Watched a good friend of mine tear into her boyfriend at a birthday party last night. Some mess of PMS, stress, and external influence by another male (thatI will go more indepth on at a later date) led this hour-plus long bitch-rampage.

I could not diffuse the situation like I had done in the past, my usual tricks were worthless. I'm not a magician.

So I left.

I know there is a chunk of my readers that believe that people should be treated differently based on their sex. And that some people, based on their sex, are allowed to engage in behaviors the other half of the population is not.

If you are going to engage in poor behavior and expect it to be socially acceptable and excusable because of your sex, note that it is likely that others will engage in different treatment of you due to your sex.

What she did last night, as much as I care for her, was inexcusable behavior for anyone, male or female.

Tonight I'm going to sit her down, try to get to the root of her increasingly aggressive and disrespectful behavior towards someone she says she loves so much, and we'll see what happens. Might be short a friend tomorrow.

Meddling behavior? I know. But I would expect her to sit me down and smack the shit out of me if I was acting as she was. It's an unspoken reality pact: "You're being a bitch. Knock it off."

I don't like posting at night. The day has wound down and I am ready to lounge and get my sleepy-time groove on.

Unfortunately, the office has been rearranged, placing my monitor in direct view of my boss. This makes me uneasy about spending chunks of time pounding at the keyboard during work hours.

Going down to the property management company to sign the lease tomorrow afternoon, pick up my keys, switch over the electricity.
Signed a life insurance policy a few hours ago, something I can borrow against in about three years. Which will be nice.
Also picked up some dental gear. I don't remember if I mentioned it in all the hubbub that has been going on, but since Darkeyes and I split (which caused all the panic/anxiety issues), I've been grinding my teeth so hard that they've been shifting. The stress with GV8 and my father has compounded the problem, so I had to have some rather unattractive nightgear made so I would not be able to continue moving my teeth.

Fun, I know. I'm sitting here with this cherry red retainer in right now, remembering myself in junior high wearing these awful retainers. How awkward.

Again, drawing a blank. I had so much to write about today that I was unable to attack, and now I'm lounging on C's futon while she dozes on her couch, Redwing writing one of his in-progress sci-fi novels... I just want to sleep.

Which is funny. I quit coffee. Yeah, that's right. I who have consumed, at minimum, one cup of coffee almost every day for the last six years, sometimes two or three cups of coffee a day, I have quit.

It's weird. My usual downtime is popping into a coffee shop with a book and reading for a few hours, watching the people walk by, enjoying the weather, the sounds, the smells of a coffee shop.

Now I have to find other ways, other places, to spend my downtime.

It feels like I'm missing a limb. Possibly my right hand.

What do I do with myself, those hours I would spend with a caffienated beverage beside me on some undersized table, surrounded by the same crowd every day? Coffee shop philosophers, smokers, families coming in after church on Sunday mornings.

I need a damn hobby. That's what.

Suggestions?

Could have been more than a name on the door...

When C and I were driving home from the concert on Tuesday evening, she was telling me about how she and Redwing had been planning on taking things slow and easy, letting it build, but how their emotions had gotten away from them, and she told him she loved him.

She said he didn't return it immediately, which is something that bothered her (though since we talked about it, some months ago, not needing that intense love from your partner to validate your own feelings for them, that love is something you give without expectations of return) but due to earlier conversations, she dealt with it easily.

Apparently, it shocked him. It shocked him tremendously, and he spent the next day in a haze.

But he came back and told her that he loved her.

Now this, this I expect from him. He's immature, he's inexperienced with relationships, and he's prone to drama. He's also, what, 24? 23? 25? I don't know. One of those three.

But C... no. She's experienced. She's been in many relationships, some of them significantly long-term from what I gather. I know she's incredibly emotional, as volatile as I am mellow.

But to tell someone that you love them after dating them for a month? Really??

I watch them interact.

And I know that people have different definitions of love, different ideas to tell how people are in love with each other. Observations, theories, supersitions, whatever.

I don't think she loves him. She doesn't have respect for him at all. She bosses him around, insults him, and berates him. She treats him like her little brother. There's no moments of tenderness, no handholding, no stolen kisses, no compliments, looks of love, or gifts. He doesn't make her light up, when she speaks of him, it's usually with frustration or amusement. He doesn't blow her mind, he doesn't have any impact on her.

It's a friendly love. It's a family love.

It's not an in love.

And I don't know why it bothers me so much.

She's so emotional. She gives her love away and it just makes it seem so not special. It makes it seem like nothing. I thought love was supposed to be this grand thing, something that makes you glow, makes you incredibly happy. Something rare and treasured.

I've been in love. I've had "okay" love, and then I've had that one, heart-stopping, no-breathing love. That ultimate trust love. Perfect safety, perfect happiness, nothing-can-go-wrong love.

Life changing.

Funny, because it really was. I wouldn't be who I am now if it wasn't for him.

But this isn't about my experiences of love. We all experience it in our own ways.

I hate that it makes me look down on her.

Another woman, controlled by emotions and Hollywood-induced ideals.

Horrible, isn't it, that I am saying this about my friend?

Sometimes, I'll be with someone for a few weeks, a month maybe, and I'll be overwhelmed with that enthusiasm for this new partner. I don't know any of their flaws yet, they're treating me like a princess, we're learning about each other (but not how we don't quite fit right, or not those habits that will drive the both of us nuts), we're learning about how compatible we are and how similiar our goals are and I catch myself in the mirror with my cheeks flushed or my father looks at me and says, "You're seeing someone new, aren't you?" and I grin at him.

And I think to myself, "Am I falling in love? Maybe I am."

And then I think, "Oh, wake the hell up with your limerance induced infatuation. You don't even know this guy. You just know how he wants to be seen by you, you just know what he's like when he's trying to impress you. You don't actually know him. If you never saw him again, would your heart be broken? Would you be moping about for months? No. You'd be hurt for a week and then move on. So wake yourself up, get to know this guy, and see what happens. Don't be feeding some psycho-female hosebeast notion of emotional-bonding when there has been none."

Yes, I actually give myself variations of that speech whenever I find myself enamoured. Works like a charm.

It makes me look down on her because she loves so easily, and romantic love, for her, seems to be friendly love and I'm being a judgemental bitch.

I totally am.

I want to shake her and say, "C, wake up. You may love him, but you aren't in love with him. Look how you treat the guy!"

But who am I to be telling my friends whether or not they are in love? Who am I to make that call?

If Redwing disappeared from her life, she'd be sad for a day or two. A freaking day or two. That's not love. I don't even know what to call that.

Love wrecks you when it spoils.

This isn't love.

And last night, when I finally took a brain break and just relaxed, I decided to watch "Win a Date with Tad Hamilton" which is some mindless chick-flick that looked like I could shut my brain down with.

The main character goes out on a date with "Tad Hamilton", then goes out on a second one, and then her best girl friend asks her about him and she's like, "I'm in love with him!"

Imagine, dear readers, the expression on my face.

Jaw partially dropped, one eyebrow raised, lips curled in a disbelieving "What the hell?" expression.

Of course, in typical female fashion, in less than a week, she realizes that she's not in love with Tad Hamilton, but in her best male friend who has been in her life the entire freaking time, but she's never realized her love for him before.

Right.

I suppose she gets away with it because she's hot and blonde and expected to behave like a moron and not actually supposed to be aware of her own inner workings.

The movie had some amazingly funny lines. Like someone actually intelligent got their hands on the script and inserted the occasional quip. I appreciated that. The rest was an exercise in glorifying that ever-adored feminine stupidity.

And that's saying something, because usually I love these movies. I've seen freaking Hillary Duff's "Cinderella Story" at least fifteen times.

It makes me want to run out right now, meet some random guy, go out with him twice, tell him I love him, marry him right away (I think roofies will be involved), and then actually get to know him as a person and divorce him. Because it's so much more important to "follow your heart" as opposed to, you know, learning anything about your mate of choice before engaging in something as foolhardy as barely-thought-out marriage.

So, yes, Tuesday night was C telling me about how she loves Redwing, and Wednesday night was a movie telling me about how you can think yourself in love with someone in a matter of days, and then realize that your best friend (who was running freaking nice guy game on you) is actually the love of your life.

On the plus side, my brain stopped hurting so much as it slid into mush territory.

Oh, oh, and since C and Redwing were out, I got to discover something.

Redwing wants to be a writer. He's been writing and taking writing classes, seems like for some time now.

He left one of his several writing projects out on C's bed.

So I started reading it.

Sci-fi/Fantasy set in potentially modern times. I read the first page and determined it was just like every other book of its type that I had read. And it wasn't written that well. Wasn't horrible, wasn't good. Just another thing to add to your sci-fi collection.

Yes, I'm currently being full of hate and soy sauce.

That happens. Rarely. But it does happen.

He irritates me. His presence, his social persona that he puts on, his inexperience, his awkwardness, his apparent inability to keep his mouth shut, his constant need to be the center of attention, his emotional weakness, how he lets C boss him around, his smartass behavior that does not come off as charming or attractive at all. I don't want him around and it bothers me to no end that C's tossing "love" into the equation when she's known him for a month and has been dating him for like, two weeks. Maybe three.

I hope it is over soon. I was hoping that she'd find him as annoying as I do, and that she'd eject him. He does have good moments, where he is not trying to act out, where he is considerate and aware of the people around him, but it isn't often. He's so insecure in who he is that he constantly puts on these shows and postures, making everything to be more incredibly dramatic than need be and it's so childish. It's so girly.

But he's here.

I'm stuck with his presence.

I've already requested that he give C and myself more alone time.

I don't have patience for puppies. I have no interest in training him, like C does. I want them housebroken when I get them.

End rant.

I felt entirely better after I decided to cancel on everyone this weekend, even though I know my lack of presence at one small gathering will likely temporarily destroy the event.

C, a mutual friend and concert buddy, and I went out to go see The Bassist's band play last night, over at this tiny place in Los Angeles. It wasn't a venue as much as a tiny art gallery turned into a "hey, you can play here" type deal. The acoustics were horrific, I actually had to resort to earplugs for the first time in my clubbing and concert-attending life (more the former than the latter, really).

But I enjoyed myself.

While C was attempting, by text, to stroke the wounded ego of a man she is seeing (another one, not Redwing) because The Bassist is more adorable than he is, my "type" was brought up. I only know this because, while I was talking with someone, she burst into laughter, and when I questioned her, she showed me a text message that read as follows:

"We all know her type is made of testosterone, ice, and stoicism."

I thought that was cute.

I also met The Bassist's most recent ex-girlfriend. Or, at least, I think it was her from the way they were talking. When he mentioned to me that she would be there, I thought, "Oh, cool. They're obviously really close friends, so I'll just make sure I get her to like me and we'll be good."

First, she was... really, startlingly unattractive. Below average. Beautiful eyes, decent lips, horrible haircut, lumpy body that was made all the more unattractive because of her apparent need to dress in hipster/scenester fashion which is designed for rail-thin girls, not so much the short and lumpy. It made her body look horrible.

So, I was standing there going, "Wow, if I decide to veer in his direction, I am a significant step up, at least physically," and "I'm glad she's not super hot, because that would make me anxious and this makes me much more relaxed."

I tried to join in the conversation, tried to smile, tried to meet her eyes.

Nothing. Standing there for about a minute, minute and a half, while she avoided me, even when I tried to engage her, I finally said, "Screw it," and stopped bothering, instead turning slightly to cut off that group and engage with C.

She was so young. She was incredibly young, a scenster in training, and just... young. I didn't understand it. But if he likes her, I'm sure she's cool.

Concert was good. I caused a mini-revolution by choosing to go to the front, next to the stage, and sit. As soon as I did that, about a fifth of the audience sat down with me. It was amusing. I looked back at my friend, raised my fist in the air, and declared, "Viva la Revolution!"

C... she was bored and hungry. She left the concert, walked down the street to a diner she liked, and ate. It was a little offputting, but not too terribly. We met up with her after the concert. I always forget that she gets bored so easily if she's not doing something she wants to do. I never get bored because I always find ways to entertain myself, so I don't worry about that in others.

Whoops.

When we arrived back at her place, a little after midnight, Redwing was there.

He had, last week, pissed me off. I was talking to C and he happened to be there, and I told her something that I did not want repeated to a particular person so there would not be drama. So after I said it, I requested that it remained with the three of us. I trust C not to do such things, and I figured that since Redwing is male, he wouldn't engage in gossip, especially if I requested it of him.

The next day, I get an email from the person I did not wish to have that information as, apparently, he told her immediately.

I was livid.

I do not get angry easily. Or rather, when I do get angry, it tends to last for a minute, maybe to, and then fades. I was angry all day.

So he was there, and awkward.

I was tired, tossed my stuff up on the futon, started digging around in my bag, and C mentions to him how she traumatized me on the way to the concert by discussing him as a sexual being. Because he's not. He's an inexperienced girly man, and for her to tell me that he's hung and fantastic with his mouth and loves D/s and I'm sitting there going "Oh god, gag."

So she mentions that to him and he says, "Oh, that's good. Because I don't see you as sexual at all, even with knowledge of your history."

And then she follows him with a, "Yeah, V, I've never seen you as sexual."

I was kinda... floored. No one has ever said that to me. And it bothered me.

I mean, yes, I do keep myself sexually apathetic around C, mostly because the men that are around are men she is interested in and I am not. And when Redwing is about... eesh, no. He's never seen me interact with a male I find desirable.

I keep it really tamped down. There's no point.

And, really, I don't wear slutty clothes ever. I don't set off anyone's slutdar. I have no visible tattoos, I'm not prone to wearing low-cut shirts, and when I do wear skirts and dresses, they usually hit me just below the knees. I don't "sex-up" my hair. I was talking with my stylist about how to give it more body, why it was always so sleek, and she told me it was incredibly, incredibly healthy. My hair isn't damaged with sprays, curling irons, blow-dryers, gel, or bleach. It's soft, smooth, and fine, split-ends are non-existent. My ears are not pierced, I don't get fake nails or grow my nails out overlong. I don't believe in accessorizing unless I have to, because accessories are annoying. If I can find a way to go without a purse, I do.

Really, I have three main styles: casual (plain jeans, plain shirt, simple shoes), clubbing (which is usually casual due to laziness, just without the jeans), and librarian (mid-calf skirts, knee-high stockings or fishnets, and gauzy blouses or half-way unbuttoned dress-shirts).

I've been leaning towards stocking my wardrobe with more of the last one of late.

Anyhow, mini-derail there.

It was odd and bothersome to have them both say that. I know I... I'm not overtly sexual unless I feel like being so. I'm quite happy with my ability to flip back and forth between friend, slut, and girl to take home to mom.

But I've gotten so used to men like Redwing wanting me that it was odd to hear that he didn't think of me in a sexual way.

Relieving, yes.

But odd.

Even with that mild rejection, though, I still don't find him desirable. Don't have any urge to "prove" myself to him by making him want me. Because that would be nasty. Ick. I don't care how dominant he is in bed, when someone is that socially submissive, it's a no-go.

And it was odd to hear that from C. I mean, this is the girl I writhed next to on the couch while our partners pleasured us.

Of course, I don't think of her as sexual. I see her naked all the time, true. And I see her with a variety of guys. I even help he with some of the guys. I hear her and Redwing making out and groping in bed twice a week.

But she doesn't show up on my sexual radar.

But girls tend not to.

It feels odd. It's so counter to how I see myself. But, then, I've said repeatedly that I go through different roles, socially, and have to control different parts of me when I'm with different people.

It's also strange because, earlier this year, I was convinced that the only leg I had to stand on on a social level was based in sex. And that, if I removed that factor from my socializations, I would stumble and fall because that's what I've had the most experience in and what I've built my life around, though not in the way of having sex as much as studying and observing sex, seduction, and sexuality.

But, to them, that doesn't even feature.

I'm socializing with them and, sure, we're talking about sex and relationships, but there is no actual sex being interjected into it. No flirting, no practiced movements or unspoken goals. Just being relaxed and thoughtful.

So it's good to know that it isn't all that I am, as I sometimes fear.

Back to work.

It's all I really need...

I was Nice-Guy'd earlier this year.

This is something that rarely happens to me.

For one, it's hard to be subtle around me. I'm kinda sex, sex, and more sex. It's a topic that comes up a lot, along with relationships, desires, communication, internal struggles... people talk about this stuff a lot with me. So it's hard to hold back, when you're trying to play the Nice Guy card.

For two, I tend to intimidate people with my sexuality. Odd, but true. So those who run the Nice Guy game tend to be easily frightened off.

However, this one, he would not be deterred.

Backstory:

He contacted me through my other blog about this time last year. I flat-out told him I was not interested in him as a potential partner, but I would like to be friends.

He was a little butt-hurt at my rejection, but he said a platonic friendship would be better than not knowing me at all.

I started going through a rough patch shortly after we started talking and he was one of the people I would call when I felt anxiety building, when I wanted someone to talk to. I continued to hold my platonic-friends stance, and he continued to state he was fine with that.

He lived in northern California at the time, but was moving down here, closer to me (this was already in the works, and not inspired by me). So he came down to visit me and some of his friends in the area. I offered him crash-space for one of the nights, and took him to Knotts Scary Farm since he had always wanted to go.

It was a perfectly fine night. No awkwardness, no odd touches, no silence moments of discomfort. Just a normal, relaxed night.

The next day, I drove him down to his friend's place in Vista. We had planned on hanging out together with his friends all weekend, enjoying the weather (the sight of marines everywhere) and just relaxing.

As soon as we got down there, he changed. Started being flirty, gropy, full of innuendo, blocking me off from male friends, offering to cuddle with me while I slept, constantly in my personal space, constantly making references to sexual activity... it was awful.

Not wanting to offend his friends, not wanting to cause a scene, I just clammed up and kept as far away from him as I could, not making eyecontact in case it would spur him to talk to me.

It continued to build.

Finally, I got to leave. I shot up the 5 freeway so fast, just to get away from him, feeling incredibly violated and dirty, letting the miles rapidly growing between us be a balm, to soothe me.

I wanted nothing to do with him.

A little later, a few weeks, a month, I get a call or an email. I don't remember. An apology for his behavior. That, because of emotional circumstances with some of his friends, he acted as he did.

I was hesitant, but willing to give him another chance.

He wanted to send me a box of random things that we had talked about. So I let him. He ended up packing in more than I expected, more than he should have. I thanked him. He offered me money, to get out of a financial bind I was in, I declined.

He starts emailing me that he keeps thinking about me.

He emails me that he's obsessed with me. That he dreams of me.

That reading about my sexual adventures online, about the guys I go out with, makes him incredibly jealous, and so very hurt.

And that he can't stop thinking of me.

I tell him that it's okay, that he just needs to get over it, that I'm not interested.

I give him space for a few months, hope that he'll meet someone else, that feelings will subside.

I give him a call to check in. We talk, things seem normal.

I call a week or two later. We talk, things seem normal.

Another week, I call, we talk, I mention that I had just met GV8 and how happy I was with him, that I might get into a relationship with him, if things go well.

He freaks.

He starts going off about how I'm making poor decisions, that I'll never be happy if I date this guy, what could I be thinking, why won't I listen to him, what could I be thinking, etc etc.

I told him he was being selfish. I told him that, even if he does not agree with my decision, he should accept that I am the one to make it. That he shouldn't be so upset over my relationship choices.

We lapse into awkward silence. I say good-bye. He says good-bye. I hang up.

I don't call again. I don't attempt contact.

That happened in March, I believe.

Last night, I went out with C and Redwing again. Redwing mentions that a girl he's been sleeping with is a devoted fan of my other blog and, oddly, is friends with the Nice Guy (AKA Redding on my tags).

And that Redding told this girl, who loves my blog so much, that he hates me.

When I heard this, I almost saw red.

I gave this guy chance after chance. Even when he was being awkward and lustful, I admonished him politely, accepted that it was just a part of him, and continued to remain friends with him because I had faith that he was being honest with me when he told me he was getting over me, that he had accepted that we would never be more than friends.

Time and time again, he told me he had accepted this.

And time and time again, his words or actions proved otherwise.

But I continued to place my faith and friendship in him.

And he hates me?

This man, who told me he had no issues, that he had sorted through everything and was at peace with himself and one of the healthiest people he knows, hates me??

I was nice, understanding, respectful, communicative, and accepting. I set boundaries and I asked him to respect them and he repeatedly did not.

So in what part of his brain does he get off on hating me? What trail of logic is set forth that causes him to find me as the villan in this piece? Someone please explain it to me.

Hallowed be thy name...

Two thoughts.

Wedding on Saturday.

I'm not one of those girls that gets emotional at weddings. I'd say that seems fairly obvious. I don't dream of my wedding, the bouqet (or whatever) tossing goes unnoticed (I usually miss it), garter removal, wedding cake sampling, alchol intake, it all sails by me. I am not looking with adoration on the flower girls or the ring bearers toddling along the aisle, dreaming of my own future flower girls that I will be able to donate to use at future weddings of friends or family.

Sorry, that all flies by me.

I sit and watch. I like to witness the emotions, the connections, the subtle movements across faces and where their eyes are prone to wander.

I found myself sitting at the reception, watching my boss and his bride do their first dance as a married couple. He's a good looking man, and she's, oh god, she's gorgeous. Beyond beautiful. Even without the wedding make-up and glow, she's always struck me with how incredible looking she is.

So they're dancing, and I'm watching.

And after their dance, the DJ does this thing where he calls all the married couples onto the dancefloor and starts ticking them off. "Leave the floor if you've been married for a year or less. Leave the floor if you've been married for five years or less." Etc. So he hits the 40 year mark and there's only one couple remaining and they're dancing and having a great time, and the new bride and groom give them a gift "from the shortest married couple to the longest". Which I thought was neat. Symbolic.

Watching the married couples, the male and female counterparts, who was with who, who looked like their partner, who did not, how they interacted with each other... it was interesting. It made me turn into myself and wonder what it would be like to actually find someone I'd love and trust enough to marry.

I mean, I barely find men I'm willing to date.

And that made me realize that even when I'm asked out by someone, and I do accept and go out with them, it's never with a relationship on my mind. I view them as a potential sex partner, not even considering long-term. It just doesn't occur to me.

The thought doesn't even enter my mind.

I didn't even realize I was skipping that whole "maybe this is the man for me" mental process until about ten minutes ago when the wedding came up at work and I started re-examining my reaction to it.

I still have this gut-level reaction that I am so torqued, that because of who I am and what I want in my partner, I will probably never find someone I'd actually wish to spend my life with in a committed fashion.

And it's not because of high standards. I have standards, yes. But they aren't "normal" standards. I don't look at income as much as experience, looks as much as how someone carries themselves.

It's because I'm an oddball.

Sometimes people tell me that I'm absolutely normal, that there are thousands, if not millions of girls out there like me. And, for a short while, I believe them. And, maybe, I think that I might actually be blending in with everyone else, that this feeling of disconnect, of being foreign, is all in my head.

And then things happen, I do things, I view things a certain way, I talk to someone, and they end up looking at me, when I express myself, my experience, my ideas, like I'm an alien. Like the concepts I'm putting forth are beyond human comprehension. That there are no other girls out there like me.

Which is incredibly self-centered to believe.

I say, every so often, that I know girls like me.

And, in the past, I have known some. Two, to be precise. One, I lost contact with. The other, as we both grew, we became different. We still connect, we still are close and understand each other like no one else will, but we've chosen different lifestyles.

I don't know any girls like me now, aside from that one. If I could know them and have the type of relationship I do with the one I currently know, that would be wonderful and relieving.

But it will still come back to the wedding, to the relationships, to the dynamic that, maybe, one day, I'll have. But I can't imagine it. I can't imagine meeting someone I'd want to do that with. Someone that would fit me, that I would fit.

Second thought:

I was, exhaustedly, hanging out with C and Redwing last night.

Redwing, he falls below my radar. He's too young (personality-wise), he's wildly inexperienced, and he carries himself poorly. He's amazingly beta in social interactions, beyond most I've seen. C likes that, likes men that are more socially androgynous than most, but that is so very not my thing.

Anyhow, C is a hair, make-up, and fashion girl. She loves it, loves dressing up for everything, which I think is rocking. She spends hours in the bathroom before we go out, making everything perfect. I think that's crazy, but she always looks good.

Last night, she did Redwing's hair.

I walked into the bathroom as she was finishing it, and he stood up... and was hot.

Well, until he opened his mouth.

Anyhow, he was hot. I gaped at him. "...you....you... look standardly hot. You actually look good in a socially acceptable way."

So I'm not that tactful, for those of you gaping at me for saying that to him. I was tired. That's my only excuse. I was just blown away.

He did look good. If he fixed his teeth, his face would be fantastic. His teeth aren't even that bad. They're straight, it's just that they run a little oddly, which messes with his bite, which translates into his face.

And he does dress better than I would have expected, should I have met him elsewhere.

We went into the kitchen, and he started doing what he usually does. Slouching, gesturing with feminine movements, injecting whiny tones into his voice, acting feminine in behavior, and whenever topics shifted away from him, he would interrupt and bring them right back as best he could. His facial expressions are, while not ridiculous, incredibly feminine, overdramatic, unattractive. He flutters his hands. He slouches insanely.

I found myself getting irritated.

He has a good face. He has height on his side. If he put on muscle, he'd have a fantastic body. It's all freaking there. He'd just have to control his mannerisms and stop acting like a girl, and he would be so damn good. I just wanted to smack him and tell him to shape up, that he could be so much better, lead a better life, have better relationships, if he would just get himself together. Respect, which he never gets. Self-confidence, that he is so obviously lacking.

He has all the raw materials he needs. It wouldn't take hardly any effort. He could become fantastic and desirable in just a few months, without spending a dime.

I hate wasted potential. I hate seeing what a person could be, that they never will chose to be, because they're satisified with what they have, with mediocrity, or worse. When someone complains about what they don't have, or how what they do is unsatisfactory, but they don't take the steps to achieve what they want.

Take those steps.

You're capable of more.

Give a little love...

Tired, as per usual.

Tuesday, C went out to kareoke with friends. I stayed in. My cousin's baby was born.
Wednesday, we went out to dinner with another set of friends.
Yesterday, I had dinner with VG and drove around a different set of friends, looking for that all-hallowed bar where we would sit and I would not drink.
Tonight, a concert.
Tomorrow, a date, a wedding, and a night spent with GV8.
Sunday, breakfast with GV8, then shacking up somewhere in Hollywood to write and study.

I know I'm forgetting something. I need to talk to my sister.

Let's break this down a little further.

I don't remember much of Tuesday. I was exhausted. I can't remember if what usually happens, happened: a phone call at 1030 from someone I want to talk to. That always happens when I try to go to bed before 9.

I remember lacing up C's corset. I remember being so tired. I remember reading in bed, and C cooking me chicken. That's all I remember. Just flashes of that.

Wednesday, I picked C and her new interest, Redwing, up, before heading out to dinner. I was picking Redwing's brain for writing ideas, for what I write. For how to write, because I've never taken any input or classes, or been to any conferences. I don't know the "official" process. My writing, it's how I talk. Truly, the way I break my paragraphs, the excess of commas, it's where I space things. People are always startled when they meet me after reading my stuff for so long, to find that the voice in their head matches the voice I speak with.

We drove to the place, a little diner-type out in Los Feliz area.

The man I wrote of last week, the one that I was interested in so briefly, but then I realized that there was no point because he's not my kind, well, he was there. I think I'm going to call him Ev.

Prolonged eyecontact, conversations, me making sure that I was engaging everyone, and if I felt excluded from a conversation, I would simply join another one, much to his surprise. It worked out, and I continued to feel his awareness of me.

He asked for my blog, he wanted to read it.

I gave him the information for the other one, the public one.

He emailed me through it, to ask me out.

Well, technically, he did not ask me out on a date. He's polyamorous. I find this nice because poly people tend to be more aware and accepting of not-so-mainstream sexualities. So even though I'm monogamous, my sexuality and how I deal with it, allows me access. So he emailed me to tell me that, while his relationship card was full, he has been craving some variety in his sex life and he found me desirable, and would I like to meet up and become a periodic sex partner?

That's pretty damn perfect for me. An intelligent, attractive man who keeps healthy and honest communication with his established partners, who is dominant in bed and tends to head his social group? Sure, I can work with that.

So we're supposed to be going out this weekend. Tomorrow, in all likelihood.

Anyhow, I've stepped into future plans as opposed to the things that have happened, things I need to mull over.

Crosser showed up to dinner as well. C wanted to talk to him, so they left early, leaving me with Redwing. That was cool with me, because I wanted to pick his brain. I was looking forward to the drive back, comparing notes and ideas with this man.

That's totally not what happened.

It was sex. Sex sex sex sex. And I don't mind that, really. I'm used to it. What drove me absolutely up the wall is that he would ask me a question (after prefacing it with whatever he felt needed to be said) and as I started answering it, he would cut me off mid-sentence and start talking about himself.

The entire freaking drive.

It was... insane. Because he talks so fast. And it was constantly, "Well, how do you feel about..?" and I would go, "Well, in my experience, I [insert something here] and-" and suddenly he'd swoop in, "Oh, I know! This one time...!"

So I stopped answering his questions and just let him talk. And talk. And we hit construction, so this drive turned into a forty-minute hell-fest of me going, "Holy shit, this kid cannot read my body language to save his life."

I even stopped listening. I rarely do that. But it was just this full-bore, all-engines-go verbal barrage of "me me me me me" which wouldn't bother me at all, except for the occasional "and you? oh, wait, nevermind, me me me me". Don't engage me and ask me my opinion on something if you aren't going to bother listening. I mean, I actually like listening to people tell me about their sexlife, but he made it this nightmareish chore that I hope to never experience again.

And then we get off the freeway and he says to me, "So, how do you see me?"

...Jesus Christ. WAI OH GOD WAI?!

I tried to put it off. I did. I tried to distract him into talking about himself again. It worked. Unfortunately, C lives ten minutes off the freeway, so by the time we pulled up to her house, he was worrying me like a dog worries a bone.

So I told him I thought he was young. I told him he carried himself and spoke like he had missed a crucial element in socialization. That he was years behind where he should be, for his age, for dealing with people, and that he continually made unnatural affectations when he spoke that were all too obvious and he seemed altogether uncomfortable with how he presented himself and how he felt about himself in general.

And he totally agreed with me. And seemed a bit shocked.

...but he continued the conversation into the house, while I gathered my night clothing pre-shower, and then I shoved him onto C and told her to back me up.

Which she did, while I showered.

Writing about that all is actually starting to give me a headache. Geesh.

Thursday night was not that interesting. I had dinner with VG, then walked in on C gluing feather's to some guy's back with latex. I had forgotten she was doing this. But he's an art model and, for whatever reason, the artist wanted little black wings on him, and C volunteered to apply them. I left them as I found them, went out to meet up with some other people.

The first bar we went to was closed.
The second was dead. Wow it was dead.

So I left.

But C mentioned that she had been planning on sleeping with Redwing that night, so I texted her to let her know I was on my way back early.

Actually, what happened was, when I got back to C's place and she was gluing on this guy's wings, I asked her if she was coming out with me and the others.

She said no, that she wanted to bone.
So I pointed at the guy with my cellphone and said, "Him?"
And she said no, "Redwing."
And I said, "If I walk in on you two having sex, I will slap the ass of whoever is on top, I tell you now."

So I politely texted her I was coming back, to which I received:

"go away"

I told her to wait five minutes and I would crash on the couch in the livingroom.

I did not, however, tell her to be clothed. So I walked in on her and Redwing naked and entwined in bed, both asses in places where I could not smack them.

We talked while I changed, and then I dragged myself to the livingroom and passed out.

Actually, while I was driving to C's last night, GV8 texted me.

I have this rule, where I keep an even text-exchange going. So if I'm the last to text a man I'm interested in or sleeping with, I will not initiate again unless I need to relay information to him. This works with GV8 very well, I have to say. I know he finds it odd when I don't message him often.

So he texted me, checking on me, seeing what I was up to, telling me about how construction is going on the loft (glass walls were put up yesterday, apparently). His birthday is on Saturday, so I asked him if he had made plans. No, he hadn't. Too busy. Did he want me to come over and help him relax on Saturday night?

Yes, he very much would.

And, apparently, I'm wonderful.

I'm beginning to wonder if he hasn't gotten as far from me as I thought.

I don't push boundaries. If someone says they don't want to be with me, I say "okay" and I leave. I don't argue. I don't try to convince them otherwise. I don't flaunt new lovers in front of them. If they've made up their mind, I'll respect it... even if I feel that they secretly wanted me to fight for them.

I'm not going to.

That's not my style.

And I also assume that everyone that has casual sex, like I do, has my robot-like tendencies when it comes to emotion and design. I did not expect GV8 to continue to have feelings for me... but he might.

Which means I can sit him down and talk to him, talk to him about what doug1 said in some comments, which I think might be more accurate than he's willing to admit.

But I don't want a relationship.

GV8 is great. He is. He makes me feel completely safe, which is something that no man, including Rick, has ever been able to do. And maybe I'll never find that again. He's a wonderful guy, a great lover, someone who shapes reality into what he wants it to be. And I admire that. He has his own beasts, though they're not like mine.

But... no. I can't. I shouldn't. I'm not ready to give this life up.

And this might all be pointless anyway.

I'm reading him off of texts, and while words... words are what makes me... I won't know until I see him in person. We haven't seen each other in weeks because he's been so busy with his business and construction.

And I'm not so sure I can be with a guy that doesn't know himself when it comes to relationships. He's happy and willing to communicate, and he's honest, but he's not completely aware of where he is, of what he's doing, when it comes to me. He's certainly better than most, don't get me wrong.

...he is better than most.

I'm not going to do this to myself. I cannot give up my focus. I am not going to actively attempt to change his mind, nor am I going to read him and subtly engineer my actions to keep him.

I think.

God, I'm too tired to be thinking about this stuff.

As amazing as he is, we don't resonate. We don't sync. I did not see him and absolutely know him, like I've done with others. He could take care of me. He could protect me. I could be his princess, his toy.

And I'd be happy.

I'm only experiencing this doubt because I'm tired. If I wasn't so ready to pass out, I'd be fine and not even considering it.

Not to mention, I could easily be reading into him.

I'm not going to plan ahead. I'm not going to daydream and make up stories.

I'm going to focus on me, on my writing, on school. I'm going to enjoy him, as well as my other partners and future partners. I'm not going to get distracted again. I've been single for one year, and I plan on being single for another.

I'm not going to let my heart get tangled up in this.