me were probably the single most important things I have been taught by anyone I ever could have called a love. He taught me communication, music, movies, and we talked about things so in-depth that my philosophies changed. He also went through the two most devastating events I will probably ever experience on a personal level. My first two cardiac surgeries. The point is, I have all these insanely beautiful things to say about him and I watch these people and I ask them what it is that attracts them to their partners. 9 out of 10 times there is a physical reference within 3 aspects. And When you think about what that says..well fuck. No wonder shit falls apart like it does. I would rather be with one aaron, and lose him, than to hit and miss the real scopes of the minds and hearts of any number of supposed hot boys. It’s not the hot that matters to me, it’s the way your mind processes the ideas, what you have to offer, what exchange you’d like to make.
I guess this whole thing has been swimming in my head for a while. Jason overheard these guys talking about me leaving the bar one day and how I was too hot to ever give them a second chance, shrugging it off to “I’m not exactly an attractive guy, but I can dream”. And when I was out the other night before I met Jason, and no one but the bartender was talking to me. And we were talking about intimidation and how I am intimidating because I am “beautiful” and how men are intimidated because they think they can’t have that. What I want to know is, does it really fucking matter what someone looks like if they can’t speak to you? This is just an observation. And I am not sure if anyone reads this shit anyways, but, I would ask anyone who may
fuck my point. just think about it.
…I am the MOST DISTRACTED MOTHERfucker alive.
thinkin. kid.
this is me pre-coffee and a shower… me…post shower coffee with pigtails…
