Wed. The 28th. My birthday is less then 4 months away.
Hi, I’ve seen you before. Across the ballroom I could feel you stare at me. But I only felt it in hindsight. I didn’t notice because I distracted by my 2 years of anxiety and worry and heartbreak that fill this ballroom. Past history can take you out of enjoying your present moment.
Stacey introduced us, because you were staring at me. When I looked at you I felt a rush of dopamine, a surge of pheromone . "lorraine this is Roy." "I know you from somewhere Roy?" "Oh in Band and Djed at Century?" “No that can’t be it…" Well maybe.." Umm mystery.
I’ve meet you before I can feel it. When I looked at you I felt a rush of dopamine, a surge of pheromone. My favorite chemical dependency. An intoxicating biological connection of histamines or pheromones clicking into reactive gear. I felt dissected by your eye contact. Held a little longer than social norms allow for those not intimately involved. “I’d let you hug me one more time, but I don’t know you. Although I’m sure you’d like to touch my fuzzy red coat again.”
I’m sorry though, I’m not available. Even though he’s gone and left me. I’m just not. I wish I was. I wish I was. Nothing is gonna change my world.
There must be a song that doesn’t remind me of him. There must be.
Thurs. We share a birthday. Ours and today it’s Jesse’s 90th.
Hi Aaron, nice to meet you. A friend of Roy’s?
Hi Roy, nice to meet you again. Thanks for coming. Have some candy corn and dance with me. No Chocolate? No Wine? No sticky cheese. No cigarettes? Have a vodka? Have an absinthe. I’ll make it for you. And after I did you enjoy it, and I like that you do, secretly knowing there are not many times a man likes something I’ve made. So I relish in this some.
I’ll see you soon. I’m sorry I’m not available. I’m just not. I wish I was. Nothing is gonna change my world. Well I might waiver a little. Since you’re so handsome and clever and since my basic biology surges when you’re near.
Fri. Sun Liquor and play me some music. You played me a song that didn’t remind me of someone old. This is something new.
You’re a philosopher I’ve discovered. You never know. You kissed me. You asked if you could. You: “May I kiss you?” me: “Would you like to have a philosophical conversation about it?”
Maybe something is gonna change my world.
Saturday. Halloween. I’m complicated by others being here that know my ex. Forgive me for being stand-off-ish. I wish I could explain. I can’t as I can’t even explain it to myself. I hope I don’t offend you. I want you near but I can’t with these people here.
But I find you intoxicating. And your incredibly cute as Joey Ramone in skinny jeans.
Tuesday. The Little Red Hen, a failed Sidecar. We bonded over Aaron’s female dilemmas and what I know how to work best: friendship with women. You danced with me. To a song that didn’t remind me of something old. It can now remind me of you.
We frolicked over cheese almonds apples and absinthe in the chaise lounge built for one, best used by two who like eachother. Us two. You talked. I took off my dress in a sober moment. We frolicked innocently but apprehensively under Audrey Hepburn. In a beret, a scarf, black panties and vintage 1940’s red platforms with a peep toe. You stayed with me until I had to work. But I want you to go. I’m freaked.
Friday. Your Combo. Victory. Lounge.
My first. You had me at Howdy folks. You’re a performer. You’re good. Wow you really are good. You can sing, and they love it. I love it. I expected no less though. You kissed my neck in front of your entire group of something old, and my something new. The only way I could do it. I’m amazed you can.
I stayed. You played me the Beatles we laughed and didn’t sleep. My hair was a mess. I was intoxicated with lust and connection, something just touchable and within reach. It became Saturday. We read the Seattle Weekly and you’re in it and you’re a deserving star and I’m star struck.
Ripped slip, wool stockings and 80 year old gold heels on donation. You’re a man I know now. You wanted to stay but I’m a little freaked, so I make you leave. My gut tells me you will freak too if I don’t make you leave. I know you like it better this way. The New Orleans Bump. And a cigarette.
Phone: it’s fortunate that we both like black panties with white trim. But I wanted you to leave. I’m tired. And don’t trust myself. Plus I don’t want you to freak. But I’m insane with lust. Maybe something is gonna change my world.
Sunday. I’m insane with lust and sick with apprehension. You write me explanations of simple complex spirals in red on paper dinner napkins. I fall a little more with your metaphors and meaningless. You tell me you freaked. I know I really do.
Let’s not kiss please. This is already breaking me. Diatribe. “When two people both feel the connection and passion, that’s just rare! Rare! Sometimes one feels it and the other doesn’t. That happens often enough. But when you both get it, that’s rare.” Btw, I’ve heard this before.
You looked me in the eye, over candlelight for five minutes straight. FIve minutes over three candle lights.Held so long we are officially intimately involved, even if not crossing physical boundaries, and even if not saying so. I felt looked at. Thoroughly looked through. I’m just beginning to understand. I get it: you’re intense and painful and full of apprehension and tension and lack of counterbalalnce. You pull away. I pull away. I can feel it from here.
simple complex spirals written in red on paper napkins
Tuesday, November 10
Monday, November 9
Tuesday, September 29
none
I’m so sad not to have you in my life sometimes. It’s crazy how much I struggle. Life is really tough.. when you're truly alone... I didn’t know you were my best friend. A frown line is sinking into the skin on my forehead
Sunday, September 20
What I learned last night: You won’t fall asleep on a soggy pillow.
I’m struggling. In a deep pain. I’m so devastated to not have you in my life. I loved you deeply truly and honestly, whole and with my entirety. I wanted to talk with you I wanted to be there for you as you developed into whatever you become. I admit I lost myself some, much, but I was trying to support you. NO I wasn’t there to support you financially, but I tried in the ways I knew how. I wanted to develop these further with you. I wanted to talk with you, but you didn’t ever talk back and I wasn’t the pushy type to make you do it. And now you hold that against me. Real nice jackass. But I struggle. I want you in my life. I don’t want to live without you.
I’m scarred. I trusted you to not let me go. To not to cast me aside. I trusted you with my heart. I thought you would always be there for me. I can no longer trust. I have no love left. None to give. None to give to my friends, none to give to my family, none to give to anyone new. You f7cking stole it all, and used it up, and tore it apart, you useless greedy slug. I can no longer love. You didn’t care for me with a lovely gentile hand. I trusted you use care for me with a gentile hand. To treat my heart with care. I can no longer touch anyone without feeling hallow. I have become untrusting. I use to trust. You f8cking stole it from me. I use to trust. I use to love. You fucking stole it from me you useless piece of shiiit. I was used and unloved when I wanted to be loved and I loved back honestly. I’m scarred.
I’m scared. I’m scared because I’ve come to realize I may not get over this feeling. And that feeling is so deeply painful that I’m not sure I can live in any more. I’m at a lost for what to do about it. I scare myself; I consider things that I never in my wildest nightmares considered. The things I’ve started investigating. You wouldn’t believe it. I barely believe it myself. But sadly I know it to be true. I shock myself even. I‘m afraid to tell anyone. I don’t know how to get help. Where do I go how do I call? Who do I call? Help isn’t there in the way I need it. Me me me me scarred scared solitude.
I was starved. I was starved of attention. I lived in solitude. Because you’re selfish. But that was better then this. I’m a masochistic. That was better than this. Now I’m alone. You act so holy (you miserable slump) but the sad truth is you have no real love to give even though I tried to find it in you. You miserable slump. You are untrustworthy and have no feelings of any significance. Even though I tired to solicit them out of you. And to develop you into some (and I put myself on the shelf) who could actually make the world a more beautiful place. Because you are so lovely. I love you. And I loved you. But truly all you have to share is a stupid hat imported from china that you think looks good on your huge head. Too bad your head is the biggest part of your tiny little body, it is definitely not your penis. Rising sun?! ha ha. I wanted to wrap my long lovely legs around your body, because I loved you wholeheartedly. I overlooked all that you had lacking physically, actually I never overlooked; I never even saw any flaws in you. Never. I thought you were so incredibly handsome, intoxicating. I was intoxicated by it. I was enamored with you. I was in love. That’s what it was. Love. But you would really have none of it, but I didn’t fight you on us not communicated because I’m nice and don’t nag. But mostly because you totally suck in bed and have no idea how to please a women at all. Nor do you even try your self-centered tiny little prick. The fact that you wouldn’t even try for some reason makes me feel like the shitty one. Like I’m not deserving a few minutes of attention paid to me. You self centered slump. You can only please yourself…which took about 40 seconds even if I was asking you to not (yet again) come yet. You’ve left my totally high and dry. I’m straggling. Every day is a struggle. I’ve been dooped. Dooped. I’m stared for love. For someone to hold me. And let me feel alive in their arms. I’m alive
I can’t even say I cried myself to sleep tonight. I cried. But never found sleep. My pillow was too wet to lay my head in comfortably and i grew thirsty. So here I am. Writing alternate endings to blogs I fantasize about publishing. And crying and running out of tissue. Wtf. Yes it is 5 am. I don’t know how to sleep anymore. I don’t know who to love and I don’t know how to sleep. The only thing I know who to do is bitch. And I know a ton about vintage clothing, and can write an entire lecture about it and organize an entire event around it, not bad if I do say so myself, and I’m a fucking amazing dancer.. Crap so are you. And now I have no one to dance with so fuck that trait. I have nice long legs, and am a kind soul, and have high cheek bones, and can create an amazing outfit out of what is essentially someone’s unwanted stuff from goodwill that will look couture when I’m done with it. Oh and I can make amazing omelets, and soufflé even when faced with the crappiest oven ever (thanks again jackass you self centered prick wanted a cute oven?! wtf?! And I didn’t argue with you because I wanted you to be happy and your were paying for it so what the hell could I do, except deal with it), and fondue, and bake bread so here’s my edits to my previously bread post.
8) Bake for half an hour. ……(alternate ENDING 1)
While your irony bread goes about its business of baking and driving you mad with its wonderfully warming and intoxicating aroma, remember that once you shared an intoxicating love that was trusting and childlike and warm, think about all the ways you want to eat your irony bread. Remember ing that you once did trusted, you once loved, and you trusted him someone with your heart, you believed he would not harm it, not hurt, not destroy it leaving it completely unusable. You’ll tear the bread apart, piece by piece. Ravishing it with crumbs flying. OR slow down and eat it slowly acknowledging that both good bread and a renewed sense of trust take time to rise into beauty, and required a gentle gentile hand; a hand that takes the time to kneed it and need it. And that both home made bread and a renewed heart taste better and are more satisfying when the recipe and the ingredients are developed, and fine-tuned through trail and error and a sense of care and winder and understanding. The recipe will evolve. . Understand, and try not to be bitter, especially since you cried salty tears into your bread, that there is trial and error in all bread making and relationships. Develop an understanding of how bread is made with the different ingredients. Oat flour requires a cooler water and less salt (in the wombs) then wheat flour: my recipe is given a chance fine tune. Mistakes, changes in recipes are made. But redo the recipe, try again, change the measured amounts, change the science behind it, try again, communicate, with each attempt the broken heart is mended and the bread tastes even better.
9) Take bread out. Eat your bread. Enjoy. Relish your efforts. That you can make something alone, something primitive, something organic. You can make something life sustaining with your own two hands. That your old boyfriend wouldn’t think is important. Even if your arms are sore from needing, kneading, and trying. Acknowledge your feelings. Savor the bread, the fresh bread you cried into and kneaded until your muscles grew sore; you needed. Savor the love you needed, savor that you did have something your craved. Savor its humbleness. Savor its whimsy. Stretch it out. Make it last. Cover it in butter that melts warmed against fresh new bread. Savor that this doesn’t happen often. Appreciate that it is rare in life to find such beauty. Appreciate it is rare bread is made so fresh and appreciate that it’s rare you find something so simple and easy to be around. Something you can just sit and be still with. Something gentle. Something kind. I mean it’s rare you make your own bread.
8) Bake for half an hour. ……(alternate ENDING 2, a better ending, and a lie)
While your irony bread goes about its business of baking and driving you mad with its wonderfully warming and intoxicating aroma, your new boy toy drives you insane with his wonderfully warming and intoxicating pheromones, think about all the ways you want to eat your bread... and new boy toy. Tearing it apart, piece by piece. Ravishing it, him... with crumbs flying. Or eat the bread slowly, acknowledging that both good bread, a healed heart, and new relationships take time to rise into beauty, require a slow gentle hand, that takes the time to knead it and need it and both taste better and are more satisfying when given time to rise and develop. Your new boytoy will know this, and be able to tell you so.
9) Take bread out. Eat your bread. Enjoy. Relish your new boy toy and new feelings. I mean bread…. Savor. Savor its humbleness. Savor its whimsy. Stretch it out. Make it last. Cover it in butter that melts warmed against fresh new bread. Savor that this doesn’t happen often. Appreciate that it is rare in life to find such beauty. I mean bread. Appreciate it is rare you make bread and appreciate that it’s rare you find something so simple and easy to be around. Something you can just sit and be still with. Something gentle. Something kind. I mean it’s rare you make your own bread.
I’m struggling. In a deep pain. I’m so devastated to not have you in my life. I loved you deeply truly and honestly, whole and with my entirety. I wanted to talk with you I wanted to be there for you as you developed into whatever you become. I admit I lost myself some, much, but I was trying to support you. NO I wasn’t there to support you financially, but I tried in the ways I knew how. I wanted to develop these further with you. I wanted to talk with you, but you didn’t ever talk back and I wasn’t the pushy type to make you do it. And now you hold that against me. Real nice jackass. But I struggle. I want you in my life. I don’t want to live without you.
I’m scarred. I trusted you to not let me go. To not to cast me aside. I trusted you with my heart. I thought you would always be there for me. I can no longer trust. I have no love left. None to give. None to give to my friends, none to give to my family, none to give to anyone new. You f7cking stole it all, and used it up, and tore it apart, you useless greedy slug. I can no longer love. You didn’t care for me with a lovely gentile hand. I trusted you use care for me with a gentile hand. To treat my heart with care. I can no longer touch anyone without feeling hallow. I have become untrusting. I use to trust. You f8cking stole it from me. I use to trust. I use to love. You fucking stole it from me you useless piece of shiiit. I was used and unloved when I wanted to be loved and I loved back honestly. I’m scarred.
I’m scared. I’m scared because I’ve come to realize I may not get over this feeling. And that feeling is so deeply painful that I’m not sure I can live in any more. I’m at a lost for what to do about it. I scare myself; I consider things that I never in my wildest nightmares considered. The things I’ve started investigating. You wouldn’t believe it. I barely believe it myself. But sadly I know it to be true. I shock myself even. I‘m afraid to tell anyone. I don’t know how to get help. Where do I go how do I call? Who do I call? Help isn’t there in the way I need it. Me me me me scarred scared solitude.
I was starved. I was starved of attention. I lived in solitude. Because you’re selfish. But that was better then this. I’m a masochistic. That was better than this. Now I’m alone. You act so holy (you miserable slump) but the sad truth is you have no real love to give even though I tried to find it in you. You miserable slump. You are untrustworthy and have no feelings of any significance. Even though I tired to solicit them out of you. And to develop you into some (and I put myself on the shelf) who could actually make the world a more beautiful place. Because you are so lovely. I love you. And I loved you. But truly all you have to share is a stupid hat imported from china that you think looks good on your huge head. Too bad your head is the biggest part of your tiny little body, it is definitely not your penis. Rising sun?! ha ha. I wanted to wrap my long lovely legs around your body, because I loved you wholeheartedly. I overlooked all that you had lacking physically, actually I never overlooked; I never even saw any flaws in you. Never. I thought you were so incredibly handsome, intoxicating. I was intoxicated by it. I was enamored with you. I was in love. That’s what it was. Love. But you would really have none of it, but I didn’t fight you on us not communicated because I’m nice and don’t nag. But mostly because you totally suck in bed and have no idea how to please a women at all. Nor do you even try your self-centered tiny little prick. The fact that you wouldn’t even try for some reason makes me feel like the shitty one. Like I’m not deserving a few minutes of attention paid to me. You self centered slump. You can only please yourself…which took about 40 seconds even if I was asking you to not (yet again) come yet. You’ve left my totally high and dry. I’m straggling. Every day is a struggle. I’ve been dooped. Dooped. I’m stared for love. For someone to hold me. And let me feel alive in their arms. I’m alive
I can’t even say I cried myself to sleep tonight. I cried. But never found sleep. My pillow was too wet to lay my head in comfortably and i grew thirsty. So here I am. Writing alternate endings to blogs I fantasize about publishing. And crying and running out of tissue. Wtf. Yes it is 5 am. I don’t know how to sleep anymore. I don’t know who to love and I don’t know how to sleep. The only thing I know who to do is bitch. And I know a ton about vintage clothing, and can write an entire lecture about it and organize an entire event around it, not bad if I do say so myself, and I’m a fucking amazing dancer.. Crap so are you. And now I have no one to dance with so fuck that trait. I have nice long legs, and am a kind soul, and have high cheek bones, and can create an amazing outfit out of what is essentially someone’s unwanted stuff from goodwill that will look couture when I’m done with it. Oh and I can make amazing omelets, and soufflé even when faced with the crappiest oven ever (thanks again jackass you self centered prick wanted a cute oven?! wtf?! And I didn’t argue with you because I wanted you to be happy and your were paying for it so what the hell could I do, except deal with it), and fondue, and bake bread so here’s my edits to my previously bread post.
8) Bake for half an hour. ……(alternate ENDING 1)
While your irony bread goes about its business of baking and driving you mad with its wonderfully warming and intoxicating aroma, remember that once you shared an intoxicating love that was trusting and childlike and warm, think about all the ways you want to eat your irony bread. Remember ing that you once did trusted, you once loved, and you trusted him someone with your heart, you believed he would not harm it, not hurt, not destroy it leaving it completely unusable. You’ll tear the bread apart, piece by piece. Ravishing it with crumbs flying. OR slow down and eat it slowly acknowledging that both good bread and a renewed sense of trust take time to rise into beauty, and required a gentle gentile hand; a hand that takes the time to kneed it and need it. And that both home made bread and a renewed heart taste better and are more satisfying when the recipe and the ingredients are developed, and fine-tuned through trail and error and a sense of care and winder and understanding. The recipe will evolve. . Understand, and try not to be bitter, especially since you cried salty tears into your bread, that there is trial and error in all bread making and relationships. Develop an understanding of how bread is made with the different ingredients. Oat flour requires a cooler water and less salt (in the wombs) then wheat flour: my recipe is given a chance fine tune. Mistakes, changes in recipes are made. But redo the recipe, try again, change the measured amounts, change the science behind it, try again, communicate, with each attempt the broken heart is mended and the bread tastes even better.
9) Take bread out. Eat your bread. Enjoy. Relish your efforts. That you can make something alone, something primitive, something organic. You can make something life sustaining with your own two hands. That your old boyfriend wouldn’t think is important. Even if your arms are sore from needing, kneading, and trying. Acknowledge your feelings. Savor the bread, the fresh bread you cried into and kneaded until your muscles grew sore; you needed. Savor the love you needed, savor that you did have something your craved. Savor its humbleness. Savor its whimsy. Stretch it out. Make it last. Cover it in butter that melts warmed against fresh new bread. Savor that this doesn’t happen often. Appreciate that it is rare in life to find such beauty. Appreciate it is rare bread is made so fresh and appreciate that it’s rare you find something so simple and easy to be around. Something you can just sit and be still with. Something gentle. Something kind. I mean it’s rare you make your own bread.
8) Bake for half an hour. ……(alternate ENDING 2, a better ending, and a lie)
While your irony bread goes about its business of baking and driving you mad with its wonderfully warming and intoxicating aroma, your new boy toy drives you insane with his wonderfully warming and intoxicating pheromones, think about all the ways you want to eat your bread... and new boy toy. Tearing it apart, piece by piece. Ravishing it, him... with crumbs flying. Or eat the bread slowly, acknowledging that both good bread, a healed heart, and new relationships take time to rise into beauty, require a slow gentle hand, that takes the time to knead it and need it and both taste better and are more satisfying when given time to rise and develop. Your new boytoy will know this, and be able to tell you so.
9) Take bread out. Eat your bread. Enjoy. Relish your new boy toy and new feelings. I mean bread…. Savor. Savor its humbleness. Savor its whimsy. Stretch it out. Make it last. Cover it in butter that melts warmed against fresh new bread. Savor that this doesn’t happen often. Appreciate that it is rare in life to find such beauty. I mean bread. Appreciate it is rare you make bread and appreciate that it’s rare you find something so simple and easy to be around. Something you can just sit and be still with. Something gentle. Something kind. I mean it’s rare you make your own bread.
Wednesday, June 17
What I Learned Last Night: Want and Need are 2 different Things Or How to Quit Smoking
What I Learned Last Night:
Want and Need are Two Different Things
or
How to Quit Smoking
Smoking if fun. Smoking Chef is fun. But you’re NOT addicted. Why?? Smoking isn’t it suppose to be addictive? Aren’t cigarettes manufactured to be addictive? Your smoking chef might have fallen into that category But you’ve began to learn that although being around smoking chef is nice, you realize that he might not be able to give you what you want. Although want and need are two different things. You want that damn chef and that cigarette, but, man-o-man you don’t need either one. Aren’t men, aren’t they manufactured to be addictive?. All the evidence says Manufactured to be addictive, smoking chef and cigarettes and other tobacco products are often difficult to eliminate from your life once the addiction is established. But, the reasons to quit are so many in number that few smokers haven't tried to quit. It's possible to quit successfully with a few well-supported steps.
Step 1) Keep yourself occupied at all times. Play a sport, work on your hobbies, or go to restaurants where smoking is not allowed. A restaurant or somewhere you know (your ex) and your smoking chef will not go. Especially one called Buckley’s where your Jazz musician friends are playing! Remember that like your smoking chef, the smoking cravings do not last that long. Besides, jazz music makes you happy. And you’re kinda into that drummer. But I think that drummer is married. Anyway, back to quitting smoking and smoking chef.
Step 2) Ask yourself why you need to quit smoking.
But Want and Need are two different things. You want your smoking chef (errrmmmm…. and admittedly your ex) to love you the way you want to be loved. But you know it aint gonna happen. You can’t communicate. He doesn’t talk to you. But he’s talented. And you respect him. You can sit still with him. You want to make this into something. Your smoking chef just can’t love you the way you want to be loved.
1) Working on this blog post… to be continued
2) I’ve been tasteful and appropriate
3) I have to start writing things down.
4) I have to start drinking heavily.
5) Smoking is fun.
6) Dead women walking
7) Love glove dove. Love is like a dove shove glove. Wait none of that works.
Want and Need are Two Different Things
or
How to Quit Smoking
Smoking if fun. Smoking Chef is fun. But you’re NOT addicted. Why?? Smoking isn’t it suppose to be addictive? Aren’t cigarettes manufactured to be addictive? Your smoking chef might have fallen into that category But you’ve began to learn that although being around smoking chef is nice, you realize that he might not be able to give you what you want. Although want and need are two different things. You want that damn chef and that cigarette, but, man-o-man you don’t need either one. Aren’t men, aren’t they manufactured to be addictive?. All the evidence says Manufactured to be addictive, smoking chef and cigarettes and other tobacco products are often difficult to eliminate from your life once the addiction is established. But, the reasons to quit are so many in number that few smokers haven't tried to quit. It's possible to quit successfully with a few well-supported steps.
Step 1) Keep yourself occupied at all times. Play a sport, work on your hobbies, or go to restaurants where smoking is not allowed. A restaurant or somewhere you know (your ex) and your smoking chef will not go. Especially one called Buckley’s where your Jazz musician friends are playing! Remember that like your smoking chef, the smoking cravings do not last that long. Besides, jazz music makes you happy. And you’re kinda into that drummer. But I think that drummer is married. Anyway, back to quitting smoking and smoking chef.
Step 2) Ask yourself why you need to quit smoking.
But Want and Need are two different things. You want your smoking chef (errrmmmm…. and admittedly your ex) to love you the way you want to be loved. But you know it aint gonna happen. You can’t communicate. He doesn’t talk to you. But he’s talented. And you respect him. You can sit still with him. You want to make this into something. Your smoking chef just can’t love you the way you want to be loved.
1) Working on this blog post… to be continued
2) I’ve been tasteful and appropriate
3) I have to start writing things down.
4) I have to start drinking heavily.
5) Smoking is fun.
6) Dead women walking
7) Love glove dove. Love is like a dove shove glove. Wait none of that works.
Friday, May 1
What I Learned Last Night: Learning to Trust Your Gut and Develop a Meaningful Scarf Collection and Caring for an Orchid
Learning to Trust Your Gut: Recognizing Something is AmissOrHow to Build a Scarf CollectionOrLearning to Care an OrchidIn 12 easy steps:Step 1) When your Smoking Chef brings you out with his friends but fails to introduce you around or sit next to you, this makes you feel badly. But you choose to overlook it and be accepting of him – I mean – he’s just a guy who doesn’t know what to do with this chick in too much red lipstick and ridiculously high heels, and yet another scarf, right? Well girlfriend, lemme tell you – you should trust your gut analysis of this situation because something is amiss… The following is what I’ learned last night: Learning to Trust your Gut, Start a meaningful scarf collection, and Learn to Care for an OrchidStep 2) Over the past 3 or so months you’ve developed a lovely “friend”ship, or some type of “____ship” with your "Smoking chef’… You like him. You want to trust him. You appreciate that you can sit still with him. He's kind. funny. caring. awkward in an endearing way. and he does "it" for you. But you have reservations, you remain unsure about him really. ummmm..???. You've developed some kind of currently undefined "____ ship" with Smoking chef.... You have also developed a "____ ship" within his circle of friends. With his friend “Pink &Red Scarf”. Who is in Smoking Chef’s circle of friends, and who is female... And lovely. You like her lots. And you’ve spoken endlessly with Pink&Red Scarf about Smoking chef…. I mean like…lots… We're talkin' details here peeps. details.I’ll note now that you have many many scarves, you love scarves. You collect them. And you do best at collecting them from those you love or those you feel nostalgia for, or want to pay homage to or celebrate in some way: your aunt who “ Has had this one since high school”, and your mother who “I got this in Italy. It’s the Crest of that Italian village. Here’, have the orange one too.”, and all those little vintage shops you love to roam through, usually finding that scarf in a small pile hidden in a shop dresser drawer. You’ve got dozen and dozens of scarves. In nearly every color combo. But! But only one Pink &Red one. Only one. And she gave it to you. You think this is saying something lovely. And saying something bittersweet. Not to mention, she got it for you while she was traveling foreign countries and brought it all the way back. This is “friend”ship I believe.Step 3) You don’t know yet what kind of “ship” it is you have with Smoking chef because you’ve been holding back. You know he likes you, although you are not convinced he is the kind of chef that is fully invested. He might prefer his relationship meat undercooked, if you will. He’s not that emotional, and difficult to get to know. But he’s sweet… And hot, atleast to you. well maybe not H-O-T but you are attracted to him, regardless. You are, admit it. And you feel so very comfortable around him. He's someone you can just sit still with... But you discovered last weekend that he can be cold too. You need to get to know him more. You don’t know him well enough to DTR – Define the relationship. Not to say you didn’t want to get to know him better, you just didn’t feel you had enough info to decide if you liked him enough to DTR. I guess this is what they call dating… Or maybe your gut knows that you can not really communicate with smoking chef… So the tag on the front of ________ “ship” is undefined. The difficulty to a bad sign.Step 4) You didn’t need to learn last night that you needed him to be gentle with you. You knew this going in, you needed him to be gentle with you. You wanted to feel special. Like you are different. than the rest.Step 5) Dear Chef,Pink&Red Scarf called me last night and told me about you two. Although I know it was a year ago, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me first? Might have been easier for me to hear from you first. Would have made me feel more important to you. I feel so….temporary….. I’m “Steak to go” Applebee’s curb side pick up steak kind of temporary. Rare. I don’t hold the relationship with Pink&Red Scarf against you, no, no I don’t at all. I certainly understand human circumstance. You two hang out. It's cool. But it seems you may have treated her as temporary. The circumstances of your relationship made her feel temporary. And it turns out youandme smoking chef have the same circumstances....Ugh.... the lack of communication, the lack or future plans, the invitation over to the apt only, the text messages… It's all the same. And now you act like you do not know her.You think this is wrong. It’s just wrong. Same circumstances. And she was temporary. You broke up with her via text. The Sex and the City Post-It equivalent. I don’t want to be temporary. I don’t have casual relationships.Step 6) Are there other Scarves you need to know about? Are there other girls you have already befriended that he is pretending he didn’t sleep with? Just checkin’ cuz, besides retaining prom dresses from the 80’s, collecting vintage scarves, and finding vintage fur coats at goodwill (quite a find I will note – totally awesome!), and dancing the tango and lindy hop, what you do best is Obtaining Girlfriends! And you've not no interest in being Smoking Chef’s Girlfriends Club founding member, especially when you didn’t know you were nominating yourself. Jesus. Honestly!?!You do have a strange sense of respect and appreciation for Pink&Red scarf honestly though. You recognize it must have been a difficult can o' worms. But You'd rather know. And Pink Scarf knows this.He let you become friends with someone he had been fucking. Again you don't hold the basic humanness of this against either of them, but letting you become friends without all the information is just wrong. Especially for someone as emotional fragile as you. And you recognize this letting you become friends with her and not dealing with it as, yes... saying it with me: the easy way out... It's just secretive. You want to trust him. You wanted to trust him desperately.Step 7) You feel so so so fuckin stupid. I mean you told pink & red scarf way way too much about smoking chef. Gawd. How embarrassing.Step 8) Dear Chef, I emotionally invested in you. You’ve acted the same way with her as me. I am on the border of trusting you. And believe-you-me, I have been crushed. Shattered. Broken. Humbled. And appalled. But I feel like a fool for not knowing. I feel like a fool for not seeing it. I shuld have. 20/20 hindsight yadda yadda. Knowing that you were ok with me finding out makes me feel like you do not care.Step 9) Your smoking chef not telling you about the Smoking Pink Scarf Combo Meal (this is funny chuckle chuckle) might only be because Smoking Chef didn’t think it was a big deal. And it’s not a big deal. This you recognize. But it speaks volumes to how he might feel about you: Therefore you are not a big deal to smoking chef. He let you befriend Pink & Red scarf. If Pink &Red scarf wasn’t a big deal, then neither are you girlfriend! Yeah, your gut is sick. To much steak. You were once a vegetarian btw.Step 10) Suddenly remembering your conversation with Sugar about him not being that into you. And trusting your gut…Another side – ahhhhh you should take up tango dancing once again. Bad relationships lend themselves well to tragic tango dancers, the way all good tango dancers (who take themselves too seriously) are.Step 11) Too bad you lost your black and white scarf last weekend. Needs replacing. But the orchid Smoking Chef gave you for your birthday back in February is still in full bloom. You want to learn to care for it. I hear orchids are difficult to tend to, care for. Difficult to get to bloom again. You have to snip and trim just at the right time: when the last flower blooms, cut the next flower spike halfway down the stem. A possible rebloom will occur if you continue caring for your orchid.Step 12) ONE EXTRA, VERY IMPORTANT STEP!!!you haven’t slept with Smoking Chef.How do you feel now? Pretty good..for trusting your gut!!!You didn’t because your gut was telling you something was amiss.What I leaned last night:Trust your gut.Maybe don't wear that pink&red scarf for a little while.Take up being a holier than thou vegetarian again for a little while, or atleast no more red meat.
What I Learned Last Night: Learning to Trust Your Gut and Develop a Meaningful Scarf Collection and Caring for an Orchid
Learning to Trust Your Gut: Recognizing Something is AmissOrHow to Build a Scarf CollectionOrLearning to Care an OrchidIn 12 easy steps:Step 1) When your Smoking Chef brings you out with his friends but fails to introduce you around or sit next to you, this makes you feel badly. But you choose to overlook it and be accepting of him – I mean – he’s just a guy who doesn’t know what to do with this chick in too much red lipstick and ridiculously high heels, and yet another scarf, right? Well girlfriend, lemme tell you – you should trust your gut analysis of this situation because something is amiss… The following is what I’ learned last night: Learning to Trust your Gut, Start a meaningful scarf collection, and Learn to Care for an OrchidStep 2) Over the past 3 or so months you’ve developed a lovely “friend”ship, or some type of “____ship” with your "Smoking chef’… You like him. You want to trust him. You appreciate that you can sit still with him. He's kind. funny. caring. awkward in an endearing way. and he does "it" for you. But you have reservations, you remain unsure about him really. ummmm..???. You've developed some kind of currently undefined "____ ship" with Smoking chef.... You have also developed a "____ ship" within his circle of friends. With his friend “Pink &Red Scarf”. Who is in Smoking Chef’s circle of friends, and who is female... And lovely. You like her lots. And you’ve spoken endlessly with Pink&Red Scarf about Smoking chef…. I mean like…lots… We're talkin' details here peeps. details.I’ll note now that you have many many scarves, you love scarves. You collect them. And you do best at collecting them from those you love or those you feel nostalgia for, or want to pay homage to or celebrate in some way: your aunt who “ Has had this one since high school”, and your mother who “I got this in Italy. It’s the Crest of that Italian village. Here’, have the orange one too.”, and all those little vintage shops you love to roam through, usually finding that scarf in a small pile hidden in a shop dresser drawer. You’ve got dozen and dozens of scarves. In nearly every color combo. But! But only one Pink &Red one. Only one. And she gave it to you. You think this is saying something lovely. And saying something bittersweet. Not to mention, she got it for you while she was traveling foreign countries and brought it all the way back. This is “friend”ship I believe.Step 3) You don’t know yet what kind of “ship” it is you have with Smoking chef because you’ve been holding back. You know he likes you, although you are not convinced he is the kind of chef that is fully invested. He might prefer his relationship meat undercooked, if you will. He’s not that emotional, and difficult to get to know. But he’s sweet… And hot, atleast to you. well maybe not H-O-T but you are attracted to him, regardless. You are, admit it. And you feel so very comfortable around him. He's someone you can just sit still with... But you discovered last weekend that he can be cold too. You need to get to know him more. You don’t know him well enough to DTR – Define the relationship. Not to say you didn’t want to get to know him better, you just didn’t feel you had enough info to decide if you liked him enough to DTR. I guess this is what they call dating… Or maybe your gut knows that you can not really communicate with smoking chef… So the tag on the front of ________ “ship” is undefined. The difficulty to a bad sign.Step 4) You didn’t need to learn last night that you needed him to be gentle with you. You knew this going in, you needed him to be gentle with you. You wanted to feel special. Like you are different. than the rest.Step 5) Dear Chef,Pink&Red Scarf called me last night and told me about you two. Although I know it was a year ago, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me first? Might have been easier for me to hear from you first. Would have made me feel more important to you. I feel so….temporary….. I’m “Steak to go” Applebee’s curb side pick up steak kind of temporary. Rare. I don’t hold the relationship with Pink&Red Scarf against you, no, no I don’t at all. I certainly understand human circumstance. You two hang out. It's cool. But it seems you may have treated her as temporary. The circumstances of your relationship made her feel temporary. And it turns out youandme smoking chef have the same circumstances....Ugh.... the lack of communication, the lack or future plans, the invitation over to the apt only, the text messages… It's all the same. And now you act like you do not know her.You think this is wrong. It’s just wrong. Same circumstances. And she was temporary. You broke up with her via text. The Sex and the City Post-It equivalent. I don’t want to be temporary. I don’t have casual relationships.Step 6) Are there other Scarves you need to know about? Are there other girls you have already befriended that he is pretending he didn’t sleep with? Just checkin’ cuz, besides retaining prom dresses from the 80’s, collecting vintage scarves, and finding vintage fur coats at goodwill (quite a find I will note – totally awesome!), and dancing the tango and lindy hop, what you do best is Obtaining Girlfriends! And you've not no interest in being Smoking Chef’s Girlfriends Club founding member, especially when you didn’t know you were nominating yourself. Jesus. Honestly!?!You do have a strange sense of respect and appreciation for Pink&Red scarf honestly though. You recognize it must have been a difficult can o' worms. But You'd rather know. And Pink Scarf knows this.He let you become friends with someone he had been fucking. Again you don't hold the basic humanness of this against either of them, but letting you become friends without all the information is just wrong. Especially for someone as emotional fragile as you. And you recognize this letting you become friends with her and not dealing with it as, yes... saying it with me: the easy way out... It's just secretive. You want to trust him. You wanted to trust him desperately.Step 7) You feel so so so fuckin stupid. I mean you told pink & red scarf way way too much about smoking chef. Gawd. How embarrassing.Step 8) Dear Chef, I emotionally invested in you. You’ve acted the same way with her as me. I am on the border of trusting you. And believe-you-me, I have been crushed. Shattered. Broken. Humbled. And appalled. But I feel like a fool for not knowing. I feel like a fool for not seeing it. I shuld have. 20/20 hindsight yadda yadda. Knowing that you were ok with me finding out makes me feel like you do not care.Step 9) Your smoking chef not telling you about the Smoking Pink Scarf Combo Meal (this is funny chuckle chuckle) might only be because Smoking Chef didn’t think it was a big deal. And it’s not a big deal. This you recognize. But it speaks volumes to how he might feel about you: Therefore you are not a big deal to smoking chef. He let you befriend Pink & Red scarf. If Pink &Red scarf wasn’t a big deal, then neither are you girlfriend! Yeah, your gut is sick. To much steak. You were once a vegetarian btw.Step 10) Suddenly remembering your conversation with Sugar about him not being that into you. And trusting your gut…Another side – ahhhhh you should take up tango dancing once again. Bad relationships lend themselves well to tragic tango dancers, the way all good tango dancers (who take themselves too seriously) are.Step 11) Too bad you lost your black and white scarf last weekend. Needs replacing. But the orchid Smoking Chef gave you for your birthday back in February is still in full bloom. You want to learn to care for it. I hear orchids are difficult to tend to, care for. Difficult to get to bloom again. You have to snip and trim just at the right time: when the last flower blooms, cut the next flower spike halfway down the stem. A possible rebloom will occur if you continue caring for your orchid.Step 12) ONE EXTRA, VERY IMPORTANT STEP!!!you haven’t slept with Smoking Chef.How do you feel now? Pretty good..for trusting your gut!!!You didn’t because your gut was telling you something was amiss.What I leaned last night:Trust your gut.Maybe don't wear that pink&red scarf for a little while.Take up being a holier than thou vegetarian again for a little while, or atleast no more red meat.
Thursday, April 16
What I Learned Last Night: How to become 1980's Prom King and Queen
Believe it or not that bad prom dress you’ve been holding onto since high school for no reason besides nostalgia and memory retention and because your mother sewed it for you (therefore you just couldn’t throw it away), well, believe it or not those will come in handy! If you know the right people, you will be invited to a themed Breast cancer Awareness fundraiser! The Theme? 1980’s prom! Foresure! Bust out that black velvet, lace and polyester satin prom dress and the bad “off like a prom dress jokes” cuz your smoking chef is taking you as his 1980’s prom date. Epic it was.
Naturally such an event is only complete with a proper Prom King and Queen so nominations will happen. With smoking chef chaperoning, naturally you will win. And naturally all evening he will make bad jokes about getting your prom dress off and attempting to get you in the backseat of “his parent’s” car. Given such circumstances, how could you lose? Prom Queen inserts tears of surprise and fake gratitude, “I’d like to thank the academy…”
16 years post high school and many years after it is socially acceptable to don bad 1980’s prom dresses, all promted by attending the worthy cause of a Breast Cancer Awareness Fundraiser Event with a 1980’s Prom theme (I'm way into this. Too much.) the following is what I learned last night:
How to win Prom Queen and King:
1. It’s never to late to become prom king and queen.
2. Even if that dress your mom sewed you for the San Juan High homecoming in 1989 is unbreathably tight today, go ahead and wear it. You might feel light headed due to not taking a deep breath all evening while dancing to Devo and the Smiths and Madonna, but this author promises you won’t regret it.
3. You might also feel light headed from the spiked punch yuor future Prom King Smoking Chef keeps brining you, but yuor intoxicated by his pharmones and his skinny grey 1980's tie.
4. Be sure to go for that 80’s Madonna look embracing the black lace, short skirts and extreme bleach blonde hair and brown roots (if you got ‘em). You will wear it so well.
5. When attending an 1980’s Prom, it is not possible to wear too much blue eyeliner and electric blue eye shadow or pink Wet N Wild lip gloss. Right? Your smoking chef likes your blue eyeshawdow.
6. Take oooon meeee…Take On ME! Take me On!
7. Any bad 1980’s themed party should start with the 80’s basics. This includes but is not limited to the dress your mom made you; a 1980’s velvet strapless sweetheart neckline dress with an asymmetrically cut from hip to thigh sown-in double layer puffy skirt. Four ruched layers of white polyester satin overlayed with ruched black lace. I mean your mom sewed it for you! Such a dress acts as bragging points at the 1980’s party, and thereby secures the win essentially. This is soooo Molly Ringwald-esque. ‘Cept hers was pink and sew by Molly herself not mom.
8. Don’t forget to don those black elbow length gloves. You want the lace ones but shit, you’re fresh out.
9. And bad rhinestone tiera. You aint’ fresh out of that.
10. You’ve been saving those black fishnet nylons with rhinestones seams up the back and tigers on the ankles for this very occasion, and essentially complete your 1989 Madonna themed prom outfit.
10. Next: heels. Pointy toed and spiked. They certainly can not match the rest of the outfit. In this case you have emerald green. You aint’ regretting holding onto those spike heels for Jen now are ya?! Thanks jen. You made my prom night.
11. To win prom king and queen you will need to find yourself a proper date. One who is way into the 1980’s prom theme as well….
This is best done by smoking chef. He’s still at it with you, yes. He’ll don a perfect blazer of gray, thin lapels and a silver and gold lame skinny tie. And he’s cute in it. He wears it so well. And you find that he’ll dance with you all, I mean all, evening, to that 80’s music. And he seems to like it. And he enjoys singing to you and dancing with you. And he doesn’t care. And now you’re really in trouble because….because you like him, like totally. Damn it.
12. All night he’ll make bad 1980’s jokes:
~"Babe, like any good prom dress, that one is gonna end up on my floor." You like his bad jokes. And you like him calling you "babe".
~"Get ready for a walk of shame the tomorrow morning. Babe is off like a prom dress.” You might be willing to do the walk of shame for smoking chef.
~"Can I get you some spiked punch?....Can I get you some more spiked punch?"
~“We are so going to make out on my parent’s couch."
13. When you are officially nominated and win by audience applause because you two wear eachother so well, and I think they might know that you two kinda like, foresure like eachother, be sure the “Thank the Academy.”
14. Set up the ideal photo op: a Pink Balloon arch and silver metallic tissue paper is perfect. Strike staged uncomfortable pose with your smoking chef prom king while you both proudly don your gold tiara and crown and pretend not to be too into one another. And drunk on spiked punch.
Gag me with a spoon
Naturally such an event is only complete with a proper Prom King and Queen so nominations will happen. With smoking chef chaperoning, naturally you will win. And naturally all evening he will make bad jokes about getting your prom dress off and attempting to get you in the backseat of “his parent’s” car. Given such circumstances, how could you lose? Prom Queen inserts tears of surprise and fake gratitude, “I’d like to thank the academy…”
16 years post high school and many years after it is socially acceptable to don bad 1980’s prom dresses, all promted by attending the worthy cause of a Breast Cancer Awareness Fundraiser Event with a 1980’s Prom theme (I'm way into this. Too much.) the following is what I learned last night:
How to win Prom Queen and King:
1. It’s never to late to become prom king and queen.
2. Even if that dress your mom sewed you for the San Juan High homecoming in 1989 is unbreathably tight today, go ahead and wear it. You might feel light headed due to not taking a deep breath all evening while dancing to Devo and the Smiths and Madonna, but this author promises you won’t regret it.
3. You might also feel light headed from the spiked punch yuor future Prom King Smoking Chef keeps brining you, but yuor intoxicated by his pharmones and his skinny grey 1980's tie.
4. Be sure to go for that 80’s Madonna look embracing the black lace, short skirts and extreme bleach blonde hair and brown roots (if you got ‘em). You will wear it so well.
5. When attending an 1980’s Prom, it is not possible to wear too much blue eyeliner and electric blue eye shadow or pink Wet N Wild lip gloss. Right? Your smoking chef likes your blue eyeshawdow.
6. Take oooon meeee…Take On ME! Take me On!
7. Any bad 1980’s themed party should start with the 80’s basics. This includes but is not limited to the dress your mom made you; a 1980’s velvet strapless sweetheart neckline dress with an asymmetrically cut from hip to thigh sown-in double layer puffy skirt. Four ruched layers of white polyester satin overlayed with ruched black lace. I mean your mom sewed it for you! Such a dress acts as bragging points at the 1980’s party, and thereby secures the win essentially. This is soooo Molly Ringwald-esque. ‘Cept hers was pink and sew by Molly herself not mom.
8. Don’t forget to don those black elbow length gloves. You want the lace ones but shit, you’re fresh out.
9. And bad rhinestone tiera. You aint’ fresh out of that.
10. You’ve been saving those black fishnet nylons with rhinestones seams up the back and tigers on the ankles for this very occasion, and essentially complete your 1989 Madonna themed prom outfit.
10. Next: heels. Pointy toed and spiked. They certainly can not match the rest of the outfit. In this case you have emerald green. You aint’ regretting holding onto those spike heels for Jen now are ya?! Thanks jen. You made my prom night.
11. To win prom king and queen you will need to find yourself a proper date. One who is way into the 1980’s prom theme as well….
This is best done by smoking chef. He’s still at it with you, yes. He’ll don a perfect blazer of gray, thin lapels and a silver and gold lame skinny tie. And he’s cute in it. He wears it so well. And you find that he’ll dance with you all, I mean all, evening, to that 80’s music. And he seems to like it. And he enjoys singing to you and dancing with you. And he doesn’t care. And now you’re really in trouble because….because you like him, like totally. Damn it.
12. All night he’ll make bad 1980’s jokes:
~"Babe, like any good prom dress, that one is gonna end up on my floor." You like his bad jokes. And you like him calling you "babe".
~"Get ready for a walk of shame the tomorrow morning. Babe is off like a prom dress.” You might be willing to do the walk of shame for smoking chef.
~"Can I get you some spiked punch?....Can I get you some more spiked punch?"
~“We are so going to make out on my parent’s couch."
13. When you are officially nominated and win by audience applause because you two wear eachother so well, and I think they might know that you two kinda like, foresure like eachother, be sure the “Thank the Academy.”
14. Set up the ideal photo op: a Pink Balloon arch and silver metallic tissue paper is perfect. Strike staged uncomfortable pose with your smoking chef prom king while you both proudly don your gold tiara and crown and pretend not to be too into one another. And drunk on spiked punch.
Gag me with a spoon
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