пятница, 30 марта 2012 г.

суббота, 24 марта 2012 г.

Does this seem believable?

1. I fell in love.
2. I screwed up.
3. Since I lost the biggest love of my life (see 2.) I decided I'd make myself another.
4. I have a daughter with a man whom I truly love and deeply respect, but we both have separate lives.
5. My daughter does not need a permanent live-in father figure because she has a real father.
6. I can't have a man in the house (see 5.).
7. I decided to get a humongous crush on an unattainable man.
8. D. is the perfect man for that.
8.1. I've already had a little crush on him for ages.
8.2. He is in a committed relationship.
8.3. He is gay.
See, it all adds up, doesn't it? Of course, as all those things were happening, I had no inkling. In retrospect, however, things are much clearer.

пятница, 23 марта 2012 г.

Gross

Some people say they hate gays because of anal sex, they find it disgusting. Well, honestly, I find all kinds of sex disgusting unless it's filmed for television with perfect lighting, sound, makeup, and beautiful people. In real life sex is gross, no matter how you spin it. Naturally, it's great fun and I enjoy it just as much as the next person, but still, it smells funny, sounds weird and looks ridiculous. (Not to mention all those extra inches in my mid-section that must have miraculously descended from my boobage section.)

Just because people do disgusting things, it is no reason to hate them! I find it hard to understand why someone would hate my gay friend for anal sex with another guy but would be ok with me doing it? Is it really about being gay or straight or about being gross? Because, come one, we all do pretty gross stuff, gay or straight. It's not all about candy hearts and flowers, at the end of the day, we all sit on similar toilets and wipe our asses with similar toilet paper, why do homophobes fixate on it?

вторник, 20 марта 2012 г.

Update on March 9

http://yoonzena.blogspot.com/2012/03/man.html
He did make it, surprisingly. His friends offered him to sleep over but he didn't. I can only presume there was no one to stay over with. For which I'm glad to whatever Force arranged that.
Can't help it. He makes me happy. Maybe he's the one. You know. The perfect man for me. Never around for longer that a few heated hours, always keeping up the suspence - is it the last time he comes over, or will there be another? How soon will he decide to settle with a sensible gal who'll have enough power to chain him down?
I wonder, if he stops calling and coming over, what will I do? Probably nothing, like last time we took a few years' pause. Still, I'm grateful he comes back from time to time, if only a few times a year. Strokes my ego. Amongst other things.

Photos

I don't know. Every time I find his photo on the Internet my stomach lurches. The yearning to taste him is damn near unbearble. God he looks good. God the memories feel good. And we never even did anything to jeopardize his marriage. No. We were so damn good. So well-behaved. So chaste. Like bloody teenagers doing nothing their parents didn't explicitly allow them to do. Except I fell hard. He of course never showed if he even had a clue. Hopefully not. Cause that'd have been embarrassing at my age, even back then. Would certainly be beyond mortifying now, if he learned I was still pining and stuff.
I know it's worth it. What's a few years of pining against a happy marriage? Nothing. I should be proud I didn't let him stray. But I just feel stupid.
I feel stupid. Oh so stupid.
I feel stupid, and thick-skulled, and dumb.
Or maybe I should have let him. You know. Should have committed the crime. Maybe I wouldn't be feeling so guilty and heartbroken now, looking at his latest publicity shot.

пятница, 9 марта 2012 г.

Man

1. Fiction. Nick Hornby. High Fidelity.
He lets you right into the inner workings of a male mind. It's most unnerving, how creepily similar a guy's marbles are to my own.

2. Life. Phone calls.
Why does he call at about 9-10 pm to tell me he's drinking vodka out of town but might be coming over for a shag later? I can tell he's not going to make it anywhere beyond whoseever bed he's about to collapse in. He know it just as surely as I do.
Also, he always calls my landline. Does he do it to check up on me? Not likely. He knows I never go out at night (except last Saturday, and that was a one-in-five-years thing).
Does he do it to prevent me from going out after hours? Not likely. Where would I go after 10 pm? Even if he doesn't come, I'll still be in. He knows I'm always at home, and even if I'm not particularly waiting for him, I won't say no to what he has to offer. He's a mind-blowing, reality-altering lay, what straight woman in her right mind would say no to that???

So, why on earth does he do it? What's the point?