It's been a long weekend.
Today, there was an article on the front page of the LA Times about my cousin who was murdered. It was well-written, though I wish they had quoted more sources, to get an idea about just how many people she touched. But there are some beautiful photos of her. And there are photos of the corner where she was murdered. I hadn't seen those yet. They aren't crime scene photos or anything of the like, but being able to visualize exactly where she was killed... that was harder than I imagined it would be.
Yesterday was the campus memorial for my classmate who committed suicide while we were in Spain together. Again, hard to see photos of her, hear people speak of her, see frat boys in tears and know she isn't there to comfort them. Or any of us.
And the day before that, I fucked my best friend here at school. We'll call him Bear, for a nickname I call him. Usually, that wouldn't be such a big deal, but he and I have a different friendship than many of my others. For one, he wanted to save himself for marriage. He and I hooked up about a year ago - a night of kissing, nudity and some oral sex, but no intercourse - and he got a little weird after that. We joke about it sometimes. Then, while I was in Spain, he had sex with some girl. He knew her from before, but it was a rather spontaneous decision and, to quote him, he "just wanted to get it over with." He called me immediately after. International long-distance, on his cell phone. He didn't know how to process it. He said he didn't really enjoy it, and couldn't see what all the fuss was about. He said he now felt he could actually wait til marriage, and that sex just didn't matter.
Then, on Thursday, he came back to my apartment, as he often does when we go out drinking. (He's an RA and although he's 23, of course doesn't want his residents to see him drunk.) We climbed into my bed, like we usually do. And started kissing. Which is unusual for us. We weren't shit-faced drunk, and actually talked about it, first. And decided we were going to have sex. (Apparently, in his mind, the only thing making him wait at all was that he wasn't sure if I had any condoms.) And then we did. We got home at 2am, and went to bed at 730 in the morning. The sex itself was good. He liked when I took charge, which isn't something I usually do, but this time it felt right. And then he'd be in charge. You should see my neck - he leaves DARK marks. They're STILL black. And all over my neck, and my tits, and there are even a few bruises on my arms from his hands. I wasn't expecting that from him. In my mind, he was essentially a virgin - and in my experience, virgins aren't often so... forceful.
I know this isn't as graphic as I sometimes am. I think it's because I'm not totally comfortable with what happened yet. Well, not exactly with what happened, but more with what that means. We had the Talk today. He apologized for springing it on me when I was dealing with other things, but I knew it needed to happen. We talked through what we were feeling: He's hung up on the fact that he thinks he would actually like to date me, but his family (and he) has a problem with him dating a white girl, and he knows I'm bad at relationships, and we're both moving away in four months. And I'm not sure why things feel so different with him. I still don't want a boyfriend, but I have trouble being able to file him in the friends-with-benefits, or even lovers -who-I-love, file that people like Jacob and Friend fit so perfectly into. Things are more complicated with Bear.
So I still don't know what to do. For now, I'm listening to a lot of music. And still thinking about Kirsten, because I can't escape it. And it makes everything else seem less important. I called my parents today. My dad is funding a trip to the City next week and weekend so I can see my friends there, one of whom also knew Kirsten. I need to be away from school for a little bit. Be away from everything, be somewhere I feel fabulous. That means the City, for me. Or home. But the City is MUCH easier to get to. So I'll be heading there this Thursday. Hopefully when I come back, my head will be clear.
As my iTunes was on shuffle today, I stumbled upon this song, which I don't listen to much. But as soon as I heard it, I had to replay it four times, until I had all the words memorized. It seems to describe me so perfectly. There may be another post about my conversation with Bear, and about his honest questions as to why I believe I'm always the problem in every one of my relationships. It breaks my heart a little when he's so... naive, I guess. I just don't want to hurt him, too.
But I AM a girl like that.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
HNT: NYE
Here is the first in a series of photos I took at and surrounding New Year's Eve 2009. Along with a new (and, I might add, teeny tiny) dress, I got new lingere as well. The bra was actually courtesy of one of my best girlfriends... Long story, but it worked out. So I finally have a pretty bra that fits right. Again, I've gone on other rants about the fact that it's really difficult to find bras which are actually PRETTY in anything bigger than a C cup. Stupid.
Anyway, so this is the first in the series, taken while getting ready for what became quite the evening. I had been texting with Edward for most of the day of and before, and he had told me he would come into to town... I had bought him a ticket for the club and everything, as he had PROMISED me he'd be there. He kept stalling and stalling, and finally, about 930 (it's about an hour to my place from the town he lives in), he simply stopped responding, which I've learned is code for "I'm being a pussy and avoiding you because I know I've let you down again." And apparently no amount of prompting about just WHAT he was missing out on... (Not just me, but my hot, and fellow single bisexual girl of a date) he didn't show.
Granted, it was his loss, and the night was one of the better New Year's Eves I've had. I had a great time pre-gaming with my date and her friends, we had a good time at the club, then went back to her house, picking up one of her boys en route. By about 3am, Friend was at her apartment, as well. There was a rather funny incident of a LOUD sack session with my date and her boy in her bedroom while Friend and I giggled on the couch in the next room. Eventually my date and her boy emerged semi-dressed, and my date curled up on the couch next to me. After the obligatory introductions, my date went back to making out with me. And then proceeded to have a conversation with Friend about whether or not I was a good kisser. Quite literally over me - she was on my left, and he was on my right. Thankfully for my ego, they decided I was a good kisser, and that the lip ring was an enjoyable feature. Of course, I'm not sure they would have said anything but kind things while I was there, but I suppose that's why they're good friends.
My date and her boy eventually went back to actually go to sleep in her bed, leaving Friend and I alone in her living room. At something like 430 in the morning. On New Year's... well, Day at that point. Clearly, there needed to be nakedness. I must say that I am quite the fan of Friend's tendency to pin me against the wall and remove my clothes. It's not as rough as some other people I sleep with, and I like that. It just fits so well with how we are with one another. And I love the trail of clothes that always end up left along the places we hang out. And of course, the ridiculousness that always follows the sex. I really enjoy the little, random things about our relationship. I haven't heard many complaints from him, either.
So, while my NYE was definitely Edward's loss, it wasn't mine. Or my date's. Or Friend's. A good night for all involved, if I do say so myself. Edward got what he deserved. So did we.
For the record (and the HNT), here's what Friend got:
HHNT!
Anyway, so this is the first in the series, taken while getting ready for what became quite the evening. I had been texting with Edward for most of the day of and before, and he had told me he would come into to town... I had bought him a ticket for the club and everything, as he had PROMISED me he'd be there. He kept stalling and stalling, and finally, about 930 (it's about an hour to my place from the town he lives in), he simply stopped responding, which I've learned is code for "I'm being a pussy and avoiding you because I know I've let you down again." And apparently no amount of prompting about just WHAT he was missing out on... (Not just me, but my hot, and fellow single bisexual girl of a date) he didn't show.
Granted, it was his loss, and the night was one of the better New Year's Eves I've had. I had a great time pre-gaming with my date and her friends, we had a good time at the club, then went back to her house, picking up one of her boys en route. By about 3am, Friend was at her apartment, as well. There was a rather funny incident of a LOUD sack session with my date and her boy in her bedroom while Friend and I giggled on the couch in the next room. Eventually my date and her boy emerged semi-dressed, and my date curled up on the couch next to me. After the obligatory introductions, my date went back to making out with me. And then proceeded to have a conversation with Friend about whether or not I was a good kisser. Quite literally over me - she was on my left, and he was on my right. Thankfully for my ego, they decided I was a good kisser, and that the lip ring was an enjoyable feature. Of course, I'm not sure they would have said anything but kind things while I was there, but I suppose that's why they're good friends.
My date and her boy eventually went back to actually go to sleep in her bed, leaving Friend and I alone in her living room. At something like 430 in the morning. On New Year's... well, Day at that point. Clearly, there needed to be nakedness. I must say that I am quite the fan of Friend's tendency to pin me against the wall and remove my clothes. It's not as rough as some other people I sleep with, and I like that. It just fits so well with how we are with one another. And I love the trail of clothes that always end up left along the places we hang out. And of course, the ridiculousness that always follows the sex. I really enjoy the little, random things about our relationship. I haven't heard many complaints from him, either.
So, while my NYE was definitely Edward's loss, it wasn't mine. Or my date's. Or Friend's. A good night for all involved, if I do say so myself. Edward got what he deserved. So did we.
For the record (and the HNT), here's what Friend got:
HHNT!
Monday, January 26, 2009
The internet is for porn, and other random realizations.
This will, admittedly, be a disjointed post. I'm having three different conversations right now, all about similar things, but with different people. So maybe I'll just number the following grafs.
1. This evening, I learned rule 34 of the internet. After discussing the movie Coraline with Friend and a mutual friend (people are going to have to start getting fake-real names), and the beauty of real claymation, Friend asked if I thought there was claymation porn on teh interwebs. Well, even without applying rule 34, I found it. It isn't good, from what I found on a quick YouTube search, but it is pretty funny.
2. This led to a discussion of puppet sex - I mentioned Team America, he mentioned Avenue Q. Which I haven't actually seen all of, but have enough friends who are obsessed enough with Broadway musicals that I know most of the songs. I STILL have "The internet is for porn" stuck in my head.
3. And then I started chatting with my friend here at school about porn, which is always funny because he's quite sexually conservative, and while we have hooked up once and often share a bed, the sexual tension between us, in my opinion, is somewhat fabricated. Maybe it isn't from his end, but it isn't authentic from my opinion. And I'll admit that sometimes I do enjoy making him blush with my comfort of discussing sex.
4. Although as both Friend and Jacob have pointed out recently, while I have no problem discussing sexuality and sex in the more abstract, removed sense, actually discussing MY sexuality or the sex I'm having with a partner makes me terribly uncomfortable. I'm not sure if some of that, compared with how comfortable I am writing about sex here, or in other publications, has to do with my general higher level of confidence in print - I can proof what I write much more simply than proofing what I say. Nevertheless, I suppose it is a strange juxtaposition. Because I am hideously uncomfortable talking about sex while I'm having it. Even discussing my preferences or quirks makes me physically uncomfortable. So do fawning expressions of affection. Jacob knows that. Somehow, whenever we hang out, right before he leaves, he talks to me about how much he cares about me. And invariably, I end up with my back turned to him, hiding my eyes, which change color when I'm upset. I am, quite literally, physically uncomfortable. I suppose that's proof that I believe him, but it still makes me wonder if maybe there are some intimacy issues there. I wouldn't be all that surprised.
5. I was reading Essin' Em's blog, and I just LOVED this quote: "If you cannot laugh with the person you’re fucking with, then you’re fucking with the wrong person."I think it's brilliant. And as I was reading it, I was realizing that that's true with both the people I've slept with in the past few months. Friend and I's relationship is built almost entirely off our ability to be comfortable and laugh with each other (which includes the snarky, witty banter which I love so much). And Jacob is so ridiculous in his affection and, let's admit it, his indulgence of my fantasies and desires, that sometimes we also can't help but bust out laughing. I also tend to be a little disoriented after sleeping with him (from exhaustion and coming down and what not) which often leaves me as the one being ridiculous.
6. And the laughter is what was lacking from things with Edward. Who I have just let communication fade away with. There was no climactic "final scene" where I screamed at him for letting me down yet again. There was one very drunken and angry text message, but that was actually before he let me down this last time. I've simply stopped responding to him, on facebook, or text messages, or anything. And it's worth noting, for my own sake at least, that he has made all of one attempt to contact me, if it can be called that at all. (I'm not sure if a facebook "poke" counts for anything at all. Actually, no, I've decided that it isn't worth shit.) So maybe he's letting me go in the same way. I've finished the Twilight series, and I suppose that along with that ended my relationship with Edward. It seems fitting, I suppose. I won't say he'll never be in my life again, because he will, more likely than not, show up in a year trying to downplay how poor a friend he's been to me, but I'm not sure I'll be able to move past it. There's only so much a heart can take.
7. I have no female friends here at school. Literally, none at all. My roomates are both guys, and all of my close and even casual work and class acquaintances are men as well. I've always been a boy's girl, but this total lack of female companionship is something new. And a little strange. Generally, I like it, and it certainly facilitates things like three-pronged conversations about internet porn (although those aren't so out of place in my daily life anyway), but sometimes I do miss the girly-ness. And there's a notable lack of the queer women I was hanging out with before I went to Spain, although I'm hoping my involvement with the community here will bring me back into touch with them. My two best girl friends on this side of the country are both in the City right now, and I do plan on going to see them soon... my favorite artist is playing there in two weeks, and I need a break from the frozen tundra. And both my girl friends down there are decidedly feminine. One is even a full-blown, pink-wearing, blonde-haired blue-eyed sorority girl. Yes, I know that's reinforcing a stereotype, but she and The Texan, while I was in Spain, single-handedly made me reevaluate my condemnation of the university Greek system. Not too shabby. And, who knows, maybe I'll get to have coffee with the charming Roland Hulme while I'm there. What'cha say, friend?
8. I think that's the end of the randomness for now. For those of you who, by some miracle, are still reading, I appreciate it. I promise I'll get to work on more thought-provoking posts. I really am starting to turn on my brain for classes, but tomorrow is horseback riding, so that's where my head is now. God, I love riding. Stay warm, everyone.
1. This evening, I learned rule 34 of the internet. After discussing the movie Coraline with Friend and a mutual friend (people are going to have to start getting fake-real names), and the beauty of real claymation, Friend asked if I thought there was claymation porn on teh interwebs. Well, even without applying rule 34, I found it. It isn't good, from what I found on a quick YouTube search, but it is pretty funny.
2. This led to a discussion of puppet sex - I mentioned Team America, he mentioned Avenue Q. Which I haven't actually seen all of, but have enough friends who are obsessed enough with Broadway musicals that I know most of the songs. I STILL have "The internet is for porn" stuck in my head.
3. And then I started chatting with my friend here at school about porn, which is always funny because he's quite sexually conservative, and while we have hooked up once and often share a bed, the sexual tension between us, in my opinion, is somewhat fabricated. Maybe it isn't from his end, but it isn't authentic from my opinion. And I'll admit that sometimes I do enjoy making him blush with my comfort of discussing sex.
4. Although as both Friend and Jacob have pointed out recently, while I have no problem discussing sexuality and sex in the more abstract, removed sense, actually discussing MY sexuality or the sex I'm having with a partner makes me terribly uncomfortable. I'm not sure if some of that, compared with how comfortable I am writing about sex here, or in other publications, has to do with my general higher level of confidence in print - I can proof what I write much more simply than proofing what I say. Nevertheless, I suppose it is a strange juxtaposition. Because I am hideously uncomfortable talking about sex while I'm having it. Even discussing my preferences or quirks makes me physically uncomfortable. So do fawning expressions of affection. Jacob knows that. Somehow, whenever we hang out, right before he leaves, he talks to me about how much he cares about me. And invariably, I end up with my back turned to him, hiding my eyes, which change color when I'm upset. I am, quite literally, physically uncomfortable. I suppose that's proof that I believe him, but it still makes me wonder if maybe there are some intimacy issues there. I wouldn't be all that surprised.
5. I was reading Essin' Em's blog, and I just LOVED this quote: "If you cannot laugh with the person you’re fucking with, then you’re fucking with the wrong person."I think it's brilliant. And as I was reading it, I was realizing that that's true with both the people I've slept with in the past few months. Friend and I's relationship is built almost entirely off our ability to be comfortable and laugh with each other (which includes the snarky, witty banter which I love so much). And Jacob is so ridiculous in his affection and, let's admit it, his indulgence of my fantasies and desires, that sometimes we also can't help but bust out laughing. I also tend to be a little disoriented after sleeping with him (from exhaustion and coming down and what not) which often leaves me as the one being ridiculous.
6. And the laughter is what was lacking from things with Edward. Who I have just let communication fade away with. There was no climactic "final scene" where I screamed at him for letting me down yet again. There was one very drunken and angry text message, but that was actually before he let me down this last time. I've simply stopped responding to him, on facebook, or text messages, or anything. And it's worth noting, for my own sake at least, that he has made all of one attempt to contact me, if it can be called that at all. (I'm not sure if a facebook "poke" counts for anything at all. Actually, no, I've decided that it isn't worth shit.) So maybe he's letting me go in the same way. I've finished the Twilight series, and I suppose that along with that ended my relationship with Edward. It seems fitting, I suppose. I won't say he'll never be in my life again, because he will, more likely than not, show up in a year trying to downplay how poor a friend he's been to me, but I'm not sure I'll be able to move past it. There's only so much a heart can take.
7. I have no female friends here at school. Literally, none at all. My roomates are both guys, and all of my close and even casual work and class acquaintances are men as well. I've always been a boy's girl, but this total lack of female companionship is something new. And a little strange. Generally, I like it, and it certainly facilitates things like three-pronged conversations about internet porn (although those aren't so out of place in my daily life anyway), but sometimes I do miss the girly-ness. And there's a notable lack of the queer women I was hanging out with before I went to Spain, although I'm hoping my involvement with the community here will bring me back into touch with them. My two best girl friends on this side of the country are both in the City right now, and I do plan on going to see them soon... my favorite artist is playing there in two weeks, and I need a break from the frozen tundra. And both my girl friends down there are decidedly feminine. One is even a full-blown, pink-wearing, blonde-haired blue-eyed sorority girl. Yes, I know that's reinforcing a stereotype, but she and The Texan, while I was in Spain, single-handedly made me reevaluate my condemnation of the university Greek system. Not too shabby. And, who knows, maybe I'll get to have coffee with the charming Roland Hulme while I'm there. What'cha say, friend?
8. I think that's the end of the randomness for now. For those of you who, by some miracle, are still reading, I appreciate it. I promise I'll get to work on more thought-provoking posts. I really am starting to turn on my brain for classes, but tomorrow is horseback riding, so that's where my head is now. God, I love riding. Stay warm, everyone.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
HNT: Rough
I've been slacking on the HNTs the past month, so this time is going to include a series - something I've never done before. But I also needed to post these while they're still relevant. So here goes.
We're all aware by now that my particular brand of kink involves BDSM. (Aside: I was sitting at dinner with a girlfriend the other day, and she asked me what the kinkiest thing I'd ever done was, then had to clarify "Not including violent-type things." I kind of paled in comparison with that caveat.) The more I explore it, the more I find that the control aspect - specifically, giving up that control - is what really appeals to me. I also love the physical sensation, of course, and that often has very physical, ahem, responses within my body. But of the various forms of control, I found another I liked this past week.
After a particularly emotionally trying day (complete with 3.5 hour period of unconsciousness followed by mysterious stress-rash...ew.), I ended up asking a friend to spend the night with me. I knew he was a good cuddler, and wasn't at all opposed to the idea of having someone to sleep next to. He's also an exceedingly good kisser, and earlier in the evening, had lavished all kinds of attention on my neck. (A sadly under-appreciated area on my body... people usually get drawn to my tits, but putting one's mouth along my neck is almost the fastest way to reduce me to a compliant puddle of desire possible.) So, yeah, without much effort, he had me convinced that it would be worthwhile for him to stay.
I've written about him before, but as of late, I'm thinking of him as my Jacob. (Yes, more Twilight analogies.) He unquestionably loves me, and he is sweet and probably better for me than a lot of my other choices. But still, there's always something in the way. He's also the only person younger than me I'm still sleeping with.
Anyway. He spent the night. We "went to bed" early, and were actually asleep by about 3am. Here's what he did to me in the meantime:
Right shoulder, four days later
Left shoulder, four days later
Those are from his teeth. I loved that he wasn't afraid to use them. Of course, he picked up pretty quickly from the writhing, whimpering me under his mouth that it was a good thing and he should continue doing that. At one point, he was biting me on one side as he had his palm lightly curled around the other side of my neck. I liked the way it felt. So I brought my hand up to his palm, and clasped my hand around his, closing down - thereby making his hand tighten around my neck. He kept biting and tightening ever so slightly.
I dissolved.
He noticed the change in my body, and whether or not he could feel the current running through me as I thrilled at the new sensation, I don't know, but he responded appropriately. Never crushing my airway, of course (I'm lucky in that he has some experience in the area, and can show me new things while still keeping me safe), he would periodically bring his hands to my neck, my jaw, and tighten his grip. And every time, it had the same effect on me. Fire racing through my veins and fueling the desire already coursing through me. I think I caught him smiling a little, slightly evil smile as he watched me gasp in pleasure and surprise, but as soon as his hands were there, the world around me ceased to exist, so I can't be sure.
and this is from his hands. Again, four days later, you can't see that, essentially, the entirety of my neck was purple.
It.
Was.
AWESOME.
That's all I've got.
HHNT!
We're all aware by now that my particular brand of kink involves BDSM. (Aside: I was sitting at dinner with a girlfriend the other day, and she asked me what the kinkiest thing I'd ever done was, then had to clarify "Not including violent-type things." I kind of paled in comparison with that caveat.) The more I explore it, the more I find that the control aspect - specifically, giving up that control - is what really appeals to me. I also love the physical sensation, of course, and that often has very physical, ahem, responses within my body. But of the various forms of control, I found another I liked this past week.
After a particularly emotionally trying day (complete with 3.5 hour period of unconsciousness followed by mysterious stress-rash...ew.), I ended up asking a friend to spend the night with me. I knew he was a good cuddler, and wasn't at all opposed to the idea of having someone to sleep next to. He's also an exceedingly good kisser, and earlier in the evening, had lavished all kinds of attention on my neck. (A sadly under-appreciated area on my body... people usually get drawn to my tits, but putting one's mouth along my neck is almost the fastest way to reduce me to a compliant puddle of desire possible.) So, yeah, without much effort, he had me convinced that it would be worthwhile for him to stay.
I've written about him before, but as of late, I'm thinking of him as my Jacob. (Yes, more Twilight analogies.) He unquestionably loves me, and he is sweet and probably better for me than a lot of my other choices. But still, there's always something in the way. He's also the only person younger than me I'm still sleeping with.
Anyway. He spent the night. We "went to bed" early, and were actually asleep by about 3am. Here's what he did to me in the meantime:
Right shoulder, four days later
Left shoulder, four days later
Those are from his teeth. I loved that he wasn't afraid to use them. Of course, he picked up pretty quickly from the writhing, whimpering me under his mouth that it was a good thing and he should continue doing that. At one point, he was biting me on one side as he had his palm lightly curled around the other side of my neck. I liked the way it felt. So I brought my hand up to his palm, and clasped my hand around his, closing down - thereby making his hand tighten around my neck. He kept biting and tightening ever so slightly.
I dissolved.
He noticed the change in my body, and whether or not he could feel the current running through me as I thrilled at the new sensation, I don't know, but he responded appropriately. Never crushing my airway, of course (I'm lucky in that he has some experience in the area, and can show me new things while still keeping me safe), he would periodically bring his hands to my neck, my jaw, and tighten his grip. And every time, it had the same effect on me. Fire racing through my veins and fueling the desire already coursing through me. I think I caught him smiling a little, slightly evil smile as he watched me gasp in pleasure and surprise, but as soon as his hands were there, the world around me ceased to exist, so I can't be sure.
and this is from his hands. Again, four days later, you can't see that, essentially, the entirety of my neck was purple.It.
Was.
AWESOME.
That's all I've got.
HHNT!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
HNT: Least favorite
Well, you all knew this was coming, eventually. It isn't actually as self-deprecating as it first might seem. Sure, posting photos of yourself that you love is easy to do, and the compliments only make it better. But I'm hoping by posting photos of parts of my body I'm NOT as comfortable with, I can make some progress on becoming more comfortable with those given body parts. So here it is.
I am really uncomfortable with my stomach. Although I've generally embraced my curves, I've never warmed to the softness in the middle. I also know that were I to tighten my midriff, my waist would also consequently get smaller, which would be awesome for the curvaceousness. Of course, motivation to get to the gym when you're constantly surrounded by multiple feet of snow is sometimes tough to come by. But I'm not doing the New Year's Resolution thing to lose 15 pounds, because everyone does that, and it's never worked for me. So I'm not making any resolutions, just going to try to find that strength that I had a few years back, when I was going to the gym four to five times a week. I felt better then. Of course, shortly after, I felt worse than I knew I could up until that point, but that had nothing to do with the Freshman Negative 15. (Yes, I LOST 15 pounds freshman year. It was cool.)
So here's a photo that I believe is less than complimentary to my stomach. It shows the softness, not turned, not sucked in, just there. I don't like it. But I'm working on that. And that's all I got. I have great photos from New Year's on the way, but the cord to upload photos has vanished, so I need to relocate it.
In the meantime, HHNT!
I am really uncomfortable with my stomach. Although I've generally embraced my curves, I've never warmed to the softness in the middle. I also know that were I to tighten my midriff, my waist would also consequently get smaller, which would be awesome for the curvaceousness. Of course, motivation to get to the gym when you're constantly surrounded by multiple feet of snow is sometimes tough to come by. But I'm not doing the New Year's Resolution thing to lose 15 pounds, because everyone does that, and it's never worked for me. So I'm not making any resolutions, just going to try to find that strength that I had a few years back, when I was going to the gym four to five times a week. I felt better then. Of course, shortly after, I felt worse than I knew I could up until that point, but that had nothing to do with the Freshman Negative 15. (Yes, I LOST 15 pounds freshman year. It was cool.)
So here's a photo that I believe is less than complimentary to my stomach. It shows the softness, not turned, not sucked in, just there. I don't like it. But I'm working on that. And that's all I got. I have great photos from New Year's on the way, but the cord to upload photos has vanished, so I need to relocate it.
In the meantime, HHNT!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Friend. Or, being easy.
Now, now, don't jump to conclusions with the double entendre. I mean, yes, it was intentional. But mostly a joke. Anyway, on to the ranting.
I was lucky enough to spend a good amount of time with Friend this past break. He and I keep in touch regularly online, and indeed, he was instrumental in helping me work through the tough shit in Spain, but I'm never sure that friendships will carry over as well in real life. (Edit: I knew Friend in real life first. We just ALSO chat regularly online when I'm not where he is.) Real life is trickier. There are more complications.
But that didn't happen. There were no complications. And I guess I should expect that by now.
Because when I talk about being easy, yes, there is an element of the raunchy implication, because, let's face it, we both ARE easy. But it's also just very easy between the two of us. I don't ever have to try to be someone I'm not. He knows that I'm weird, and quirky, and random and sometimes really stupid, but I'm not the least bit scared that he's going to stop liking me.
I realized over the past month spent together how much I really do like him. And admitted to myself that it's entirely possible that I have very real feelings for him. It was one of those things that became apparent as I realized how much I looked forward to seeing him and the strange little mannerisms I've come to expect. Little things like how he never misses a chance to respond telling me he loves me, even when I'm being sarcastic and snarky - "Oh, shut your face. You know I love you." His response, every time, with a smile that reaches to his tone, "I love you too." Nothing epic about it, just very matter-of-fact. I know it isn't something reserved for just me, but it makes me happy to be valued like that. Other little things, like how he is so incredibly goofy... In ways I don't even want to describe, because they are some of my fondest memories of this break and I want to be selfish and keep them to myself. And like how when we're together, our banter is non-stop and strange and wonderful and sounds slightly reminiscent of a quick-witted, overly intelligent sitcom or drama that would get cancelled because only a small portion of the population got the jokes. Doesn't make them any less funny.
And then there are the big things. Like how well he understands me. Physically, yes, but emotionally and mentally, too. Although he is undoubtedly much smarter than I am, I never feel stupid around him. Indeed, spending time with him makes me feel smarter by association, I suppose. Like how he takes my insecurities in stride, without trivializing them. They are, also, matter-of-fact with him. While I was stuck in my head, over-analyzing and making myself nervous, he calmly took my face in his hands and looked me in the eyes. Even-toned, he simply said "Hey, it's just me." Usually, that would evoke a rant about how "Well, of course it's you, that's why I'm so nervous!" and so on and so forth, but it didn't. I took a deep breath, and calmed down.
He talks to me about things. And listens when I talk back. And we can bounce our crazy relationship ideas off one another, and get overly excited about them. In another breath, we can talk about the other relationships both of us have. There is no bitterness, no jealousy. Every time I think I SHOULD be getting jealous, I'm reminded that I've never once felt like I was getting the short end of the stick with him. The attention he pays me doesn't suffer because he's seeing someone else, also. I have never felt cheated out of his attention. Sometimes we don't respond to each other's messages right away, and we both know that's OK. We joke that we're full-disclosure friends, which is true. And he is one of my few, mostly because he isn't connected to the same circles I am, so I can speak without fear of repercussions. Anyway, we know we're in a state of mutually assured destruction if one of us betrayed the others' trust.
It's not that things are totally flawless. We're both human. Mistakes are made. But then we talk about it. Openly. Clear up misunderstandings. Without blowouts. Usually with some laughter, and I can't remember a time it involved tears. Not that I'd be uncomfortable crying around him. But everything is so logical and open that it's never been needed.
Usually, when I realize how much I care about the person, and especially if things at least begin as a FWB situation, this is the point I start feeling like things need to change in the relationship. Like I need to solidify the relationship with a title, or an exclusivity clause, or at least a proclamation of my feelings. Technically, this is precisely the moment I find myself in in regards to Friend.
Except that I don't want anything to change. Maybe it's because he already knows how I feel. Because I've told him in the full-disclosure nature of our friendship. Maybe it's because I don't feel cheated by the fact that I'm not the only one getting his attention. Which is encouraging that I really DO believe that one person's relationship doesn't have to have any bearing at all on any other relationships that person is involved in. This is the most vividly I've ever put this into practice. Of course, it also confirms my belief that for non-monogamy to work, not only is communication and honesty key, but so are the RIGHT partners. I can't imagine this relationship working this way with anyone else I've been with. I don't know anyone else who I can half-seriously joke about how we're better suited to marry each other than anyone else we know, and 15 seconds later, talk about our OTHER significant others.
The only thing I worry about is if things WILL change. When I move back to the same general area he's in, and we see each other for more than a few isolated and separated months of the year. Some of it is a fear that he'll get sick of me, but then sometimes I think that's crazy. Sometimes I worry that the reason we work so well together, and that our crazy non-monogamy schemes (which makes it sound much less consensual than it actually is) only work because we aren't around each other enough to have another option. I don't know if he and I could make a "traditional" relationship work. I don't know if we'd want to.
Of course, most of these are pithy concerns. And I know things will work themselves out, just as they always do, especially with him. Again, seems to be a consequence of that whole honesty and full-disclosure thing. Makes it much harder to surprise and hurt the other person. Maybe I should try it in more aspects of my life.
And now I should probably apologize for the hideous self-involvement in this post. It had very little to do with anything that doesn't pertain, specifically and individually, to my life. But classes have started, which means I should be getting back into the more intellectually stimulating material shortly. Thank you to those of you who actually read this whole thing. I promise there will be an HNT this week, also.
I was lucky enough to spend a good amount of time with Friend this past break. He and I keep in touch regularly online, and indeed, he was instrumental in helping me work through the tough shit in Spain, but I'm never sure that friendships will carry over as well in real life. (Edit: I knew Friend in real life first. We just ALSO chat regularly online when I'm not where he is.) Real life is trickier. There are more complications.
But that didn't happen. There were no complications. And I guess I should expect that by now.
Because when I talk about being easy, yes, there is an element of the raunchy implication, because, let's face it, we both ARE easy. But it's also just very easy between the two of us. I don't ever have to try to be someone I'm not. He knows that I'm weird, and quirky, and random and sometimes really stupid, but I'm not the least bit scared that he's going to stop liking me.
I realized over the past month spent together how much I really do like him. And admitted to myself that it's entirely possible that I have very real feelings for him. It was one of those things that became apparent as I realized how much I looked forward to seeing him and the strange little mannerisms I've come to expect. Little things like how he never misses a chance to respond telling me he loves me, even when I'm being sarcastic and snarky - "Oh, shut your face. You know I love you." His response, every time, with a smile that reaches to his tone, "I love you too." Nothing epic about it, just very matter-of-fact. I know it isn't something reserved for just me, but it makes me happy to be valued like that. Other little things, like how he is so incredibly goofy... In ways I don't even want to describe, because they are some of my fondest memories of this break and I want to be selfish and keep them to myself. And like how when we're together, our banter is non-stop and strange and wonderful and sounds slightly reminiscent of a quick-witted, overly intelligent sitcom or drama that would get cancelled because only a small portion of the population got the jokes. Doesn't make them any less funny.
And then there are the big things. Like how well he understands me. Physically, yes, but emotionally and mentally, too. Although he is undoubtedly much smarter than I am, I never feel stupid around him. Indeed, spending time with him makes me feel smarter by association, I suppose. Like how he takes my insecurities in stride, without trivializing them. They are, also, matter-of-fact with him. While I was stuck in my head, over-analyzing and making myself nervous, he calmly took my face in his hands and looked me in the eyes. Even-toned, he simply said "Hey, it's just me." Usually, that would evoke a rant about how "Well, of course it's you, that's why I'm so nervous!" and so on and so forth, but it didn't. I took a deep breath, and calmed down.
He talks to me about things. And listens when I talk back. And we can bounce our crazy relationship ideas off one another, and get overly excited about them. In another breath, we can talk about the other relationships both of us have. There is no bitterness, no jealousy. Every time I think I SHOULD be getting jealous, I'm reminded that I've never once felt like I was getting the short end of the stick with him. The attention he pays me doesn't suffer because he's seeing someone else, also. I have never felt cheated out of his attention. Sometimes we don't respond to each other's messages right away, and we both know that's OK. We joke that we're full-disclosure friends, which is true. And he is one of my few, mostly because he isn't connected to the same circles I am, so I can speak without fear of repercussions. Anyway, we know we're in a state of mutually assured destruction if one of us betrayed the others' trust.
It's not that things are totally flawless. We're both human. Mistakes are made. But then we talk about it. Openly. Clear up misunderstandings. Without blowouts. Usually with some laughter, and I can't remember a time it involved tears. Not that I'd be uncomfortable crying around him. But everything is so logical and open that it's never been needed.
Usually, when I realize how much I care about the person, and especially if things at least begin as a FWB situation, this is the point I start feeling like things need to change in the relationship. Like I need to solidify the relationship with a title, or an exclusivity clause, or at least a proclamation of my feelings. Technically, this is precisely the moment I find myself in in regards to Friend.
Except that I don't want anything to change. Maybe it's because he already knows how I feel. Because I've told him in the full-disclosure nature of our friendship. Maybe it's because I don't feel cheated by the fact that I'm not the only one getting his attention. Which is encouraging that I really DO believe that one person's relationship doesn't have to have any bearing at all on any other relationships that person is involved in. This is the most vividly I've ever put this into practice. Of course, it also confirms my belief that for non-monogamy to work, not only is communication and honesty key, but so are the RIGHT partners. I can't imagine this relationship working this way with anyone else I've been with. I don't know anyone else who I can half-seriously joke about how we're better suited to marry each other than anyone else we know, and 15 seconds later, talk about our OTHER significant others.
The only thing I worry about is if things WILL change. When I move back to the same general area he's in, and we see each other for more than a few isolated and separated months of the year. Some of it is a fear that he'll get sick of me, but then sometimes I think that's crazy. Sometimes I worry that the reason we work so well together, and that our crazy non-monogamy schemes (which makes it sound much less consensual than it actually is) only work because we aren't around each other enough to have another option. I don't know if he and I could make a "traditional" relationship work. I don't know if we'd want to.
Of course, most of these are pithy concerns. And I know things will work themselves out, just as they always do, especially with him. Again, seems to be a consequence of that whole honesty and full-disclosure thing. Makes it much harder to surprise and hurt the other person. Maybe I should try it in more aspects of my life.
And now I should probably apologize for the hideous self-involvement in this post. It had very little to do with anything that doesn't pertain, specifically and individually, to my life. But classes have started, which means I should be getting back into the more intellectually stimulating material shortly. Thank you to those of you who actually read this whole thing. I promise there will be an HNT this week, also.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
My Edward.
Note: Yes, I've been reading the Twilight series. I just (minutes ago) finished Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn is waiting for me on my bookshelf. I'm mildly obsessed, and as such, this post will contain some allusions and references to the books. No spoilers, I promise.
It shouldn't come as a surprise to most that I'm mildly in love with Edward Cullen. Other than the striking beauty and eloquence, the danger he exudes is not only exciting, but enthralling. Yes, I know he's a fictional character. I'm not obsessed with him (nor even with the actor who portrays him in the film), but it is an interesting kind of fairy-tale crush. Were the fairy tale laced with deadly implications and dark (albeit infuriatingly restrained) eroticism.
Such a hero, free of the shining white horse and spotless past, has always appealed to me more than the stereotypical Prince Charming. The brooding intellectualism rather than the shiningly ignorant optimism, the mysterious past which can't quite be reconciled over the pedigreed and pampered upbringing... it's always fascinated me, and I suppose I was just waiting for someone to deify such a character so I could openly identify with the type of anti-hero I had been wanting.
Of course, there are darker motives, too. I like the danger. Part of me loves the uncertainty. We know I'm a masochist, and so there is without question a part of me that loves the pain brought on by proximity to such brilliant, dark people. And they are always brilliant, just like the storybook. Intoxicatingly beautiful. And utterly irresistible, for someone like me.
And the interesting part is that in many ways, this wasn't just a fantasy. Sure, several of my relationships have had elements of those dark fairy tales, but there has been one consistent anti-hero weaving his way in and out of my story for almost a decade now. Yes, I know that means we were very young when we met. Nevertheless, that's the truth. I will, for obvious reasons, call him Edward.
He was beautiful and dark from the moment we met. He avoided me so stringently at first that there was little to conclude other than two extremes: He either hated me immensely, or he was "unchangingly, irrevocably in love" with me. (Which sounds conceited, except that he's told me as much.) He was very much a mystery for a long time after that, and our sporadic meetings were as intense as any I'd ever had. When he finally spoke to me, he was condescending (though I was a year older), overconfident, and still strikingly beautiful. When he met my eyes for the first time, I forgot how to breathe. The piercing blue, in sharp contrast to his dark, spiked hair, ripped through me with a force I wasn't sure was human.
For those first few years, we fought almost constantly. Well, that's not entirely true. The tension and passion between us has always been thick, tight and tangible enough to cut with a knife. More often than not, those two forces overlap one another and what should be a screaming match has us out of breath and spent for an entirely different reason. His touch is hard and simultaneously comforting. I know he is stronger than me and am full aware he could easily break me - indeed, sometimes I wish he would - but that sets me more on edge and makes me want him that much more. Although he knows exactly the same, he has never once treated me like he was afraid he would break me. His hands rough on my wrists, his mouth hard as he would bite my neck.
And there is something more than vaguely vampiric about him. Besides the pale skin, dark hair and stunning eyes, the beautifully sharp jaw line and striking physical strength, the way he looks at me does resonate hunger. He was always unabashedly fascinated by my self-destructive tendencies, especially those that left me bleeding. To this day, he looks over the scars on my wrists with a morbid fascination. Again, to quote Twilight, he looks at me as though I'm something to eat.
And god, the feel of his skin on mine. The way that hunger translates into every time he touches me. How he knows exactly where to touch me, where to put his hands, his lips, his tongue... It's enchanting, and frighteningly disarming. I have no defenses around him. Effortlessly, he reduces me to putty in his hands. Looking at him would be enough, but his deft handling of my body makes resisting not remotely possible.
Our paths cross so infrequently that I am left clinging to memories of when we were together. More than once, they have become vivid fantasies. Sometimes the memories of things that have never happened. And in all likelihood, never will happen.
Amidst our passion, and perhaps as a consequence of it, we do get into knock-down, drag-out fights. We stop speaking for long periods of time. He falls off the face of the earth on a disconcertingly regular basis. And every time he does, I promise myself I will not, under any conditions, accept his excuses. Because he always has them. Every time he leaves, and hurts me by doing so, he comes back with some excuse. I don't bother believing them anymore. Because whether or not I believe that he was bailing his brother out of jail or joining the military or being a drug runner doesn't matter. We both know it doesn't matter. Because I know he'll come back to me. And he knows I'll take him back. It's a brutal, destructive cycle.
I know, unlike Bella, that Edward is no good for me. I don't want the kind of future he is always trying to promise me, because I know how incredibly unlikely it is to ever come to be. I know that Edward is dangerous. I know that he will cause me more pain before we can ever get to the happiness, if the barrage ever stops. But, like Bella, I cannot pull myself away from my dark hero. I guess, in a way, I am addicted to the pain. Maybe because it feels so good when it stops. And it feels so good when he's with me. I've never been with someone who understands me on such an intimate, intrinsic level. Who can make me so angry that I can't see straight, and hold me tight enough that I believe the world will stop hurting me, and kiss me so hard that everything else fades away.
And that's exactly why I can't pull away. I started writing this with the intention of calling him once I was done and telling him it was finally over. That he and I were over. That I couldn't stand the pain anymore, that it had outweighed the good - my attraction to him, and yes, my love for him. But that isn't true. And I can't lie to him. I tried, once. Tried to convince him I wasn't in love with him. He knew me better. Obviously, he is still here. And so am I.
In many ways, nothing has changed since we met. In many ways, everything is different. But what I still can't decide is what I am going to do about the facts. About the fact that he is bad for me. And that I'm bad for him. And that the passion we have for one another sometimes turns to anger. And that the way I feel about him is something completely distinct and unique from anything else I've ever felt, including about my first love. And that I write about him differently (and rarely) here because I am so uncertain of how I feel, but nonetheless, the words flow easily and uncensored. I know that we are like two combustibles, waiting to explode into a brilliant burst of flames the moment we touch. I never know whether those flames will be pleasurable or painful.
But not knowing is some of the fun. And part of the appeal in the masochism I have come to embrace. Something he knew about me before I discovered it myself. And there is something about the fact that he has yet to leave me - for good, I mean. I have said terrible things to him, consciously hurt him... and he always comes back. I don't know if that's love... or obsession. And I don't know if I care. I am so clearly unclear about everything Edward does. I know how he feels, I know what he wants, but I have no idea as to whether it's something that will ever actually come to be. I'm not even sure if it's possible.
And I haven't finished the series yet, so I don't know if Edward gets a happy ending. And even if he does, how happy can the ending be when one must sacrifice something so great to be with the other? In the end, who is really making the sacrifice? That's still unclear.
It shouldn't come as a surprise to most that I'm mildly in love with Edward Cullen. Other than the striking beauty and eloquence, the danger he exudes is not only exciting, but enthralling. Yes, I know he's a fictional character. I'm not obsessed with him (nor even with the actor who portrays him in the film), but it is an interesting kind of fairy-tale crush. Were the fairy tale laced with deadly implications and dark (albeit infuriatingly restrained) eroticism.
Such a hero, free of the shining white horse and spotless past, has always appealed to me more than the stereotypical Prince Charming. The brooding intellectualism rather than the shiningly ignorant optimism, the mysterious past which can't quite be reconciled over the pedigreed and pampered upbringing... it's always fascinated me, and I suppose I was just waiting for someone to deify such a character so I could openly identify with the type of anti-hero I had been wanting.
Of course, there are darker motives, too. I like the danger. Part of me loves the uncertainty. We know I'm a masochist, and so there is without question a part of me that loves the pain brought on by proximity to such brilliant, dark people. And they are always brilliant, just like the storybook. Intoxicatingly beautiful. And utterly irresistible, for someone like me.
And the interesting part is that in many ways, this wasn't just a fantasy. Sure, several of my relationships have had elements of those dark fairy tales, but there has been one consistent anti-hero weaving his way in and out of my story for almost a decade now. Yes, I know that means we were very young when we met. Nevertheless, that's the truth. I will, for obvious reasons, call him Edward.
He was beautiful and dark from the moment we met. He avoided me so stringently at first that there was little to conclude other than two extremes: He either hated me immensely, or he was "unchangingly, irrevocably in love" with me. (Which sounds conceited, except that he's told me as much.) He was very much a mystery for a long time after that, and our sporadic meetings were as intense as any I'd ever had. When he finally spoke to me, he was condescending (though I was a year older), overconfident, and still strikingly beautiful. When he met my eyes for the first time, I forgot how to breathe. The piercing blue, in sharp contrast to his dark, spiked hair, ripped through me with a force I wasn't sure was human.
For those first few years, we fought almost constantly. Well, that's not entirely true. The tension and passion between us has always been thick, tight and tangible enough to cut with a knife. More often than not, those two forces overlap one another and what should be a screaming match has us out of breath and spent for an entirely different reason. His touch is hard and simultaneously comforting. I know he is stronger than me and am full aware he could easily break me - indeed, sometimes I wish he would - but that sets me more on edge and makes me want him that much more. Although he knows exactly the same, he has never once treated me like he was afraid he would break me. His hands rough on my wrists, his mouth hard as he would bite my neck.
And there is something more than vaguely vampiric about him. Besides the pale skin, dark hair and stunning eyes, the beautifully sharp jaw line and striking physical strength, the way he looks at me does resonate hunger. He was always unabashedly fascinated by my self-destructive tendencies, especially those that left me bleeding. To this day, he looks over the scars on my wrists with a morbid fascination. Again, to quote Twilight, he looks at me as though I'm something to eat.
And god, the feel of his skin on mine. The way that hunger translates into every time he touches me. How he knows exactly where to touch me, where to put his hands, his lips, his tongue... It's enchanting, and frighteningly disarming. I have no defenses around him. Effortlessly, he reduces me to putty in his hands. Looking at him would be enough, but his deft handling of my body makes resisting not remotely possible.
Our paths cross so infrequently that I am left clinging to memories of when we were together. More than once, they have become vivid fantasies. Sometimes the memories of things that have never happened. And in all likelihood, never will happen.
Amidst our passion, and perhaps as a consequence of it, we do get into knock-down, drag-out fights. We stop speaking for long periods of time. He falls off the face of the earth on a disconcertingly regular basis. And every time he does, I promise myself I will not, under any conditions, accept his excuses. Because he always has them. Every time he leaves, and hurts me by doing so, he comes back with some excuse. I don't bother believing them anymore. Because whether or not I believe that he was bailing his brother out of jail or joining the military or being a drug runner doesn't matter. We both know it doesn't matter. Because I know he'll come back to me. And he knows I'll take him back. It's a brutal, destructive cycle.
I know, unlike Bella, that Edward is no good for me. I don't want the kind of future he is always trying to promise me, because I know how incredibly unlikely it is to ever come to be. I know that Edward is dangerous. I know that he will cause me more pain before we can ever get to the happiness, if the barrage ever stops. But, like Bella, I cannot pull myself away from my dark hero. I guess, in a way, I am addicted to the pain. Maybe because it feels so good when it stops. And it feels so good when he's with me. I've never been with someone who understands me on such an intimate, intrinsic level. Who can make me so angry that I can't see straight, and hold me tight enough that I believe the world will stop hurting me, and kiss me so hard that everything else fades away.
And that's exactly why I can't pull away. I started writing this with the intention of calling him once I was done and telling him it was finally over. That he and I were over. That I couldn't stand the pain anymore, that it had outweighed the good - my attraction to him, and yes, my love for him. But that isn't true. And I can't lie to him. I tried, once. Tried to convince him I wasn't in love with him. He knew me better. Obviously, he is still here. And so am I.
In many ways, nothing has changed since we met. In many ways, everything is different. But what I still can't decide is what I am going to do about the facts. About the fact that he is bad for me. And that I'm bad for him. And that the passion we have for one another sometimes turns to anger. And that the way I feel about him is something completely distinct and unique from anything else I've ever felt, including about my first love. And that I write about him differently (and rarely) here because I am so uncertain of how I feel, but nonetheless, the words flow easily and uncensored. I know that we are like two combustibles, waiting to explode into a brilliant burst of flames the moment we touch. I never know whether those flames will be pleasurable or painful.
But not knowing is some of the fun. And part of the appeal in the masochism I have come to embrace. Something he knew about me before I discovered it myself. And there is something about the fact that he has yet to leave me - for good, I mean. I have said terrible things to him, consciously hurt him... and he always comes back. I don't know if that's love... or obsession. And I don't know if I care. I am so clearly unclear about everything Edward does. I know how he feels, I know what he wants, but I have no idea as to whether it's something that will ever actually come to be. I'm not even sure if it's possible.
And I haven't finished the series yet, so I don't know if Edward gets a happy ending. And even if he does, how happy can the ending be when one must sacrifice something so great to be with the other? In the end, who is really making the sacrifice? That's still unclear.
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