perfectionist with a god complex
i can hear the rain falling on the roof of the office, i’m not working, i’m cruising around online, following links and reading things that attract my eye like:
which i got off a link on the reverse cowgirl’s blog
and this really hot story on goodvibes
i really should find something to do, something to distract from this longing
these are the closing days of national masturbation month, a subject that is close to my fingertips of late these days.
it’s all about longing that throbbing in the pit of your stomach, the tingle of your skin, the need to feel vic’s skin against mine.
mastubation continues to be just an outlet. a form of relief, but i’m orally fixated. how do duplicte the sensation of hands in your hair, thighs pressed against your ears, the taste, the smell, the feel, the overwhelmed sense of joy in giving pleasure.
i should go to work. i’m sitting here frustrating myself. i have a whole ahead of me with lots of free time to do that.
vic and i have decided that our current entertainments are worthy of the big screen. we are attempting to write a comedic screenplay about our adventures.
if you get a little perspective on our situation it does seems a little funny.
neither of us actually has actually written a screenplay (well vic has done documentary work and i’ve attempted documentary work) and this is going to be our first combined endeavour. i think it’s going to be fun. work begins this weekend. vic is off to the wilds of michigan with the familia for a week, so i’m planning on channelling the anger, the frustration, the lonliness of the next couple of days into a serious stab at our very entertaining story.
the time has come to get some sleep. too many late nights over the last couple of days. although i should unpack the three bags full of laundry, but there is the feel of slipping on a still hot, fresh smelling tshirt. ok so i’m a freak (and fucking lazy too)
gnight.
i was going for domestic goddess, but i decided against it because i hate ironing.
i have just returned from the laundry. 10 weeks of dirty clothes washed and folded, i feel invigorated, doing laundry always brings me clarity. the gentle hum of the washing machines and the sound of clothes tumbling in the dryer always relaxes me.
i even enjoy the folding, but the ironing. oh the ironing. bleech.
speech of bleech – boos for cheer. sometime ago when i was palnning on washing i asked my mother to get me some detergent at the supermarket, i’m sure i asked for (free plug here) tide. instead she brought home cheer. fast forward to tonight i’m taking my jeans out of the dryer and realising that they are still kind of nasty looking. what the fuck? i did not spend close to $50 on a box of detergent for my clothes to come out looking less than sparkling. luckily, like i said before laundry makes me very zen. so for you other domestic god(desse)s — CHEER – bad! TIDE – good!
which in the circuitous way my mind works, brings me to the my earlier apology/retration/correction. i’ve been pondering what is and is not fair material for my blog? and in one of my moments of laundry induced zen i have concluded – that i will blog about the things that are going on in my life, the (adult) people that occupy said life (or lack thereof), unless (and this is the kicker) i am asked by any person mentioned, in thought, deed, name or description, never to do so again. i think that’s fair.
if you don’t think so, well as i said in my very first post, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. this is the internet, you are not strapped to a chair and forced to come here, you came of your own volition and the same speed with you clicked to get here, is the same speed you can click to get out.
not that i’ve gotten that off my chest, i’m off to talk to my wife.
and now your moment of zen
so for the first time (possibly not the last) i have to amend a post made here (with possible apologies to all parties involved)
i got another phone call this afternoon, taking me to task for my post about my surreal life post (don’t be lazy, go look for it.) apparently it was untrue or misheard or misrepresented or quite possibly all of the above. so my ego is shattered but apparently there are serious ripples.
that’s the thing about rumours and hearsay, like ripples in a pond with each telling it gets further and further from the truth.
so to clarify:
1. i did not have sexual (or any relations) with said young woman (and she never said that she did either)
2. any other stories originating from the primary tale are also untrue.
(cue lesson music)
i learned a valuable lesson today, rumours and heresay are bad. but then again i always knew that.
i guess when you hear a story that’s too good to be true it usually is.
peace.
i should be curled up in my bed ready to sleep, but due to some personality/biological quirk, i am bright eyed and bushy tailed but when i do crash it’s going to be hard. the fucking annual report is finally out of my hair, even though i had to give up my afternoon for it. so much my big laundry plans, i’m eyeing the pile of dirty clothes for the least dirty to wear.
i’m getting a lot of attitude from the woman that hired me to do the job and i’m really regretting taking the job, if she tries to fuck me on this i’m going to be really upset. on to more pleasant thought, there is a picture of me at the media awards in my gallery, i’m on the very end in the red shirt and sarong (not that you can tell in the picture), next to me is karen, my accomplice. if you want to know who else is in the picture email me.
speaking of sarongs vic wore hers for the first time today, the thought of which still has my heart racing, it was the only thing that prevented from going postal this afternoon. thank you vic.
now that all the paying shit i have to do is out of my hair, i can cruise all my boards and the usual haunts and bring to you my loyal readers, links of interest and as it’s tuesday let’s start out with dan the man:
savage love from the village voice (this week is extra special – trust me)
nerve’s bad erotic fiction winners
at last a smoking gun in iraq
meanwhile in a non-oil rich portion of the world
in lighter news
finally proof that metafilter is evil (insert sinster laugh here)
cake or death – a link to one of the funniest comedians on the planet
and while we’re here my other fave comedian – george carlin
there are more links but i’m tired of copying and pasting, so go here and expand you horizons.
the weariness is beginning to settle in, that compounded by the fact it’s hot as all fuck, it slowly driving me to bed. couple with which journalspace is being wonky, i can go to certain blogs but not others. i really should get a life.
gnight.
not very. massive ingestions of liquid crack aren’t helping and some how i think my choclate/sugar/caffine diet from my london insomnia day is definitely not a good idea at the moment, my hope is to make it through the day, go home and collapse in my bed.
but as the adage goes there is no rest for the wicked, i have no clean clothes, i haven’t done laundry for about 2 months. so before i can collapse into bed i have to trek over to the laundy.
when i have some more coherent thoughts, i’ll be back.
you know that point when you’re so tired, you just can’t sleep?
yes, you read right. there is a point where you’ve pushed your body past the limits, you’re running on pure adrenaline or something. i got to that point about 1:30 this morning as i created pdfs and lower versions of qxp of the file i was working on just to make sure the idiots that have to print the job, don’t find a reason to fuck it up, every font, every file, everything. i may not be giving them enough credit, but based on conversation i had with the moron of a printer tonight (well last night) i think i need to have all my bases covered. i also don’t know if this is the exhasution or i’m mellowing in my old age, but i broke the golden rule tonight, i handed over printer ready art work without collection a cheque first. i’m taking a leap of faith and hoping it doesn’t bite me in the ass (i can always tell when i’m tired i start mixing my metaphors), the client (or at least the person that hired me) is the wife of a good friend and the person that help me develop my job principles, so i’m hoping the pittance i get (or don’t get) paid does not end a very long friendship.
you might be wondering why the hell at 2:30am i don’t go to fucking sleep… the problem with that is that i have another job to finish or at least have a near final draft to send to the client first thing in the morning, i took it thinking i would be done and rid of the fucking annual report by 10pm latest. i can’t bail now, so i just going to keep on going, hopefully, i’ll get some sleep tonight, otherwise it’s caffine OD tomorrow.
i should get to work, i’ll be back later. either when i’m done or when i get up or when i eventually get to work.
and it’s the absolute truth, even by bill clinton’s standards.
in what has to be one of the most bizarre/outrageous/surreal fucking moments of my life, i got a call from an ex today asking me if i had been involved with a woman around the same time we had been involved. what makes the conversation spiral into the ether, is that i don’t know the woman of which she speaks (not even in the biblical sense). well i’ve had conversations with her, but that’s within the last 6 months and it’s was just professional. what makes it even stranger is that we didn’t just have sex, but some sort of relationship.
now i’ve done flaky things in my youth, but i’ve never been so drunk, disenchanted or had such a complete mental breakdown that i would not remember someone i had slept with far less for had a relationship with. the question foremost in my mind is why? i’m almost tempted to call her on it, but the other question it begs is what good would it do?
i’m still struggling with the last fucking print (please god, let it be) of the annual report project (some anal retentive took pen to paper to change stray caps and fix every hypen), i stated talking to vic and then lost the network connection, fuck! fuck! fuck! an hour and a half later it’s close to midnight and i’m still not home and i have another job to get started. the kind of shit i have to do just keep my fucking head above water.
i’m going to be late for work, so i figured i might as well compound it by going to the atomic temple and taking a bunch of tests.
can you tell how bored and unmotivated i am. the project (annual report) is done, due to go to the printer today but i’m not handing it over til i get paid (guaranteed to win me friends i tell you) but i never want to work with these people again, so no great loss.
on to the test results (i’m not entirely sure how accurate some of these are because the answer choices seem kind of limited)
SEX TOY:
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ROMANCE:
| My Romance Meter | |||||||||||||||
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| What does my romance meter read? | |||||||||||||||
BOOK WORM:
| Book Worm Meter for KEIFEL | |||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Take your bookworm readings. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||
MAGAZINE:
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