overdue

this weekend, i went to the hollywood land cemetery to watch Alien. for those who don't know, hollywood cemetery is huge cemetery in LA where famous and regular folks are buried, and during the summer, they show movies there. outside. on a wall. it's like a drive-in with gravestones and no cars. i thought it'd be a little freaky, but in actuality i felt bad for the dead people (and their families). i mean, who wants 1000+ people picnicking, getting drunk and watching a movie at the cemetery where their aunt ethel is buried? and who comes up with such an idea? anyway, i'd always wanted to go. i'm glad i did, but it was much better in theory than in reality. i think i was uncomfortable because i was so cold and damp, and the couple in front of me kept fondling one another, so i had to keep moving to see around them.

before the movie, we all sat on blankets and chairs and ate. my co-worker's friend was there...this guy she has been trying to match me up with since February. the first time i saw him, i wasn't paying much attention because i thought his friend was cute. the second time, i thought "absolutely not." this time, i thought "maybe." what got me was the fact that he REMEMBERED shit that i'd said the last time we saw each other. like he actually was listening. when we were in line at the cemetery, he asked me how my fantasy football teams were doing, how my writing was going, who the cowboys were playing the next day. when we sat down, he even poured me a glass of wine because as he said, "i remember that you don't like beer." it was incredible. listening and retaining information is SUCH a turn on. i was so dumbstruck that i couldn't even think of smart things to ask back, or say for that matter. like when i said i was probably going to close my eyes during Alien because i thought it would be scary (it wasn't), and he said something like, "well that kinda defeats the purpose." and i said something like, "well, i'll just pretend i'm blind and experience the movie as a blind person would." omg. dumb! it felt dumb coming out. a train wreck of words. i can't believe i finished that sentence. he just nodded and smiled. he was such a....what's the word...jen-- gyn-- gentleman! that's it. he was such a gentleman. he gave me some of his cheese and bread and offered me some salami, which in my book, equates to "romance."

when the movie was over, he came over and asked, "how'd you like it?" his friend answered, so i assumed he was talking to him, but when i looked, he was staring at me, and again i found myself completely thrown. like, you just got up off your blanket and took three steps over here JUST to ask me what i thought about the movie? my response was, "i'm alive." what? of course, you're alive. as if the alien was going to jump out and eat you. dumb. then i managed to say something like "it wasn't that scary." to try to make my previous statement make sense. to top it off, when we were trying to figure out what to do next, he turned to me and said, "what are YOU up for?" me? are you talking to me?

clearly, my standards for simple men-women exchanges are below low. that's sad. anyway, he's in his early 30s (a good thing) and has a job and an education and all that, so he's a good guy. but i'm still not sure we would ever date.

anyway, i got home a little before 2 a.m. and proceeded to put on my pajamas and a pair of platform heels then clomped around on my hard wood floors. i decided that if i have to listen to my neighbor stomp her chunky feet around and be annoyed then i would do my part to annoy her at the most inopportune time. i'm not sure if it worked, but it made me feel good.

switching topics...let's say you're single and your friend or co-worker tells you about her boyfriend or the guy she's dating and how wonderful he is and how many trips they take and how much money and orgasms he gives her. now let's say at some point, you don't want to hear it. does that make you a bad friend? i'm inclined to say yes. now...don't get me wrong. i think that being subjected involuntarily to those tales is slightly cruel and unusual. it's like telling a carnivore whose jaw is wired shut how juicy your t-bone steak was or telling an amputee how great you think your legs are. yet in spite of the fact that it can be difficult...IS difficult at times, i still say it's rude to not want to listen. obviously, i'm speaking as the listener here, not the story teller. and it isn't always bad...in fact, sometimes, i want to know, as a someone who wants to share in her friend's clitoral and financial joy. sometimes i want to live vicariously. but there are times...many times...when stories involving love and multiple orgasms in a maserati are the last things i want to hear.

this leads me to my final (and totally unrelated) point of the day. today, my mom said to me for the millionth time, "that just means god has something better for you" in reference to something i didn't get. what prompted her to say that is irrelevant. i wasn't really all that burnt up about not getting it anyway, but that time-worn statement got me thinking. is that really true? does god always have something better for us? or is that simply something we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel better (those of us who have told ourselves that)? can you honestly say that every person who's had their heartbroken has ended up with someone better than the last person? has every person who's been fired ended up with a better job? it doesn't even have to be in the immediate future. but long term? i don't think that's the case. maybe it's the fault of that individual (i.e. if they'd stop falling for the same assholes or stop limiting their potential they WOULD get something better). then again...maybe not. i don't know. i'd like to believe it. i do...most of the time. however, one might consider rephrasing it to read, "god will eventually give you something better. maybe not this year or next. maybe not even for several years. but eventually, you'll get yours. if you don't go crazy first."

i am on some philosophical shit today in L.A.

rehab

i did my part to help end global warming this weekend and went absolutely nowhere. well, i didn't drive anywhere. saturday, i left my house when i ran down the sidewalk barefoot in my pajamas, chasing after the pizza man because i forgot to give him part of his tip, and i didn't want him to think i was a cheap-ass. sunday, i left my house between the cowboys and the colts games for some chin chin and pinkberry, but that was on foot, and all my items were to-go, so my human contact was limited. i'd had enough human contact on friday when, after i work, i met a friend at fatburger (delicious food, yet it always seems to have oddest, grimiest crowd), and then i spent the remainder of the night at the laundrymat. i planned, yes planned, to go on friday night because i thought no one else would be there. i was mistaken. it was like the breakfast club times 20 except without the rich girl or the jock, just all the other delinquents (don't think i'm excluding myself. afterall, i was there on friday night with them). i even saw a homeless man who appeared to casually "shop" through the clothes left in an unattended dryer. i also saw a baby roach. laudrymats gross me out. lord only knows who stuck their clothes in the washer/dryer before you. yeesh. a shirt of mine fell on the floor while i was transporting it from the washing machine to the dryer. i thought about throwing it away. i certainly couldn't put it in the dryer with the clean clothes. i still haven't decided what to do with it. right now it's lying on the back of a chair at my house, awaiting its sentence. i could keep it until i go back to that godforsaken place, but who knows when that will be. i was kinda over that shirt anyway...

while willingly confined to my house i read new moon, the second book in the twilight series. yes, i'm one of thooooose people. watched countless hours of football, the wire, cheaters...and whatever else wasn't going to end with someone caressing someone else's face.

saturday night, i got a text from someone talking shit about the cowboys. i didn't recognize the number, so my inner nancy drew kicked in. i dialed a fake number using the same area code of the text. ohio. deductive reasoning ensued. "the cowboys are playing the browns. who do i know that likes the browns?" i deduced that it had to be this guy who i hadn't talked to since...january maybe. we met at a lounge. went out once. he was a "texter," and one day, i blocked text messages on my phone, so that was the end of that. i figured he thought i just decided to ignore him since i don't think he knew about my texting situation, so i was surprised that he would contact me after all these months and pick up where we left off...talking shit. we sent a few messages back and forth, made a bet which he lost the next day, yadah yadah. amidst all of this, i start to think, "hmmm...maybe i could...he was funny and nice...why didn't i....oh, yeah..." funny, nice, motivated, yes. attractive he was not. not to me. not the second time i saw him. not from the front anyway. his profile was cool, but head on... i don't know. it's weird because at the lounge, he was cute from the front. but at the restaurant, not so much. and by the time we got back to his house, i was over it. claiming that i was freezing, i put my coat over my head and balled up on the couch like a rollie pollie in hopes that he would not try to put his lips on me. i was still pining over the old boy at that point too (home depot boy), so i'm sure that didn't help.

speaking of which...i sort of broke that promise about having nothing to do with him anymore. of course, i did. between wednesday and friday, we exchanged 20+ emails in a conversation which started by me asking if he thought we would ever date again (which was sparked by someone asking me). his response, in typical boy fashion, was "i can't answer that. i'm not clairvoyant. however if you're asking if i think we COULD ever date again, then yea. why not? why? what do you think?" i responded by saying, "i'm not clairvoyant, but yea. why not?" more emails followed (including him asking me what i REALLY thought) and at the end, i was more confused though he'd said nothing negative. so for real now. i'm gettin' clean. no more. i can't deal. i need simple, straightforward love and lust.
my name is manlessdogless, and i have been clean for three days now in L.A.

there are no words...

think about your most annoying co-worker. now imagine having sex with that person.

that's what i did last night in one of the many weird dreams i had. interestingly enough, my most annoying co-worker is a chick. not like a hot chick. but a frumpy, nose-blowing, only eats lentils and wheat germ type chick. a chick who laughs after everything she says even when it's not funny. "my computer's not working. ha ha ha." "hold the elevator! ha ha ha." a took her cousin to the prom chick. an every time she speaks i cringe chick.

not only was i having sex with her, but it was non-reciprocal sex. i was doing all the work! my face was fully in her stash (omg! i can't believe that a) this happened and b) i'm repeating it). it was a full on cunnilingus tutorial, and i was the expert.
i need a moment...
okay, so as i try to forget that i imagined what her hairless vag looks like, i wonder what the f made me even go there in the first place. you probably think that deep down, i want her, well let me just clear that up with a "hell no." obviously, the first order of business is to recall what i was thinking about when i feel asleep. i was lying on my couch, listening to alicia keys and, per yesterday's post, thinking "i'm through with men." now, i just meant through dealing with them and thinking about them not like switching teams. but perhaps my subconscious didn't know the difference. and in an effort to convince me that that was a bad idea, it concocted this dream as if to say "are you sure? you sure that's really what you want? you want to be through with men? oooookay, well this is what you're going to get." okay. okay! i'm sorry. sweet lord. i'm sorry. i apologize for accidentally telling my subconscious that i was about to pull a lohan. i'm sorry! now please erase these images from my mind. and if you'd REALLY like to convince me, you could send me a nice penis attached to a funny, monogamous, ambitious, childless, clean, intelligent male. thanks.
i am afraid to go to sleep tonight in L.A.

same ol' song and dance

football practice was superb. not because of the fabulous bodies but because I actually worship the sport. the players were quite nice to look at, don’t get me wrong. but college boys are too young for even me (i’ve decided to cap myself at 25. 24 if he’s tall and looks like he could be 25). besides, if i was going to date any man on that field, it would be pete carroll. he is my older gentleman crush.

i attended/participated in my third wedding of the summer this past weekend. it was a creole-vietnamese union, so there was a mix of both cultures in the ceremony, food, etc. in honor of new orleans, there was a drink called the hurricane. in honor of being single, i drank several of them. i’m not a drinker at all, but this was quite the beverage. and after three ceremonies of people pledging undying love and “i don’t know how i lived before you,” a drink named after a natural disaster was fitting. now i am officially on wedding hiatus.

monday, the ex came over to “hang some more stuff.” this was the final chapter in our home depot-style rendezvous. after he’d hung everything imaginable and i’d performed the devinyls’ “i touch myself” (complete with vocals and dancing) and berlin’s “take my breath away” (by request), i was prepared to send him out the door with a carnitas burrito and a smile. i was! but he stuck around and started poking my sides, which led to a round of fisticuffs, which led to him throwing me over his shoulder and tossing me onto the bed, which should have led to us making out but did not. instead, it led to yet another round of fisticuffs, which led to him picking me up and putting me in the bathtub and threatening to turn the water on, which seeing as how there were no lights on in the bathroom, should have led to us making out but did not. then i tried to sock him in his manly bits, which led to him dragging me into the kitchen and putting my head in the sink and again threatening with the water, and again since there were no lights on in the kitchen…you know where i’m going (re-reading this, i realize you might feel compelled to call an abuse hotline. worry not. it’s all in good fun). finally, he hugged me and left. seconds later, there was a knock on the door. i opened it to find him standing there. “wait,” he said. already i’m thinking, “is he going to kiss me? how romantic!” he raced up the stairs toward me, put his head in the doorway and asked, “where’s my hat?” i told him i didn’t know where his stupid hat was, which was a lie; i’d hid it. yes, we’re 5 year olds. i know!

and now i think i need to put an end to this. no more seeing him. really, what will it get me? i will just continue to get sugar highs when i’m with him, then crash and burn afterward, smoldering for days. who knew it would be so unhealthy to have so much fun with someone? so in an effort to temper my masochistic ways, i’ll have to say “so long, sweetness.” but now that everything has been hung, that shouldn’t be a problem…

i desperately need some pinkberry RIGHT NOW in L.A.

the week from shitsville

it was probably best that i stay away from this thing because anything i had to say was going to be dripping with negativity. i know, i know. that's so not healthy, and i will attract what i put out, yadah yadah. however, i can't help but be a sourpuss right now, and sometimes i think it's necessary for all of us to indulge out inner-sourpusses (or would that be sourpussies?) in order to experience the natural spectrum of human emotion. this week alone has been quite wretched.

first, my fantasy football draft did not go as planned. though i have some strong WRs (reggie wayne, randy moss), a good QB (carson palmer) and an excellent TE (witten), my RBs are questionable. and you always need good RBs! my competitive nature, the fact that i would like to continue to be reigning champion and the $40 i stand to lose all have me concerned about this.

then i learned that some of my personal emails were opened and read by a third party (i believe what happened is i didn't log out of my account, they saw a subject title or two that interested them, and they decided to read the emails). i subsequently spent sunday evening apologizing for what was said in them. then i spent all monday and tuesday growing more upset over the fact that my privacy was breached by people i trusted. dude! how do you just read somebody's email?? privacy, much like chivalry, is dead.

then i was on that terrible celebrity website that i said i was going to stay away from. of course, the one day i go on, surprise! i saw the name of this guy i went out with once or twice...a year and a half ago. i wasn't all that gaga over him at the time because i liked somebody else. so i put all my eggs in that faulty basket. a month later, that basket forgot how to use a phone and my eggs and my heart were left broken, splattered and fried on hot concrete. so i imdb this guy who was mentioned on that celeb site. so he's doing quite well for himself in terms of his career, but i didn't care so much about that as how gotdamn fine he was. like, was he that hot before? he got some facial hair and shit, and now he's all like...woah! so of course, i felt like an ass. my mom didn't make me feel any better when she called me, screaming into my voicemail about how cute he is and how cute her grandchildren could be. so...i emailed him. my email started with "you might not remember me but..." his email started with "you're right. i don't remember you..." awesome. i replied, telling him it was no big deal. it was a while ago. then i went home, stuffed myself with pinkberry and cursed myself for being such a former and current idiot. the next day, i received an enthusiastic email that said he did remember me and asked me how i was doing (so i guess the story has a somewhat pleasant ending). that same night, my mom told me she had a dream about our engagement party and reminded me that she's part psychic. seriously, does she say this stuff to inspire me?

then there's my ex-ex-boyfriend (not the threesome one, another one...but they have the same name. in fact, so does Hottie McHot pants from the website. all the guys i've mentioned in this entry have the same name. i should stay away from them.) who called and told me how much he misses me and wants to see me like he always does then casually informed me that he lives with his girlfriend (in a tone that suggested i should already know that tidbit). are you kidding me, you selfish bastard? granted, i don't want him, and i'd rather eat this computer screen than see him naked again, but he has some nerve. some nerve!

amidst all of this, i had to go to the gyno and get my cervix swabbed; listen to my neighbor, who i've christened Rotunda, continue to make her rounds upstairs; come to work everyday; come to work AND listen to husband tales and baby stories; come to work AND perform a SKIT about COMMUNITY; come to work AND actually do work, all the while pretending to give a shit.

i'm bitching. i should be more grateful. after all, i got free ribs today at work. i'll do better next week. promise. and the weekend looks promising. my boss is taking me to USC's football practice tomorrow morning, so i "can meet someone." you know you must be pretty pitiful if your BOSS is using her weekend time to find you a man.

i am really glad no one actually reads my blog in L.A. (or beyond)

one, two, three, ACTION!

so last night, my ex and i were talking about what movie we are going to see for his birthday, yadah yadah, long story short he said he would sleep with me, but only in a threesome situation.
wtf?
i had to explain why i was offended by that comment.
i came up with what i now realize was a lame analogy.
"so basically, it's like if i make an apple pie, and you're like hell no. i'm not eating your pie. f*ck that. but then you see this naked girl eating my pie, and you're like, okay, i'll have some of your pie, but only because this naked girl is having some." his response was something to the effect of...he couldn't sleep with me one-on-one because there would be emotions involved. whereas in a threesome situation it's purely physical. so it's not that he hasn't wanted to "eat my pie" it's just that he thought it would make things too hard and we wouldn't be as close as we are today.
"fine....but that's still f*cked up, you know that, right?"
yes, he said.
when are trios a good idea? if it involves people that you have no emotional baggage for, then i guess they're a fine pasttime (if you're the adventurous, non-jealous type). however, i can't even remotely imagine doing that with someone i care about. seriously?? and who is the third party supposed to be? certainly not someone he knows because he's probably already messed around with her or has been wanting to, and i refuse to be a party to that. and it can't be one of my friends because i don't want to know the terrain, texture, hills and valleys of my friends' snatches (or any girl's for that matter). and i don't want him to either. and it can't be a stranger because that's kinda gross. and what do you do? put an ad on craigslist?

wanted: female to be third leg in FMF love triangle. must be clean. hot enough to get the guy excited but not so hot that she makes the girl feel insecure. must be good in bed but not so good that she outshines the other girl. must be willing to leave immediately afterward and never try to make contact again.

plus, i'd have to use a fake name because i wouldn't want her going to the enquirer when i'm all trying to win my emmy. and what on earth am i supposed to do while they are having their "time?" do the soundtrack? applaud? stretch?
i know this is a common occurrence, so i'm not knocking it or dissing it. i'm just curious.
i hate to break his heart. he was so excited by the mere prospect, like a pup who smells sausage on your breath.
but i can't.
i'm not going down like that.
i'm not going down at all actually.
i didn't know it took three people to get one person laid in L.A.

meeting the masturbator

i finally met her.
well, first i met her ass.
she was bent over in a pair of spandex tights. the fabric had thinned (or escaped to freedom), so i could clearly see her moon-pale ass rising and rolling out of that fabric like dough that had cracked-out on yeast.
the rest of her followed suit. if the michelin man had a sister--michelina, no doubt--she would pretty much look like this. pale, marshmellowey, with rolls and muffin tops and loaves coming at you from so many angles you'd swear you were at a pillsbury convention.
her voice was thick too and had the bitter, hardened edge of a woman whose pussy has seen more batteries and plastic than a mattel factory. she was standing on the steps leading up to her apartment when i asked her if she was my upstairs neighbor. yes, she said. i introduced myself, and then we stared at each other. her probably thinking, "i wonder if she's going to have thugs over here and play rap music." me thinking, "i can totally hear you fucking yourself." the moment ended with me simply walking away, feeling oddly satisfied. the chronic masturbation suddenly made sense, AND my theory that it was in fact a one person act i had repeatedly been awakened by seemed completely plausible. i mean, no one's tapping that. and NOT because she's a big girl. big girls need and receive plenty of love (more power to them), but when you tack on 5-6 decades, a stank attitude, anti-social tendencies and spandex, it's a recipe for not getting laid. now her exuberant self-gratification is justifiable, and i am somewhat comforted. that doesn't mean i excuse it, enjoy it or am not freaked out by it, but i feel better than i did when i thought she was merely some sex-addicted, big time exec who just didn't have time for a man. selfish and ridiculous, yes. but so is humping a fake dick so hard you wake up your neighbor.
i have since invested in ear plug balls and a radio on which i sometimes play rap music in L.A.