Throughout the projects...

Well, I suppose it's that time again.

Possibly not.

I'm feeling frustrated. This happens a couple of times each year, where I know there is something near me, or accessible to me, but I can't quite find it, and I know if I found it I would understand myself or the world more, that it would be like finding a piece of me if only I would let go enough to look.

It's a need to be somewhere, to read something, to listen to a particular CD that I've yet to discover, or a movie that needs to be watched, a person that I need to talk to... but I have no knowledge of these, yet. So close. I know if I stepped out of this office and started wandering, I would find it. I would just keep walking, listening to my instincts, until I found the who or what I'm looking for.

Days like these drive me batty. It becomes a battle between responsibilities and my entire being screaming at me that there's somewhere I need to be, something I need to be doing. It's like I'm being tugged at so strongly, like someone/thing is trying to pull me out of my skin and only succeeding in making me feel like I'm going out of my head.

... ... ... ...

I've been exhausting myself, as per usual. The fight between my body and my mind, my body giving out before my mind with sickness or fatigue. I've given myself bronchitis numerous times, along with more occurances of strep throat in a year than is normal, and managed to create my very own case of mono without coming into contact with anyone who had it. I don't think you're supposed to be able to do that.

Yesterday morning, I went to my college of choice and ran around for hours on a large coffee and small bowl of applesauce and a cookie, trying to take care of registering at a school that has been closed to new registration due to the budget cuts. I was so late to work that I just went straight into the office, digging in my desk for a banana, then a tiny orange, then a hardboiled egg throughout the day, peppered in with a small handful of nuts because I didn't have a chance to go shopping this week. I ended up staying until almost 7PM, trying to take care of everything before it has a chance to build up this weekend, starving with my stomach yelling at me for the amount of caffiene versus the amount of food I had put into it, combined with the adrenaline that was set off due to the last minute running around, attempting to talk to the right people so I can start this coming semester.

If this works, I'll have a teaching credential soon. Yes. Me. Teaching. English.

Just don't show them my disregard for grammar in my blog and we'll be good.

Through the credential program, I'll be able to cover my prereq units to get into the Master's program. If I'm somehow able to figure this out, by the end of this I'll have two AAs, two BAs, a single subject teaching credential, and my Master's. Theoretically. If it does not work out as planned, I'll only have one BA, but have the credits for two and be angrily shaking my fist at the school system.

Assuming, of course, that things go smoothly with the paperwork I submitted yesterday, and that I get all my transcripts in on time. I did get two awesome shots of the new buildings on campus, so I'll be posting those eventually.

Anyhow, enough with that rambling. By the time I got to C's house, I was dead on my feet. The touch of food poisoning the night before did not help. So I skipped kareoke yet again, but was regaled with the news that C and Crosser had some playtime on Monday night.

Score. They were able to develop the friendship/emotional bond both of them needed to sexually interact with each other, which means C's a happy camper, which makes me happy. She really needed this, and I'm glad I was able to offer support and knowledge of options in order to help this occur, though I know the majority of the effort was on her part. She's learning and I'm thrilled.

After making dinner, she and a friend left for kareoke, leaving me half-asleep on her futon, reading a book I snagged from C earlier. I wish I hadn't been so tired. I wish that I ever really had a chance to recover that wasn't me sick in bed or on the couch in the middle of the work week. I try to pace myself, drink lots of water, eat healthy, exercise, sleep at least six hours a night, but it doesn't always seem to cut it.

Tonight, we're going out to dinner with a bunch of people, and a friend of ours who just broke up with his long-time live-in girlfriend last night. I want to go be there for him, to talk to him, hold his hand, cuddle, give the comfort that I can. He's very upset. He loves her, but it wasn't working. I'm tired, but it's just another time I need to coffee up.

This weekend, starting tomorrow, I should just put a caffiene drip on me.

Never was your beast of burden...

I have a mini-project going on at the moment, as I have mentioned.

My female friend, C, and the object of her lust, Crosser.

You think this wouldn't be hard. Guys are easy. She's hot, he's hot and, well, the average horny male, so everything should be fine.

However, she needs emotional connection. She needs to really know her partner, needs to be friends with her partner, for the sex to be enjoyable for her. She won't do one-nighters.

Doubly hard is that she's not his type, physically or personality-wise. He likes socially dominant women, women who are tall and assertive. He's a bit of a sub-boy. C is not a socially dominant woman, she's 5'3", and she's not too aggressive. I am a socially dominant and assertive woman, and I'm 5'9". What she does have going for her, in regards to him, is that she is very alternative looking. Suicide Girl type. You know what I'm talking about.

So I am working with her to get him into her bed while getting him to emotionally bond with her on at least a friendly level while keeping him off me. Which means that I have to reign everything I normally am in around him, including my inherent sexuality and my constant need to flirt and provoke, while bringing out hers and directing her.

I was reading an article a few months ago about when you go out and are winging for someone, you need to be at about the same energy and competence level. I didn't understand that at the time.

I totally do now.

She met him recently, at one of her social groups. He was new to the scene (still is, technically) and came with one of her more recent exes (A girl. C's bi.). Crosser is physically masculine, but quite feminine in how he presents himself. This is completely and totally C's type. She loves the girly men.

They live a few miles from each other, which is incredibly good for her, especially since we're in LA and traffic is such a hinderance. So he invited her to a few things, invited her to carpool with him to parties and the like. But each time he flaked.

She was getting confused. Why would you keep inviting someone and then flaking on them?

Multiple reasons, really. Some, totally logical. Some, not so much.

So she comes to me for advice. I toss up options for her, depending on her intent, depending on how she's reading him. I've never met him, so I'm working with generalities, which I really don't care for. She determines, in the end, that she should just back off and not pursue him. I suggested the same thing, but for different reasons.

Last week, he invited her to bar where his little brother's band is playing, and she invites me a long so I can meet him, see what I think.

We get there, introductions happen, he sits us down by the merch booth (as I mentioned in an earlier post), and he sits with us for a minute, but a bunch of friends of his and his little brother's are there, so he keeps wandering off.

I'm quite happy with this for my own sake, because the merch booth is being manned by his twin brother, who is a more masculine version of him. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Girly men aren't for me. Thanks for the eye-candy.

But that leaves C staring off after him every time he leaves, looking like a new puppy whenever her master leaves for work in the morning and they sit at the front door and howl.

This causes lots of nudging under the table. I knock her with my knee everytime she does this and she has no idea why. I try to keep her laughing with outraegous statements and dry observations about the bar attendees. It's hard to keep her with me, she keeps trying to look for him.

After twenty or thirty minutes of this, one of her friends shows. THANK GOD.

He sits across the table from us, forcing C to turn her body away from the rest of the bar, away from Crosser, and since her friend is quite confident and engaging, between the two of us, we keep her active, occupied, and laughing.

This, of course, brings him back to our table.

The first round, he sits on her left. She says something that reminds me of a movie, so I quote the part I was thinking of to her, she laughs, and he mentions he's never seen the movie before.

V: "Oh, you haven't? You really should. I haven't seen it in awhile. C, we should totally watch it next week on our movie night."
C: "Totally. What do you want to eat?"
V: "I do the cream of cauliflower you made the other night. Crosser, she is such an awesome cook, she makes all the dinners for our movie nights. It's always fantastic."
C: "The cauliflower, really?"
V: "I like it. (then to Crosser) We have these movie nights every week, where a bunch of people come over and we watch horrible movies. C has this great house, cooks dinner for us, we end up laughing all night at these movies. It's totally fun."
C: "Okay, I guess I'll make the cauliflower. I thought it was too burnt last time."
V: "I don't know what you're talking about, it was delicious. No burnt tones at all. (to Crosser) You know, you live right by her, you should come next week. We can watch this movie so you can fill your 90s culture void."
C: "Oh! Oh, yeah! You should come! Let me give you my address."

Address was given. Finally. Talk about pulling teeth.

He takes off again, then comes back... but sits next to me, close enough that our thighs are pressing against each other. This isn't good. He leans towards me as C and her friend are talking. Ah, crap. I purposefully slagged out. Barest make-up, t-shirt and jeans, hair in a pony-tail. End.

He suggests that after the bar closes, we all go back to his place, right down the street.

I bail. I'm tired, I'm good to go home. He's extended the invite to the group, so I don't have to be there.

I hear from C that they got food and went to his place afterwards, then her friend gave her a ride back home. Her interest in Crosser has been rekindled, and she's thrilled that he is coming to the movie night the following week.


So, yesterday was C's birthday.

She wanted to do kareoke at, surprise surprise, the bar that Crosser frequents for kareoke on Tuesdays. It's a cool place and right down the street from her house, so I really don't blame her.

Initially, I wasn't going to go. I'm getting sick. I need more sleep.

But on promises that she would serenade me with Olivia Newton-John's "Physical", I relented and said I would attend, but leave by 11.

Two others are meeting us there, and we're picking up her guy friend (who I've grown very fond of) from the previous encounter on the way. And, of course, Crosser will be there.

I pick a round table near the stage, bar stools required for the height.

Five stools are acquired. I'm certainly not going to let Crosser think that we expected his company.

We sit. C is in the middle (poor choice, but *shrug*), I'm on her right, her guy friend is on her left. Two empty seats across from her. She should've sat in one of the two empties next to each other.

Crosser shows up, shakes her friend's hand, hugs her, barely says anything to me (which I thought was a good thing). He orders a drink and food to come to our table for him, then runs off to socialize. He starts to man the kareoke booth, so C goes in to put in her song. When she comes back, I suggest she let him know his drink is at the table.

But between this, her friend and I switch seats so I have a better view. I'm on her left now, he's on her right. This puts me next to Crosser's chosen seat. Not my intent, but, again, I've kept it mellow tonight. Make-up consists of lipgloss, again, jeans and a t-shirt, hair pulled back. I'm getting sick, I'm exhausted, I don't care.

He leans towards me, we're touching again. Asks me how my weekend was, if I got up to anything fun. I grin at him because he's inquiring as to if I went swinging with GV8 again. I believe he's come under the very correct impression that my weekends tend to turn into me being pampered, running all over LA, and having fantastic sex.

C starts serenading me. Her voice is a little off because she's sick. But she's doing her thing, being flirtatious and I'm giggling like hell because she dressed up for the part. During the bridge, she comes over to the table and I tease her that she isn't stripping so I feel short-changed. Dual purpose, one, it brings her towards the table, and two, when the song kicks back in she starts stroking her chest and undulating her hips in my direction, but since Crosser is next to me, it's towards him as well. Finally bringing the sex, thank you C.

Song finishes, someone drops by the song book so C, on my right, and her friend (on C's right) are flipping through it. I lean over to her and tell her that if she gets up and "goes to the bathroom", I will slide into her seat to "look at the song book" so she can take mine and talk to Crosser.

This also brings them into physical contact because I had to add an extra chair for him, squeezing us all tightly together.

She smiles, goes to the restroom, and I slide over, teasing her friend about song choices. C comes back, slides in next to Crosser, and they start talking.

Perfectly smooth, perfectly natural.

They sat and talked, legs touching for fifteen, twenty minutes. He got up to do a song, then came back to the table. But instead of sitting, he decided to stand between C and myself, wedging himself in and placing both hands on the back of our chairs, his right hip against my leg.

Crap.

Close body language, pronto. Yes, he's hot. Yes, he's wearing a t-shirt that clings to his chest and abs, his biceps are decent, his hair needs work, his teeth are perfect, skin is clear, and he's several inches taller than me, but he's not my style of guy on a sexual level, but he's good to look at.

I shift my hips (and therefore feet) towards C's friend on my right, square my shoulders away from Crosser, and start interacting with C's friend again, occasionally looking back towards Crosser and C to comment on something. Within two minutes, he's dropped his hand off the back of my chair and turned to face her with his chest, arm still on the back of her chair, perfectly open.

Score.

Another few songs, and I decide to leave. I take C's friend home. He lent me one of his Thin Lizzy CDs. I've been meaning to listen to that band for too long now, and keep getting distracted with my trip-hop.

C and I discussed, while we were at the bar, the movie night tomorrow. What she wanted to accomplish, what she wanted to learn, who we should invite who would contribute to the atmosphere and conversation in the way we wanted it to flow.

And she got Crosser to give her a ride home. I was hoping she would.

So tomorrow night will be part 3 in this ongoing saga. It's not going too poorly at all.

Something has changed within me...

I really don't have time for writing this right now, but I know if I do not tackle it before I head home for the day, I'll be up entirely too late writing about it tonight. No bueno.

GV8 made me a proposition.

He wants to live what he calls "the rock star life" for the next year, starting August 1st.

He wants to rent a property somewhere in Hollywood, for about $4000 a month or so, and start throwing gigantic themed parties every Saturday, where he takes all the people he knows, all the people I know, and the people that they know, and turn it into whatever madness he can.

We know lots of people.

In this, he wants me to move into said property for a year and document the entire thing.

We're looking at houses in Hollywood Hills, warehouse/loft/stores on Santa Monica Blvd, houses off of Sunset, and the like.

He will furnish me with a new iPhone, new laptop, new camera, give me a "down payment" of $5000 and also pay me weekly as I set up and host these events, as I furnish and organize. He'd be doing my health insurance, we'd be getting personal trainers, he's getting a vasectomy (whoo!), and I would be writing nearly full-time because it wouldn't take that much of my week to do the organizing and the like once I set a schedule.

I've pretty much turned him down and it freaking kills me.

I'm trying to get away from the party scene. I'm sick of going clubbing so much, sick of partying all the time, and still tainted from the most recent boyfriend's constant need to party and impress everyone around him.

I want to work on me. I want to go back to school, I want to get my Master's, I want to write, I want to work at this company I'm trying so hard to get into. I want to chill out. I want to not go out every single freaking night. I want downtime. I want to relax. I want my phone to stop ringing so much, text messages, emails, all this crap I'm so very done with.

I was so looking forward to having a relaxing, yet very intense sexual relationship with this man, and now he's going to be living the LA party lifestyle and is willing to give me electronics, a fabulous living place for free, a paycheck, a contract to go with that paycheck, and complete freedom to write and explore LA as I see fit, not to mention taking me out all the time and...

I don't want it.

I want parts of it, of course. A fantastic place in Hollywood? Complete and total freedom from having a 9 to 5? Encouragement to write and the stimulation from events that would occur? Electronics? Constant fine dining?

It's too much.

I've known him for less than two months.

I cannot put my life on hold for his. I'm not one to go chasing the random and improbable. If it fails, it could be disasterous. If it succeeded, I'd hate the constant parties. Accepting his offer would basically be forcing myself to be in a near-constant state of anxiety, knowing that every weekend would never be my own, knowing that my living quarters would be subject to invasion by masses of inebriated people.

It would take more than he offered for me to do that for a year.

How much is a year of your life worth?

How much would have to be offered for you to do something every week that would make you extremely ill at ease and cause issue within your own psychology? That you would, each week, have to engineer and advertise for this very thing you've grown to loathe?

And the internal conflict, the "Really, it'd be worth it, having the freedom, being able to write, being able to explore, just put up with the situations that wreck you. Assess the damage later."

The knowing that this will probably take him away from me. The first man I've met in nearly a year that would actually, possibly be boyfriend material. How rare that is. As more time passes, experiences and vibrations stack, making it so hard to find someone who suits me, who I suit.

If I lose him, he's not worth it.

"Those grapes were probably sour anyway," is whispered into my ear.

But it's still painful, still disappointing. Still eats at me and tears me into pieces.

Of course, being torn into pieces is something I have experience with.

I wish I could be that girl for him. I wish chunks of my life weren't dominated by fear of the unknown, and that anxiety didn't have such an incapacitating effect on me. I wish I had been more social, I wish I could rely on the fundamental goodness of man, instead of the fundamental self-interest of man. I wish I was secure enough in myself to know that I could handle any situation at any time, that no matter what happens, I'll be okay, that I can take care of myself.

But I don't. I'm not.

Life has shown me in many ways that things are thrown at you that you can't completely handle, that you just have to make the best of bad situations and fight so you aren't destroyed in the process of attempting to save yourself or those around you.

Probably not the happiest outlook.

I know I need to get over this fear that, somehow, I am unable to truly take care of myself. It's not a healthy fear, but it is certainly one that has been instilled in me for as long as I can remember. You can't take care of yourself, don't go to far from the nest or something horrible will happen.

I've done things to try to break this. Put myself in places or situations where I was taking care of myself and others. But, in the end, it hasn't been enough. Still that fear lingers in me, causes anxiety.

I'm so sick of feeling anxious in certain situations. Like on Saturday, when GV8 and I went out with some of my friends to a club. And one of them, a girl, got shitfaced and started fighting and yelling at the people around us. I've never been to a club and had one of my friends get to that point. Parties, sure. Club? No. She's right next to me yelling at these girls that did nothing to her, chewing them out and about to go knock their skulls together and I'm, while outwardly calm, freaking out inside my head.

I'm so very over drunks.

I'm so over people who can't monitor and maintain themselves, who don't watch and control their behavior, who expect the people around them to watch them to make sure they don't land in the drunk tank or crash their car into a tree (hasn't happened in a while, thankfully).

Maybe I'm jealous of people being able to let go and have total faith in themselves and their friends to have everything come out okay.

It's possible.

Or maybe I'm sick of steering around drunk people.

Maybe seeing my friend climbing between balconies in Vegas on the 17th floor of a casino was too much.

Maybe losing entire groups of people as they get angry, start fighting, and run off into multiple different directions in not the best area did it.

Or having to bust down bathroom doors to get to people that have passed out and might have alcohol poisoning.

Or watching people fall down flights of stairs at clubs.

Or walk into doorways and poles.

Or maybe it was watching a group of friends breaking into apartments in their complex through sheer strength and numbness of the nerves.

Maybe it was having the carpet in every room but one in my apartment vomited on, as well as the kitchen and bathrooms during a single party.

Or trying to control a 6'7" ex-bouncer who was seconds away from a drunken rampage and, really, I wasn't sure if he was going to hit me or not, but I wasn't about to let him get kicked out of his favorite club in a fit of self-loathing induced drunkness. I've got good reflexes, but he's been fighting for over a decade.

It might be years of having to dodge the drunks on the dancefloor, and when said drunks decide they're coordinated enough to dance and drink... and then spill their drink all over the floor, which means you're spending the rest of your evening dancing in a sticky wet spot that is slowly being spread by foot traffic over the rest of the floor because someone was a selfish prick who couldn't stop nursing their drink for a three to five minute song.

It could have been the man I affectionately called "Beer-o", who would get drunk off of beer, strip to the waist, and dance around the clubs, pouring more beer over himself like some wet starlet... except less attractive. Every so often, I'll see someone I think might be him at the clubs, and I won't be certain until he starts dancing.

Maybe it was that time in Venice, when I was hanging out with some of the transient population, they ended up having too much to drink and, if it hadn't been for my ability to handle horny men, I more than likely would've ended up in a gang rape situation.

Gang rape, sure. Gang rape by hobos, no.

You know, maybe I'll never figure out why I just don't like drunk people. I mean, they've got so much going for them. So charming, attractive, and witty. Their intelligence and respect towards other people's boundaries is quite endearing.

Hm. That was a bit of a tangent.

Really, I'm just irritated/disappointed about GV8's decision regarding the next year and my friend getting so embarassingly drunk. I'm also irritated at myself in regards to my ability to believe in myself when it comes to handling situations I've yet to be exposed to. If I did have that faith in myself, in my ability to handle, in my ability to cope, then I wouldn't have anywhere near the amount of fear or anxiety I do in regards to potentially taking up GV8 up on his offer.

It's annoying and frustrating, to realize at least some of the things that hold you back, and yet be unable to control them. I can't logic myself out of this anxiety. I can try, but it doesn't last for more than a day.

And I hate that GV8 put me in this position. Yes, he was trying to be helpful, trying to give me something I wanted: the time and space to write, and weekly, if not daily stimulation and subject matter.

What more could I want?

And now I feel like an ass because I turned down such a generous offer. He wanted me there by his side through all of this, wanted to experience this with me. He was willing to spend the money, was willing to give me what would be a free ride with extras for a year, so I could do this, so I could follow a dream of writing.

What makes it worse is that I don't know if this gut feeling telling me not to take him up on the offer is spawned from instinct, of knowing something is wrong with him or the situation, or if it is spawned from fear. It feels like a mix of both, but I would feel so much better if I could figure out which dominated. If I knew for sure it was the fear speaking, I could work with it.

But instinct? You have to listen to.

Is my body reminding me that my mind isn't ready for this? That I am not healed enough to go into this sort of lifestyle and retain sanity and reality? Since I've yet to truly define my self-concept, going into a year surrounded by people and parties would probably not be good for me.

Or it would force me to recognize myself.

Or I could burn out, as has been cautioned to me time and time again.

This makes me wish I had ever let someone close enough to me. This makes me wish I had another person to bounce things off of, someone who really knows me, someone who wants me to be happy, someone who will encourage me in whatever decision I make. I have friends but, for all my self-disclosure, I keep back the important parts.

I wish I could trust him.

I wish I could leap into his arms and know, know that no matter what, he would catch me.

But to ask that of someone a month and a half in, when you're floating along with each other with no said expectations, that's a little much.

I wish he hadn't.

I wish he had waited until next year.

I wish I could gather up momentum and launch into him with perfect faith, slam into his chest and know he would not move.

It's a lot to ask of a girl.

And, I suppose, a number of girls would be whole enough, undamaged enough, or even wrecked in a particular way that they could do it without hesitation.

I'm cautious. I weigh each step carefully, analyze into the ground all possible outcomes and force myself to realize that of all possible outcomes I've thought of, there's at least six more. I try to watch patterns and habits, see how much follow through there is... but I haven't known him long enough to do that. I've met a few of his friends, but none of his employees as of yet.

I wish I could trust.

And I blame myself. I totally do. For not handling everything in the past as fully as I should have, for not keeping myself healthy on a physical and psychological level. If I had addressed things properly when they should've been addressed, if I hadn't let fear and panic dominate, I'd be healthier.

Stable.

It's funny when stability becomes a lofty goal.

And I'm not talking about external stability. I have that. People rarely seem to realize everything I'm hiding. And, truly, I don't realize everything I'm hiding. I want to take my mind apart and fix it. I want all this damage, all the abuse, all the horrific experiences that linger on in my mind, to become okay. To become acceptable to me, to become normal, to become weightless, so I can stop letting it affect the current me.

Of course, I'm working on it. Journaling, thinking, talking, reading books about different ways to heal, trying to learn about life-areas that I'm so very lacking in. There's so much stuff to deal with and get over, things that I can't even imagine the source of.

But it's in me somewhere.

I took GV8 to my favorite restaurant in Little Tokyo on Saturday, then we went to the club where my friend was drunk and aggressive. Sunday, we went out to Aroma again. I continue to love that cafe. We drove around, looking at properties in Hollywood and Los Feliz, (ended up driving up to Hollywood Ranch by the Hollywood sign and taking a short climb up to view it... funny that I had never seen that sign before, even though I've been here my entire life) then caught UP at the theater in Silverlake on Vermont, next to Skylight Books. Ended up back at one of his stores, again on the white leather couch which is lovely because after sex, squirting, or dripping wet blowjobs, you can just wipe it off without stain.

I had been planning on sex, but ended up going down on him for a half hour or so. I've been messing with my technique lately, and just messing around in general. GV8 is a happy participant to my oral experiments. I've hit the point where I can generally get a guy to orgasm without bobbing my head, just tongue-work. So now it has become an experiment of what else I can do, what is fun for me, what feels good on my hands and mouth, as well as learning to maintain a natural rhythm between tongue, lips, head, and hands. It's like trying to pat your head, rub your belly, wiggle your toes, and spin in a circle counter-clockwise to your belly rubbing.

Okay, I lie. It's not that hard. But I want to get to a point where I can just relax and chill and not have to constantly be checking to make sure everything is moving as it should. Almost there. GV8's a brilliant partner, and yes, it works out well. I'm looking forward to spending time with SFPlayboy again, trying out some of these new movements and seeing how he enjoys them. He already holds my oral in high regard, so this should cause his mind to implode.


Crap. I just had an hour distraction from this at work. Talk about losing flow.

Tonight I'm going to go straight home, shower, pop some Nyquil and put in a movie, and pass out. I'm getting sick thanks to my lack of sleep and the stress put on me this past weekend.

Tomorrow, my sister magically signed me up to be part of a reality show... and they want to audition me. So I'm doing that. Sigh. I'm really just using this as leverage for next time the Rockettes are auditioning in order to force her to go to that, since she wussed out this last time.

Tomorrow is also C's birthday. I think we might go to a strip club.

Wednesday I get to dodge gropes from my friend's soon to be ex husband.

Thursday is winging for an unknowing C so she can get into Crosser's pants. I was relaying that story to GV8 on Saturday, he was laughing so hard.

I don't even want to think about Friday+weekend yet. I think I've purposefully blocked my coming weekend schedule from my mind because I can't remember a thing and that's just not right at all.

...and then I remembered. Dammit.

If I get sick(er), I'm screwed. Well, my schedule is screwed. Might be for the best.

I mean, really, running my body into a state of burning wreckage is like nature's way of telling me to slow down.

Fully fed, yet I still hunger...

I've gone out almost every night this week. Every night last week. Every night the week before that and the week before that.

This has become my life, in this weird way.

Last night was seeing a friend's band play at a bar, the night before that, a dinner celebration out at a bar and grill with drag queen performances. The night before, dinner party. The night before, a final, and whatever happened afterwards, I don't remember. It all just blends together and it's hard to keep track of anything past the last three days, max.

Tonight, dinner with friends, then maybe to a small social gathering.
Tomorrow, chiropractor, shopping, touring a friend through LA (downtown/Little Tokyo/Venice Beach/Beverly Hills/Sunset Strip/Hollywood/Amoeba), dinner date, and clubbing, along with various errands jammed in what tiny openings of my schedule they can fit.
Sunday, undecided. Could be another concert. Could stay in bed with GV8 all day again.

I need to get him to set up a soundsystem in his bedroom.

Ah, my favorite dance troupe will be back in town in September. Lovely.

Pointless dribble, how I loathe it. I type until the words I want to say come out. But until then... total tripe.

Just keep scraping off the layers.

I've noticed a trend in some of the blogs I read lately, a feeling of wanting to change/save/heal the world.

I've always though that sentiment was so very ego-centric.

Like your version of saving/changing/healing is any better than anyone else's, that the world would find your view so incredibly enlightened that everyone would agree that your path/idea/healing was the route for them.

I've never wanted to save the world. I've never thought that my ideas, my personal philosophy, my ethics, were for anyone but myself.

It feels so religious, so personal-crusading, to try or hope to enforce your way of being onto others.

I much more agree with Buddha.

"Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense."

People who know me, they know I do not discuss politics or religion. My belief system is my own, and what I believe should have no impact on the people around me.

When people come to me for sex and relationship advice, which is quite often, I make a disclaimer for everything I say. My experiences, my temperament, my needs, are not the same as theirs. I offer up opinions with full acknowledgement that they are simply opinions, and that the man or woman with the question should realize this and not take my thoughts as the ultimate truth.

Some people do anyway. But, fortunately, not that often.

As much as it squicks me to say it, I am admired. The way I handle men and sex has often become this glorified focus of whatever social group I am inhabiting, even if people don't always agree with my usual lack of emotional attachment to sex.

But I don't expect anyone else to take on my viewpoints. I don't expect that my idea of healing and personal growth is for anyone but myself.

So odd.

... ... ...

C, one of my couch-hosts, and I went to see a friend's band play last night.

She has a lust-crush on said friend, who I'll call Crosser. He is a good looking man, though his haircut really isn't for me. Too emo. But that's her type, so more power to her.

So we went to the bar where the band was playing, I spent 30 seconds applying make-up (so lazy), she spent about twenty minutes doing up her hair. This is what happens when you get a complicated haircut that involves actual work before going out. She gets all girly-glammed up while I wait.

See, I don't really care. I'm tired. Sure, I know the bar will be packed with good looking guys. Fairly apathetic. I'm not a bar-scene girl, I don't appreciate drinkers at all, and I just really don't see the point. Clubbing, sure. Bar-hopping, no.

We finally get down there, too late to see his band. Whatever. She wanted to see him, not the band. And she does look incredibly cute and stylish. Points for her.

Walk in, pay the door, find Crosser, who chats with us a little before introducing us to his twin brother (who is much more my physical type, oddly), and we all sit down at a tiny table where they're selling merch.

Now, earlier in the day she informed me that she was no longer interested in him because he was too prone to flaking on her and kept sending mixed signals and she decided to just be platonic with him.

But as he kept leaving the table to talk to friends who came out to see the band, her head kept turning to follow him. And when his brother got up, her head kept following him as well. As soon as it was just the two of us, I would have to nudge her to bring it back to the table.

To stop watching.

To stop showing the social undesirability that she was.

I mean, crap, really? This is basic stuff. Be happy on your own, be exciting on your own, keep an animated conversation, bring strangers in from around you, make new friends, laugh, smile, and subtly move the people around you so that you are always the social focus. Even if you aren't the focus, if you position yourself right, you will become the focus. Ask questions, keep people talking, tease and flirt, make the men around you that you aren't even interested in want you, make them fight for your attention.

This is attraction 101. You don't even have to pay for parking.

So I kept trying to bring her back in. Kept trying to get her to stop following them with her eyes like a puppy, nudging her with my knee under the table, asking engaging questions, conversation starters so she would have a chance. She said she had given up, but she obviously hadn't.

Finally, another friend of hers showed up and sat across from us so her body language changed, so she had to look away from the guys so she could see and hear her friend. That worked much better.

It was amusing, though. We were talking about Hackers, he hadn't seen it. Thursdays nights a bunch of us usually get together at C's house and watch crappy movies and eat dinner. So I casually slide into her, not even looking at him, "Oh, we should make Hackers next Thursday's movie!" and she agrees, starts talking about what we'll have for dinner and I'm chatting back with her about my preferences and he's just listening to us with this vaguely questioning look.

"Oh, yeah. A group of us get together on Thursdays. C cooks dinner and we watch bad movies. C's a great cook, we always have a lot of fun. Madness ensues," side-thought, "Oh! Maybe you could come, since you haven't seen it."

Finally C understands. Lights up, offers her address, which he takes.

(Later, by the by, she told me how glad she was that she quick enough on her feet to invite him. She didn't even notice what I was doing.)

Other things happen, I suppose. He suggests we go back to his place after we're done with the bar. I decide to go home instead, give her some time with him without another female about.

It's odd to me, this whole thing. C is a few years older than me. She's had relationships, had boyfriends and girlfriends, had triad relationships, continues to have lovers, but I don't quite get why she doesn't know this basic stuff. I had her read The Game, and she flipped through to what she called the "applicable" parts of The Art of Seduction, so she should have at least an elementary grasp of this stuff.

I get attention easily, when I bother. I've had enough men tell me some version of, "You caught my eye because you just sparkle," or some such descriptor.

It's crowd control.

That's how I got my last boyfriend.

He should have been so much better than he was.

Oh well.

I want to sit down with her and break this stuff down even further, but I really don't know if it will do any good. You have the inclination and the mind, or you don't. I think she's really lacking the inclination... until someone catches her eye.

Girls are strange creatures.

Learn everything you can. If you never use it, at least you know it.