Thursday, May 27, 2004
Monday, May 24, 2004
All right, updates.
I am going to die old and alone!
There you have it. Just about sums it up, folks.
Cutest Boy in the World sent me a "Let's Just Be Friends" (LJBF e-mail). The architect awaits me in San Francisco this weekend, and while I would like nothing more to fall madly in love with him, I just know, deep down that we're not meant to be.
That is all I have time to tell you today, alas. That, and the fact that I am so inexpressibly tired of the trend of people (men, all) using the comments to tell me how f*cked up I am. I am sure these people probably don't have much better to do in their own pathetic lives than surf the Web and find other people to degrade so that they can feel better about themselves, but still, it's wearing on me.
It's sad, too, because the comments are so integral to blogging. It's so rewarding for a writer to have such direct contact with their readers, and I have to say, the comments have been mostly a source of great pleasure (and some drama this last year and half). But they've gone into a downward spiral lately. So, as soon as I get off my lazy a*s, I'm disabling them.
Sorry to those of you (and it's the majority) of comment-posters who have been nothing but supportive and funny and enthusiastic. I have appreciated you more than you will ever know.
I am going to die old and alone!
There you have it. Just about sums it up, folks.
Cutest Boy in the World sent me a "Let's Just Be Friends" (LJBF e-mail). The architect awaits me in San Francisco this weekend, and while I would like nothing more to fall madly in love with him, I just know, deep down that we're not meant to be.
That is all I have time to tell you today, alas. That, and the fact that I am so inexpressibly tired of the trend of people (men, all) using the comments to tell me how f*cked up I am. I am sure these people probably don't have much better to do in their own pathetic lives than surf the Web and find other people to degrade so that they can feel better about themselves, but still, it's wearing on me.
It's sad, too, because the comments are so integral to blogging. It's so rewarding for a writer to have such direct contact with their readers, and I have to say, the comments have been mostly a source of great pleasure (and some drama this last year and half). But they've gone into a downward spiral lately. So, as soon as I get off my lazy a*s, I'm disabling them.
Sorry to those of you (and it's the majority) of comment-posters who have been nothing but supportive and funny and enthusiastic. I have appreciated you more than you will ever know.
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Yeah, yeah, you all knew I wouldn't be able to wait. I e-mailed him last night.
Have I heard back yet? Of course not! Not that I'm cranky, about it, no. I'm not cranky at all. Even if I didn't get enough sleep last night, the book I'm writing sucks, I'm having a bad hair day, I snapped at my manager, and I have to go get a freaking p*p smear.
Why in the world would you think I'm cranky?
Have I heard back yet? Of course not! Not that I'm cranky, about it, no. I'm not cranky at all. Even if I didn't get enough sleep last night, the book I'm writing sucks, I'm having a bad hair day, I snapped at my manager, and I have to go get a freaking p*p smear.
Why in the world would you think I'm cranky?
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Now comes the waiting game. Wait. Wait. Wait. God, is anyone bored yet?
Must not be the pursuer this time. MUST. NOT. PURSUE.
I'm not in a rush anyway! I mean, I'm only 35 (almost 36!) It's not like I want to have kids or anything like that, no sir! It's not like Cutest Boy in the World and I would be the cutest couple on Earth or anything, and have kids that would be so darling you could hardly look at them. No way.
He's just a guy, I'm just a girl and I've got PLENTY of TIME to sit around and wait for his a*s to call me.
(Make carefree whistling sound here).
And if he doesn't? Well, if history is any indication there will be someone new in about...oh, five minutes now.
Must not be the pursuer this time. MUST. NOT. PURSUE.
I'm not in a rush anyway! I mean, I'm only 35 (almost 36!) It's not like I want to have kids or anything like that, no sir! It's not like Cutest Boy in the World and I would be the cutest couple on Earth or anything, and have kids that would be so darling you could hardly look at them. No way.
He's just a guy, I'm just a girl and I've got PLENTY of TIME to sit around and wait for his a*s to call me.
(Make carefree whistling sound here).
And if he doesn't? Well, if history is any indication there will be someone new in about...oh, five minutes now.
Monday, May 17, 2004
After our date on Saturday, I still think CBW is the Cutest Boy In the World. He did show up for our date, however, wearing flip-flops and reeking of garlic, which I did not take to be a good sign. Especially after yours truly had just spent a good hour showering, blow-drying, pouffing, smoothing, brushing, flossing, rinsing, and attempting different outfits.
I smelled, if I might say it, delicious, freshly scrubbed with Origins Pomegranite Shower Gel ($16) and generously spritzed with Christian Dior's "J'Adore" ($53), my hair gently tousled with some other overly expensive product that I can't remember the name of ($17). I had on a *new* and fetchingly low-cut shirt from Anthropologie (on sale at $35!), my size 4 Banana Republic jeans (they still fit!), and sexy black boots from Nordie's ($100).
I was in a word, one hot consumer.
Anyway, despite CBW's rather weak start, we proceeded to have one of the most fun dates in recent memory, first taking in a fabulous improv show at the Pike Place Market Theater, then heading next door to that swank temple of hipdom the Alibi Room, where we dined with friends of his and I made numerous witty remarks while CBW nodded approvingly at my intelligence and my low-cut shirt.
After dinner (by which point his two martinis had neutralized the garlic smell) he and I headed downstairs where we danced feverishly for the next hour to the sounds of an Aryan looking DJ who dropped his glowing Apple in the middle of the whole thing, but was nonetheless quite proficient.
Dancing was mostly PG-rated (the low-cut shirt taking it out of the "G" range) except for the time when I whispered to him that we were alone on the dance floor, at which point he grabbed me and whirled me across the floor in a parody of "Strictly Ballroom," ending the maneuver by clutching me close to him for three precious seconds. Then, in our last ten minutes of dancing, he moved noticeably closer to me, bringing the rating up to a PG-13.
Then he drove me home and I rushed nervously out of the car, no doubt giving the impression that I wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible, when instead I just wanted to avoid any awkward moments, waiting to see if he'd kiss me (because I knew he wouldn't), or waiting to see if he'd suggest another date, or worse yet, suggesting another date myself - even though, of course, I wanted all that.
And there you have it. My PG-13 date with Cutest Boy in the World. Stay tuned to see if I get to go on another date with this guitar-playing, rock-climbing, bespectacled hottie in the next year or so.
I smelled, if I might say it, delicious, freshly scrubbed with Origins Pomegranite Shower Gel ($16) and generously spritzed with Christian Dior's "J'Adore" ($53), my hair gently tousled with some other overly expensive product that I can't remember the name of ($17). I had on a *new* and fetchingly low-cut shirt from Anthropologie (on sale at $35!), my size 4 Banana Republic jeans (they still fit!), and sexy black boots from Nordie's ($100).
I was in a word, one hot consumer.
Anyway, despite CBW's rather weak start, we proceeded to have one of the most fun dates in recent memory, first taking in a fabulous improv show at the Pike Place Market Theater, then heading next door to that swank temple of hipdom the Alibi Room, where we dined with friends of his and I made numerous witty remarks while CBW nodded approvingly at my intelligence and my low-cut shirt.
After dinner (by which point his two martinis had neutralized the garlic smell) he and I headed downstairs where we danced feverishly for the next hour to the sounds of an Aryan looking DJ who dropped his glowing Apple in the middle of the whole thing, but was nonetheless quite proficient.
Dancing was mostly PG-rated (the low-cut shirt taking it out of the "G" range) except for the time when I whispered to him that we were alone on the dance floor, at which point he grabbed me and whirled me across the floor in a parody of "Strictly Ballroom," ending the maneuver by clutching me close to him for three precious seconds. Then, in our last ten minutes of dancing, he moved noticeably closer to me, bringing the rating up to a PG-13.
Then he drove me home and I rushed nervously out of the car, no doubt giving the impression that I wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible, when instead I just wanted to avoid any awkward moments, waiting to see if he'd kiss me (because I knew he wouldn't), or waiting to see if he'd suggest another date, or worse yet, suggesting another date myself - even though, of course, I wanted all that.
And there you have it. My PG-13 date with Cutest Boy in the World. Stay tuned to see if I get to go on another date with this guitar-playing, rock-climbing, bespectacled hottie in the next year or so.
Friday, May 14, 2004
So you want details, huh? OK, OK, here goes.
The architect. Picture, if you will, a man who is the complete opposite of Loser except for a taste for the expensive things in life. The Big L in case you've forgotten, was a cringing, sniveling, passive-agressive weenie who, instead of asserting himself, let his resentment build up to levels such that he resorted to dumping me in the weakest, most chickensh*t manner possible (and still has yet to apologize!)
Picture a man (the architect) who is big and tall and broad-shouldered, with the most beautiful latte-colored skin and the biggest, brownest eyes I've ever seen on a boy. L. was short and pasty, with small weasely eyes that would never look at anyone directly.
Picture a man who is loud and demanding, who knows what he wants, and is a bit too vocal about it at times, whose quick temper flares easily but then (like mine) dies away fast. No resentment boiling over anywhere - it comes, and then it goes. Unless you prove yourself morally weak, or betray his friendship, in which case he'll hold a grudge forever. This is a man, I don't think, who would ever behave in a cowardly way, and who holds his friends to the same high standards.
Picture a man who loves to watch sports, who's devoted to his friends, his mom; a man who's not afraid to say he wants a serious relationship, and not afraid to do what it takes to have one. (Loser had the most dysfunctional family of any man I've ever dated, and no friends to speak of).
This is the architect. Obnoxious, yes, alpha yes, but also kind, strong, real, and dynamic. Without, unfortunately, much of a literary bone in his body.
You can see then, why the "mixed" came in. In the end, it all boils down to a gut feeling and I just don't feel we're compatible. Alas. But I am seeing him over Memorial Day weekend, for the Big Birthday Bash so it ain't over yet!
Meanwhile, it's like Christmas Eve for me, because I have a date with the Cutest Boy in the World tomorrow!
The architect. Picture, if you will, a man who is the complete opposite of Loser except for a taste for the expensive things in life. The Big L in case you've forgotten, was a cringing, sniveling, passive-agressive weenie who, instead of asserting himself, let his resentment build up to levels such that he resorted to dumping me in the weakest, most chickensh*t manner possible (and still has yet to apologize!)
Picture a man (the architect) who is big and tall and broad-shouldered, with the most beautiful latte-colored skin and the biggest, brownest eyes I've ever seen on a boy. L. was short and pasty, with small weasely eyes that would never look at anyone directly.
Picture a man who is loud and demanding, who knows what he wants, and is a bit too vocal about it at times, whose quick temper flares easily but then (like mine) dies away fast. No resentment boiling over anywhere - it comes, and then it goes. Unless you prove yourself morally weak, or betray his friendship, in which case he'll hold a grudge forever. This is a man, I don't think, who would ever behave in a cowardly way, and who holds his friends to the same high standards.
Picture a man who loves to watch sports, who's devoted to his friends, his mom; a man who's not afraid to say he wants a serious relationship, and not afraid to do what it takes to have one. (Loser had the most dysfunctional family of any man I've ever dated, and no friends to speak of).
This is the architect. Obnoxious, yes, alpha yes, but also kind, strong, real, and dynamic. Without, unfortunately, much of a literary bone in his body.
You can see then, why the "mixed" came in. In the end, it all boils down to a gut feeling and I just don't feel we're compatible. Alas. But I am seeing him over Memorial Day weekend, for the Big Birthday Bash so it ain't over yet!
Meanwhile, it's like Christmas Eve for me, because I have a date with the Cutest Boy in the World tomorrow!
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
Perhaps I should start a blog about gardening. Hmm, no, I don't garden these days.
A cooking blog? That would be innocuous. Though people might flame me for my overabundant use of cayenne pepper. And besides, I don't cook these days.
A blog about my pets? If only I had pets!! My poor cat Scout (God bless him) lives with Loser and Loserette now; I can only hope that for his own sake he has forgotten me, his once-devoted mother who was forced to leave him behind during The Great Unpleasantness of '02.
OK, how's this: a blog about WORK? "Here's what I edited today, folks!: "This documentation enables developers who might not be familiar with XML, SOAP, WSDL, or HTTP to add functionality to development tools, installation programs, and any other software that needs to register or locate and bind with remote Web services."
Yawn.
Perhaps a blog about writing: "Today I spent two hours rewriting a single paragraph. It still sucks. Tomorrow, I will attempt to finish the fourth rewrite of the second scene of the third section of Chapter 4. I'm on fire!"
OK, f*ck that. What about a dating blog? Hmm, lots of potential for drama there. Although some critics have said my life is like a "daytime soap" (although if that were true, I would have amnesia, or an evil twin, or been kidnapped and whisked off to an exotic locale where I'd have a torrid affair with my kidnapper, who turns out to be a good guy after all, and I can tell you, NONE of that has happened to me - although I once did see "Jagger" from General Hospital when I was working at Pike Place Market).
Others might judge me because I play the field with such finesse. Or because I sometimes kiss more than a single boy in a week. Or because it sometimes seems that I'm just juggling for the sake of juggling when I'm really looking for ONE GOOD BOY WHO IS NOT ONLY NICE AND GOOD FOR ME AND UNAFRAID OF COMMITTMENT BUT WHO I CAN ALSO BE ATTRACTED TO.
Not that I'd be defensive, mind you. Not at all. After all, life is a drama about looking for love, and my own life is full of it (drama, that is), so why not share?
On that note, the Captain is now out of the picture for GOOD (it's a wrap, baby!), Cutest Boy in the World seems to be back in the picture (oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh), and Sporty Architect Boy is back in San Francisco, and I am pondering the whys, wherefores, of this crazy, mixed bag of a weekend I spent with him.
Yes, I think a dating blog probably makes the most sense.
A cooking blog? That would be innocuous. Though people might flame me for my overabundant use of cayenne pepper. And besides, I don't cook these days.
A blog about my pets? If only I had pets!! My poor cat Scout (God bless him) lives with Loser and Loserette now; I can only hope that for his own sake he has forgotten me, his once-devoted mother who was forced to leave him behind during The Great Unpleasantness of '02.
OK, how's this: a blog about WORK? "Here's what I edited today, folks!: "This documentation enables developers who might not be familiar with XML, SOAP, WSDL, or HTTP to add functionality to development tools, installation programs, and any other software that needs to register or locate and bind with remote Web services."
Yawn.
Perhaps a blog about writing: "Today I spent two hours rewriting a single paragraph. It still sucks. Tomorrow, I will attempt to finish the fourth rewrite of the second scene of the third section of Chapter 4. I'm on fire!"
OK, f*ck that. What about a dating blog? Hmm, lots of potential for drama there. Although some critics have said my life is like a "daytime soap" (although if that were true, I would have amnesia, or an evil twin, or been kidnapped and whisked off to an exotic locale where I'd have a torrid affair with my kidnapper, who turns out to be a good guy after all, and I can tell you, NONE of that has happened to me - although I once did see "Jagger" from General Hospital when I was working at Pike Place Market).
Others might judge me because I play the field with such finesse. Or because I sometimes kiss more than a single boy in a week. Or because it sometimes seems that I'm just juggling for the sake of juggling when I'm really looking for ONE GOOD BOY WHO IS NOT ONLY NICE AND GOOD FOR ME AND UNAFRAID OF COMMITTMENT BUT WHO I CAN ALSO BE ATTRACTED TO.
Not that I'd be defensive, mind you. Not at all. After all, life is a drama about looking for love, and my own life is full of it (drama, that is), so why not share?
On that note, the Captain is now out of the picture for GOOD (it's a wrap, baby!), Cutest Boy in the World seems to be back in the picture (oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh), and Sporty Architect Boy is back in San Francisco, and I am pondering the whys, wherefores, of this crazy, mixed bag of a weekend I spent with him.
Yes, I think a dating blog probably makes the most sense.
Friday, May 7, 2004
All right, I am daring to venture forth again after being attacked the unruly mob.
I am Breakup Babe and I am proud!
Yeah, I juggle a bit. And yeah I'm like a kid in a candy store - taking advantage of my dewey-eyed "youth" and irresistible allure while I still have it. But really, I'm just a nice girl with a bit of bagge looking for love in a rapidly dwindling pool of good prospects. If you don't believe me, that's your problem. I have my fans to attend to.
Now, you all may be disappointed to hear that Cutest Boy in the World has disappeared off the face of the planet after our date. That was certainly a lot of excitement over NOTHING. Oh well, RIP CBW, you were too good to be true.
Meanwhile, I seem to be re-involved with the Captain. We keep "running into" each other, and then one thing leads to another and we're making out. He has such soft lips. How can I resist? It's gonna end though. I'm not letting this go on. Really, I'm not.
As for Sporty Architect Boy, I am hosting him this weekend! Yes, the former model is here at this very moment, taking up room in my apartment with his numerous skin care products and his ultra-masculine personality. Alas, after 24 hours together, I still highly doubt the future potential of this match. But I am going to focus on the positive so as to enjoy the rest of the weekend for what it is - a fling with a hot, intelligent, fun-loving guy who is - alas - not really my type.
He did thoroughly clean my microwave for me, however! You gotta love a houseguest like that. Plus, he made me feel adored last night without pressuring me for you-know-what, and that, my friends is also a quality to love in a man.
I am Breakup Babe and I am proud!
Yeah, I juggle a bit. And yeah I'm like a kid in a candy store - taking advantage of my dewey-eyed "youth" and irresistible allure while I still have it. But really, I'm just a nice girl with a bit of bagge looking for love in a rapidly dwindling pool of good prospects. If you don't believe me, that's your problem. I have my fans to attend to.
Now, you all may be disappointed to hear that Cutest Boy in the World has disappeared off the face of the planet after our date. That was certainly a lot of excitement over NOTHING. Oh well, RIP CBW, you were too good to be true.
Meanwhile, I seem to be re-involved with the Captain. We keep "running into" each other, and then one thing leads to another and we're making out. He has such soft lips. How can I resist? It's gonna end though. I'm not letting this go on. Really, I'm not.
As for Sporty Architect Boy, I am hosting him this weekend! Yes, the former model is here at this very moment, taking up room in my apartment with his numerous skin care products and his ultra-masculine personality. Alas, after 24 hours together, I still highly doubt the future potential of this match. But I am going to focus on the positive so as to enjoy the rest of the weekend for what it is - a fling with a hot, intelligent, fun-loving guy who is - alas - not really my type.
He did thoroughly clean my microwave for me, however! You gotta love a houseguest like that. Plus, he made me feel adored last night without pressuring me for you-know-what, and that, my friends is also a quality to love in a man.
Monday, May 3, 2004
Well, well, well! There is a rather scintillating discussion going on at Monkeyfilter about this here l'il blog. Want to see Breakup Babe's character get assassinated by a bunch of peeps who've never met her? Well then this discussion is for you!
My favorite quote thus far:
"She juggles men like an eight-flippered mutant circus seal, selfishly objectifies men as boytoys, entertainers, providers, etc., whose sole purposes seem to be fulfilling her whimsical needs, as needed. Then, after they are used, they are to be discarded, like disposable diapers. She's petty, desperate, obsessive vindictive, chaotic, immature, lecherous, shallow, self-destructive, needy, dysfunctional, hedonistic, revengeful, promiscuous, self-victimizing, and naively flaky... she believes in astrology(!)"
Go boys go!
xo
BB
My favorite quote thus far:
"She juggles men like an eight-flippered mutant circus seal, selfishly objectifies men as boytoys, entertainers, providers, etc., whose sole purposes seem to be fulfilling her whimsical needs, as needed. Then, after they are used, they are to be discarded, like disposable diapers. She's petty, desperate, obsessive vindictive, chaotic, immature, lecherous, shallow, self-destructive, needy, dysfunctional, hedonistic, revengeful, promiscuous, self-victimizing, and naively flaky... she believes in astrology(!)"
Go boys go!
xo
BB
Saturday, May 1, 2004
Please ignore my deluded, egomaniac ramblings of yesterday. I was high on too little sleep, too much caffeine and sugar, and hope battling it out with despair.
When I'm scared of never finding love again - as I so often am - I turn to my dreams and I pump them up and inflate them into bright, candy-colored visions of fluff and nothingness.
Oh sure I want to be famous. Sure I want to be a bestselling writer and have people adore me. But it's not what's going to make me a whole person.
What will help is to focus on finding someone with a heart big enough and brave enough to love me forever. Who will be there for me no matter where my artistic dreams take me.
What's NOT going to help me is having a relapse with The Captain. It wasn't intentional, I swear to God! I didn't plan to see him last night! Oh I thought he MIGHT be there, seeing as this friend of his was organizing our little outing. Oh and maybe I mentioned to him I was going but more as a warning so that he WOULDN'T go, really! But then who was sitting there at the bar when I walk in, innocent as you please, looking cute and devilish as ever? That's right - Captain Kangaroo!
Now it's one thing to avoid seeing someone, it's another to resist someone when they just appear, and when you sit next to them you're all over each other as if no time had passed - as if you hadn't written that breakup letter, as if you don't know it's never going ANYWHERE because the F*CKER IS F*CKED UP. Yes, my children, that act of resistance was beyond me.
And now I'm sad and sleep-deprived and crashing and thinking I'm never going to be able to rewrite this book the way they want me to despite three hours spent trying, and why hasn't CBW responded to my invitation for tonight, and why can't The Captain just get his act together and love me?
(Note to mother: please stop reading here.)
I did NOT give up the you-know-what card last night despite massive temptation, and oh, I could sense the ambivalence The Cap's reptilian brain as we steamed up his bedroom - Me want sex! Me no want committment! But me want sex very VERY bad! Sex committment Sex committment maybe maybe maybe NO! ME NO WANT COMMITTMENT! But me want sex - oh but that will do -oh oh OH OHHHHHHHHH. Yeah baby."
Hmmph. I shouldn't have even given him that much. But if it had gone on any longer I might have given up my virtue and GOD KNOWS I CAN'T DO THAT because I'M SAVING IT FOR MY FUTURE HUSBAND!
Damn damn damn damn damn.
OK.
Please move along folks. There's nothing to see here. A little emotional wreckage. A little underslept, undernourished, overstimulated and lovelorn little chickette but nothing more. MOVE ALONG!
Just let me take a nap, god d*mn it.
When I'm scared of never finding love again - as I so often am - I turn to my dreams and I pump them up and inflate them into bright, candy-colored visions of fluff and nothingness.
Oh sure I want to be famous. Sure I want to be a bestselling writer and have people adore me. But it's not what's going to make me a whole person.
What will help is to focus on finding someone with a heart big enough and brave enough to love me forever. Who will be there for me no matter where my artistic dreams take me.
What's NOT going to help me is having a relapse with The Captain. It wasn't intentional, I swear to God! I didn't plan to see him last night! Oh I thought he MIGHT be there, seeing as this friend of his was organizing our little outing. Oh and maybe I mentioned to him I was going but more as a warning so that he WOULDN'T go, really! But then who was sitting there at the bar when I walk in, innocent as you please, looking cute and devilish as ever? That's right - Captain Kangaroo!
Now it's one thing to avoid seeing someone, it's another to resist someone when they just appear, and when you sit next to them you're all over each other as if no time had passed - as if you hadn't written that breakup letter, as if you don't know it's never going ANYWHERE because the F*CKER IS F*CKED UP. Yes, my children, that act of resistance was beyond me.
And now I'm sad and sleep-deprived and crashing and thinking I'm never going to be able to rewrite this book the way they want me to despite three hours spent trying, and why hasn't CBW responded to my invitation for tonight, and why can't The Captain just get his act together and love me?
(Note to mother: please stop reading here.)
I did NOT give up the you-know-what card last night despite massive temptation, and oh, I could sense the ambivalence The Cap's reptilian brain as we steamed up his bedroom - Me want sex! Me no want committment! But me want sex very VERY bad! Sex committment Sex committment maybe maybe maybe NO! ME NO WANT COMMITTMENT! But me want sex - oh but that will do -oh oh OH OHHHHHHHHH. Yeah baby."
Hmmph. I shouldn't have even given him that much. But if it had gone on any longer I might have given up my virtue and GOD KNOWS I CAN'T DO THAT because I'M SAVING IT FOR MY FUTURE HUSBAND!
Damn damn damn damn damn.
OK.
Please move along folks. There's nothing to see here. A little emotional wreckage. A little underslept, undernourished, overstimulated and lovelorn little chickette but nothing more. MOVE ALONG!
Just let me take a nap, god d*mn it.
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