Sometimes I'm such a dick. I'm sorry.
I'm especially sorry to, well, yeah you. Sorry for being a crazy bitch-monster.
Sorry.
Saturday 28 February 2009
Thursday 26 February 2009
Deep Breath
I've taken one. I feel much calmer now.
You know what I hate? Have you ever met one of those people who just need drama in their lives? I'll bet you have; I'll bet you know what I mean, when I say they're addicted to the adrenaline rush they get from arguing/fighting/crying/etc, so if nothing's wrong in their life at a certain point, they engineer a crisis. These individuals are, at an almost overwhelming ratio, more often female than male, but I do know at least 2 men who suffer from this affliction, and only 1 of them's gay, so it seems to affect people from both genders and various persuasions... by far, it seems to be a more feminine sort of issue than a masculine one, though.
What if I'm one of them?
Absolutely nothing was wrong yesterday, except I was a little bored and generally sluggish (my period's a bit late, I think I may start it any day now) and all of a sudden, I was in the crappiest mood you can imagine. I tried to pick a fight with a friend (he wouldn't) and so, thwarted in my evil plans, I just went to bed, and woke up this morning in the same crappy mood. And now, here I am, posting inflammatory things about men, knowing the only people who read this are male... I'm so obviously, blatantly spoiling for a fight.
Not that anyone cares enough to fight with me; it's a special group, people who care enough to fight with you, but not so much that they just take all your shit without flinching. My life is full of both--people who straight away tell me to fuck off when I voice any displeasure (or ignore me, which is the same thing, only worse) and other people, who try to soothe and stroke me into a happy place, even as I'm calling them cunts and telling them to go fuck themselves. No one occupies the middle ground. I've got no one to go, 'Hey, I can see you're in a really shit mood, but do you have to take it out on me? You do? Alright then you bitch, come on, get it out of your system,' and then listen to my rant before reminding me that, okay, I've got a point, but NOW I'm just being a twat.
Common sense. Everyone needs a dose of it sometimes. And, like, telling me I'm wonderful when I'm being a shit to you is NOT common sense. What am I, fucking stupid? Do you think I don't REALISE I'm being a cow? Do you think that I'll be offended if you tell me I've hurt your feelings/pissed you off/surprised you/annoyed you/disconcerted you, etc?
Sometimes, I just want someone to dig and pry and force me into saying WHY I'm flipping out over nothing. I want an acknowledgment that I AM being a shit, before the ego-stroking begins. But no. All I get is, ho hum, she's being a dick, I'll come back later, or, awww, bless, you're clearly very cranky, tell me what's wrong snookums. Which, if you look at it one way, is just another way of ignoring me. I don't want my bad behaviour glossed over--I want to be called on it.
LOL. In other words, I want you to ask me what's wrong, but without being patronising or overly sympathetic, while giving me some common sense, while making sure that you don't ignore any single comment I've made or facet of my behaviour, AND I want your feelings to be hurt enough that you fight back a little. Ask me what's wrong, and do it in EXACTLY the way I want you to, or it's not good enough, is what I'm really saying.
And that, my friends, is what makes me equal parts drama queen and spoilt brat.
I should blog more. I help myself a lot more than anyone else helps me. Like, you know how you can get yourself off loads more times in an hour than someone else could? That's what this. Emotional masturbation. Nobody does it like you can do it yourself.
Emotional masturbation. That's too good a phrase. I bet I stole it from somewhere.
So. Plagiarist, drama queen, spoilt brat, and general cow. Could my list of personality flaws BE any worse? I'm stopping there. Fuck me. And yet... I feel much better now. Much, much better. So much better, I'm not even cheesed off anymore. I may go out and do a good deed for the day. I may help someone else. I may try to write something that's not narcissistic, ego-centric, plagiaristic shit. That's how much better I feel now.
*wanders off, singing to herself* 'Nobody does it like you, the way that you do, nobody's got the power to please me....'
You know what I hate? Have you ever met one of those people who just need drama in their lives? I'll bet you have; I'll bet you know what I mean, when I say they're addicted to the adrenaline rush they get from arguing/fighting/crying/etc, so if nothing's wrong in their life at a certain point, they engineer a crisis. These individuals are, at an almost overwhelming ratio, more often female than male, but I do know at least 2 men who suffer from this affliction, and only 1 of them's gay, so it seems to affect people from both genders and various persuasions... by far, it seems to be a more feminine sort of issue than a masculine one, though.
What if I'm one of them?
Absolutely nothing was wrong yesterday, except I was a little bored and generally sluggish (my period's a bit late, I think I may start it any day now) and all of a sudden, I was in the crappiest mood you can imagine. I tried to pick a fight with a friend (he wouldn't) and so, thwarted in my evil plans, I just went to bed, and woke up this morning in the same crappy mood. And now, here I am, posting inflammatory things about men, knowing the only people who read this are male... I'm so obviously, blatantly spoiling for a fight.
Not that anyone cares enough to fight with me; it's a special group, people who care enough to fight with you, but not so much that they just take all your shit without flinching. My life is full of both--people who straight away tell me to fuck off when I voice any displeasure (or ignore me, which is the same thing, only worse) and other people, who try to soothe and stroke me into a happy place, even as I'm calling them cunts and telling them to go fuck themselves. No one occupies the middle ground. I've got no one to go, 'Hey, I can see you're in a really shit mood, but do you have to take it out on me? You do? Alright then you bitch, come on, get it out of your system,' and then listen to my rant before reminding me that, okay, I've got a point, but NOW I'm just being a twat.
Common sense. Everyone needs a dose of it sometimes. And, like, telling me I'm wonderful when I'm being a shit to you is NOT common sense. What am I, fucking stupid? Do you think I don't REALISE I'm being a cow? Do you think that I'll be offended if you tell me I've hurt your feelings/pissed you off/surprised you/annoyed you/disconcerted you, etc?
Sometimes, I just want someone to dig and pry and force me into saying WHY I'm flipping out over nothing. I want an acknowledgment that I AM being a shit, before the ego-stroking begins. But no. All I get is, ho hum, she's being a dick, I'll come back later, or, awww, bless, you're clearly very cranky, tell me what's wrong snookums. Which, if you look at it one way, is just another way of ignoring me. I don't want my bad behaviour glossed over--I want to be called on it.
LOL. In other words, I want you to ask me what's wrong, but without being patronising or overly sympathetic, while giving me some common sense, while making sure that you don't ignore any single comment I've made or facet of my behaviour, AND I want your feelings to be hurt enough that you fight back a little. Ask me what's wrong, and do it in EXACTLY the way I want you to, or it's not good enough, is what I'm really saying.
And that, my friends, is what makes me equal parts drama queen and spoilt brat.
I should blog more. I help myself a lot more than anyone else helps me. Like, you know how you can get yourself off loads more times in an hour than someone else could? That's what this. Emotional masturbation. Nobody does it like you can do it yourself.
Emotional masturbation. That's too good a phrase. I bet I stole it from somewhere.
So. Plagiarist, drama queen, spoilt brat, and general cow. Could my list of personality flaws BE any worse? I'm stopping there. Fuck me. And yet... I feel much better now. Much, much better. So much better, I'm not even cheesed off anymore. I may go out and do a good deed for the day. I may help someone else. I may try to write something that's not narcissistic, ego-centric, plagiaristic shit. That's how much better I feel now.
*wanders off, singing to herself* 'Nobody does it like you, the way that you do, nobody's got the power to please me....'
Fucked OFF
I am. As the title indicates.
D'you know something? Men are assholes. Even the ones who aren't intentionally assholes, are careless and unfeeling and emotionally thick. Which makes them assholes.
'Nice guys' are the biggest assholes of all.
Fuck you guys.
No, well, not all of you. Manwich, for example, you've done nothing to incur my wrath. Most of the rest of you can get fucked, though.
Especially you. You know who you are. Fuck you.
D'you know something? Men are assholes. Even the ones who aren't intentionally assholes, are careless and unfeeling and emotionally thick. Which makes them assholes.
'Nice guys' are the biggest assholes of all.
Fuck you guys.
No, well, not all of you. Manwich, for example, you've done nothing to incur my wrath. Most of the rest of you can get fucked, though.
Especially you. You know who you are. Fuck you.
Tuesday 10 February 2009
Underwhere?
I have to write about this. I have to. And I know you, my audience members, are all-male, but try to maintain your interest. I have to get this out.
I just got a bra. An oversized, un-underwired, flat, cottony, 2 cup-sizes-and-2-inches-round-the-back too big bra. A nursing bra, as well, with daft foldy-down cups and no lace or silk or any other redeeming feature. It's black--I just bought some groovy underwear, black, with little pink and white and aqua polka-dots, I wanted something to match--but it's in no way sleek or slinky. Did I mention, it's like 4 sizes too big?
I ordered this hideous contraption online, because, as earlier journal entries will attest, I have been BLEEDING FROM MY NIPPLES for the best part of 3 weeks. I've actually been going bra-less, wearing baggy sweatpants and fleecy, threadbare shirts for the last week or so, and covering my upper torso in a strange lotion made of animal by-product, in an attempt to accelerate the healing process. It's worked, more or less--though my flesh is still drying out and peeling off in layers, leaving me raw if I don't slather myself in sheep lard (or whatever lanolin is) as long as I don't restrict my breasts with a proper bra and keep them moisturized, I'm in no pain. Some mild discomfort from the itching (do you know what animal fat does to your pores? It clogs them, leaving you susceptible to ITCHY SKIN INFLAMMATIONS) but hey, at least I'm not bursting into tears every time my 6 month old latches on for a snack. And, since things have been so improved for the last couple of days, I thought I'd ease myself back into actual clothes, starting with a slightly loose, wire-free bra.
Oh. My. God.
This not only looks like something my grandma would be ashamed to be seen in, but it feels like it, too. Thin, limp, no-stretch cotton, offering no support whatsoever--nevermind not restricting my breasts, I'm not even sure it's covering them. Even stuffed with breasts pads (disposable cotton pads that suck up excess milk/keep your nipples from chafing against your clothes) it's so loose I can't even feel it. I'm only sure it's there because, well, I'm half-naked and I can SEE it, and the breasts pads haven't fallen out into my lap. It's so unobtrusive, so non-restrictive, just so NON, that once I put my clothes on, I won't even be sure it's there.
Which brings me back to the title of this entry; it's not so much underwear, as.... ;)
I just got a bra. An oversized, un-underwired, flat, cottony, 2 cup-sizes-and-2-inches-round-the-back too big bra. A nursing bra, as well, with daft foldy-down cups and no lace or silk or any other redeeming feature. It's black--I just bought some groovy underwear, black, with little pink and white and aqua polka-dots, I wanted something to match--but it's in no way sleek or slinky. Did I mention, it's like 4 sizes too big?
I ordered this hideous contraption online, because, as earlier journal entries will attest, I have been BLEEDING FROM MY NIPPLES for the best part of 3 weeks. I've actually been going bra-less, wearing baggy sweatpants and fleecy, threadbare shirts for the last week or so, and covering my upper torso in a strange lotion made of animal by-product, in an attempt to accelerate the healing process. It's worked, more or less--though my flesh is still drying out and peeling off in layers, leaving me raw if I don't slather myself in sheep lard (or whatever lanolin is) as long as I don't restrict my breasts with a proper bra and keep them moisturized, I'm in no pain. Some mild discomfort from the itching (do you know what animal fat does to your pores? It clogs them, leaving you susceptible to ITCHY SKIN INFLAMMATIONS) but hey, at least I'm not bursting into tears every time my 6 month old latches on for a snack. And, since things have been so improved for the last couple of days, I thought I'd ease myself back into actual clothes, starting with a slightly loose, wire-free bra.
Oh. My. God.
This not only looks like something my grandma would be ashamed to be seen in, but it feels like it, too. Thin, limp, no-stretch cotton, offering no support whatsoever--nevermind not restricting my breasts, I'm not even sure it's covering them. Even stuffed with breasts pads (disposable cotton pads that suck up excess milk/keep your nipples from chafing against your clothes) it's so loose I can't even feel it. I'm only sure it's there because, well, I'm half-naked and I can SEE it, and the breasts pads haven't fallen out into my lap. It's so unobtrusive, so non-restrictive, just so NON, that once I put my clothes on, I won't even be sure it's there.
Which brings me back to the title of this entry; it's not so much underwear, as.... ;)
Blog of Doom
This is turning into exactly what the title says. It's depressing and pessimistic. I'm sorry.
The thing is, since no one comments on my blog, I forget any of you actually read it. Oh I know, I know, you occasionally send me an email or a text telling me you liked what I wrote, or asking me if I'm alright, depending on the content for that day... but I'd rather have some of your creative or emotional output actually saved on my actual blog.
Come on, people. This is a two-way effort. Show me some love.
And for my part, I'll be back soon (with any luck) writing more and happier entries than the last few weeks have seen. For now, I have a PO (Priority Occurrence) in the background, which I'll need to move to the foreground.
Thanks for reading this, though, guys (lol and you are, all of you, as it happens... lol).
The thing is, since no one comments on my blog, I forget any of you actually read it. Oh I know, I know, you occasionally send me an email or a text telling me you liked what I wrote, or asking me if I'm alright, depending on the content for that day... but I'd rather have some of your creative or emotional output actually saved on my actual blog.
Come on, people. This is a two-way effort. Show me some love.
And for my part, I'll be back soon (with any luck) writing more and happier entries than the last few weeks have seen. For now, I have a PO (Priority Occurrence) in the background, which I'll need to move to the foreground.
Thanks for reading this, though, guys (lol and you are, all of you, as it happens... lol).
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