Quickest girl in the frying pan...

It seems as though I'm developing an attachment to someone, or at least the beginnings of a potential attachment to someone.

Someone that isn't GV8.

It's a mixed bag.

My sadness at GV8 leaving me, even if it winds up being temporary, has morphed into a mild lack of respect for him, which I believe I've mentioned recently. When he's reminded of me strongly, through events or actions, he forgets his rules... maybe forget isn't the right word. He discards his rules for the pleasure of my company.

Just tosses them straight out.

And something that I valued in him, the first thing that made me stop and realize that maybe he was one of those few men I truly consider mine (in the sense that this type of man belongs to me, fits with me) was his self-control.

A friend of mine mentioned, when I told her how much I admired his self-control, that it was easy to have self-control when you had no rules for yourself.

I'm finding that more and more true.

I miss him, I truly do. It becomes easier each day, a little bit at a time, to not think of him. But when he does stray into my brain, that gutpunch feeling causes pain and mental doubling up around the source, trying to wad the memories of him in foam, box them up and store them in the furthest corner of my attic.

So I don't think of him.

And I try not to be angry. I try not to think that I opened myself to him fully, was willing to bare pieces of myself that I've held tightly so long, to mesh with him without reserve or doubts... and he said no.

Or, at least, not yet.

How can I return to that? How can I go back to him with open arms? Trust is burnt, respect is damaged, I'm shying away from him again, going back to my wild mustang hindbrain: teeth-bared-eyes-rolling-ain't-never-gonna-to-put-a-bridle-on-me-boy.

How can I expect him to even want me back, with his wild nights ahead of him, the club opening up in two weeks, living the life of a playboy, girls falling on him like they do.

How could he ever look back at me and think that he'd be willing to compromise, he'd be willing to give some of it up, so he could love me?

He's told me so often that he isn't relationship material, but he keeps trying with me anyhow.

I pass his tests. I'm the whole package, he says. The whole package, as far as I can tell from our talks, entails a combination of intelligence, drive, family values, confidence, ability to handle money, constant honesty, and insane sexual ability. I think I'm a bit wishy-washy on the drive and the confidence, but he was mostly okay with it.

Even if he did come back, even if he was able to gentle me, heal the damage between us, do I want a life with a man who won't offer monogamy? Who already donated one STD to my life? Who won't give me children? Who constantly changes his mind and his plans, who is never dedicated to one path if another one arises?

I don't know.

I say that often.

At least I admit it, I suppose.

And then this dark horse shows up, and I end up intrigued.

Makes me wonder if I'm just as bad as all the MRA guys say when it comes to women. Toss someone who smells like alpha at me and I'm spreading my legs. That's the belief, right?

No, I'm not having sex. I haven't touched anyone since The Bassist. My body feels like begging for touch, for an hour in bed with someone with hard, smooth skin and a strong jaw.

I feel disloyal.

Imagine.

I feel disloyal who a man who never offered me physical loyalty. To a man that said he'd call me when he figured things out... with no set date. It could be next year when my phone rings. To a man I may never actually talk to again.

I feel inconstant, easily attracted, easily distracted.

In my defense, I wasn't looking for it.

In my defense, maybe it's a good thing to remind myself that there are the occasional rare males out there that I can actually connect with, so I'm not so desperately hinged on GV8, thinking that he's the beginning and end of my world and letting that dictate my behavior.

It makes me wonder if I'll be able to respect a man again, or how long it will take for that respect to develop. GV8 pushed the bar so high, so far out of reach when it comes to certain behaviors and desired traits, and then... then he fell.

I remember, one of the last times we were together, he was sitting at his desk, looking at me. I don't know what we were talking about, but he commented that he wondered how long it would be before I was disillusioned with him, until I looked back at him like I do so many other guys who didn't live up to my expectations- not of a partner, but of a person, the same expectations that I hold to myself, constantly striving for, even if I don't meet them.

I have high demands of the people around me. The closer they are to me, the closer I allow them to me, the higher the demands rise. Those expectations aren't financial, or social, they aren't about wardrobe or who drops the most names. They center around honesty, integrity, self-awareness, ability to communicate, lack of external judgement, self-control, ethics, honor, perception, compassion, emotional stability and intelligence.

It's a lot, I know.

I strive towards those traits. I respect those traits.

So I look at myself and wonder why this is happening. If I'm being weak by allowing it to happen, if I'm guarding myself from the pain that GV8 will inflict when he lets me know he can't compromise his life style for me, if I'm giving myself a platform of objective reality, if I'm cheating on my lack of intimacy rule I've set for myself, if I'm using him as a crutch to feel not so alone as I deal with all these changes in my life, if I'm a disloyal and inconstant whore, if I'm just as bad as all the MRA guys would say, if it's all about that alpha-related tingle, if GV8 will just add it to his mental list of reasons he should not be with me, if this is really as weak as it sounds.

Lots of ifs.

One instinct.

My brain runs wild and I balk. Rare connection, ability, blessed ability to talk, to discuss ideas, to find someone who will be honest with me with their feedback, no rose-colored glasses, no white knighting. Knowing I'm just as wrecked as them.

What am I going to have to give up with these actions?

Which domino will start the chain of events that will unravel this thread?

How much can be held against me, and how much can I hold against myself?

What am I doing? Creating self-loathing or saving myself?

Probably the former.

So weak. Still so weak.

I'm a roller too, baby...

Finally.

I was able to register for classes today. The pushing, emailing, and visiting got me into the university after applications had ceased being accepted, during the massive budget cuts they are undergoing.

Wasn't sure it was going to happen.

But it did.

And it's funny, I haven't had a semester off since I was... er, 19? 18? Probably 19, and even when I did have a semester off, it was because I had been kicked out of college.

I've gone to four colleges now. Kicked out from the first, graduated from the second, graduated from the third, fourth was simply for work purposes, and now I'm back in the third. Full-time student, full-time employee, rocking along like I do.

Not bad. Got into the classes I need to, am taking one of the two required exams for certification on Saturday morning, have an essay to submit, another application to file, if I remember correctly, and I have to go get fingerprinted and immunized.

Most of my free time is currently being spent working towards goals. Writing, exercising, studying, eating, reading books I should be reading, learning as much as I can, maintaining social relationships. I don't really have much time in which I'm not working on something. Even my lunchbreak at work is spent in a combination of exercise and, currently, going through various classic British Lit.

I study fashion and make-up when I have an hour or two between activities, I read books and articles on social dynamics, on body language, diet, and seduction.

I've been doing this for months, and this drive has not left me. It's just growing more and more as I push myself harder and harder, fitting in as much as I can into whatever area or timeslot I can manage, sacrificing sleep and recreational activities so I can develop.

Makes me wonder when I'll be satisfied. If I'll be satisfied.

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.

To pull myself together...

I have this sort of mental issue with goals.

Throughout my life, whenever I've really, really wanted something, I never get it.

The more I express excitement or joy over a particular possibility, the more I allow my mind to imagine my potential future as impacted by whatever it is I want (a job, a man, a contract, a raise, an item), the less likely that possibility seems to occur.

It's quite frustrating.

So I don't set goals for myself. Not actively.

And I don't let myself daydream about stuff that might at all be possible. I reserve my daydreams for the land of complete fantasy.

It's not that I feel that I don't deserve to be happy.

I am happy most of the time.

It's just that a major part of me feels that my desire for something will, somehow, have a negative correlation with the chances of me getting it.

Like I'm not allowed to have dreams that come true.

For instance, there is a company that I've wanted to work for for years. It's been a dream employer of mine, something I thought I would never get because my lifestyle does not allow for the hours or wages I would receive.

Suddenly, I'm put in the position where I can take the hours, where I can take the minimal paycheck that starting there would entail.

And, on top of that, I'm able to go back to school to get my Master's in the field I actually want to go into, which I wasn't able to do for my BA. This job's hours would complement the hours I would be going to class. This job could keep me employed for the next three years with a stable company that is barely impacted by this recession. I would be working with my kind of people, with people that I've known for years.

And I'd be able to sleep in my own bed during the week, as opposed to the couch-surfing I'm engaging in now which, while I've gotten used to it, leaves me little of the alone time I so desperately crave.

I submitted my resume in early May, through one of their managers.

I have multiple, shining references all over the field, within their own company, and companies that they partner with.

I have years of experience with their products. I speak their language easily.

It's almost mid-June.

This is taking forever.

The more days pass the more I wonder if this is just another one of my dreams. That I hoped too much.

I don't even vocalize my goals to people, for fear that even saying the words aloud will make them not come true, so often has this happened.

I pushed back my school schedule for an entire semester so I could potentially get this job.

Is this going to be the rest of my life? Too afraid to set goals, too afraid to acknowledge and pursue dreams because I've convinced myself over the years that I will fail immediately once they are spoken aloud?

All I've ever wanted to do was make enough money writing so I could travel all over the world and write.

I've always been addicted to stories, following around my grandparents and parents, cousins, aunts and uncles, in-laws and neighbors, harassing them for tales of their youth. I know so much about my family, about what they were like as children, what pets they had, their hare-brained adventures, their traumas, their high school life, their family issues, etc. Even now, I have an ability to somehow make people open their lives to me.

It was pointed out to me that this is because I am so honest and disclose so much of myself, that wakes up things in people that make them want to disclose as well. And then the floodgate bursts open.

My head is a mass of stories.

I wish I could take all the stories I've heard and put them together. I know so many random, interesting people with such colorful histories, and each of them has a tale or twenty that is a moment in time, this perfect snapshot of intense emotion, emotion so overwhelming that there is nothing but honesty, nothing by this pure experience.

I wonder, sometimes, what would happen if I took all my writing from over the years and somehow managed to consolidate it.

That would be converting notes, napkins scribbles, sketchbooks, journals, and class notebooks partially converted to the written word, into text files. That would be bringing together all my old work, scattered across the internet and hidden in various email inboxes, into one location.

My writing is, apparently, nomadic in nature.

We hunt wooly mammoths together, with keyboards for shields and pencils instead of spears.

I am such a dork.

Everyone is a story.

I love to people-watch. I love to find a corner in some horribly crowded area and sit and listen, sit and watch how people interact with each other, wonder about the story behind a well-used hat, faded tattoos, a scar running up someone's forearm. Accents and voice patterns, inside jokes that cause only a few people to laugh and the rest to stare on in confusion.

I approach strangers fairly often. If I can, I get information from them. About them. People like to talk about themselves and I like to listen.

I would rather write about myself, anyway.

The keys beneath my fingers open up more inside me than any conversation could.