Ode to albatrosses

Well, I survived christmas. Somehow. A lot has happened really, since I last wrote in this anyway. The best word to describe me and blogging right now has to be "neglectful". Well, I shall endeavour to become less negligent and write more in future. New Year's is coming up, maybe I can make a suitable reseolution in reference to me writing more. Or maybe I'll just regurgitate a few of the usual: learn to speak japanese, practice standing on head and other pointless yoga positions, etc. I guess it all depends on whether or not I'm drunk when I make my resolutions. And also probably on whether I'm single or not at the time I write them.

I have a problem. There are two men, one who is brilliant and we share a sense of humour. Thats pretty rare for me, I have too much of a sarcastic slightly nasty sense of humour, most people either don't get it or just think that I'm slightly crazy. But he understands it and comes out with stuff that makes me just want to grin. He just makes me happy and when things first started with him I tried to drop him. I really did, I already had things with two other men and thought my life was complicated enough. But I couldn't seem to dump him, every time I tried he did something that made me laugh more than anything else. I literally told him, look it isn't going to work, don't bother. But somehow he managed to turn it round on me. I like persistence, so I guess maybe thats why I changed my mind.

The other one shouldn't even be counted. Except for the fact that I can't seem to get him out of my head. Which sucks because it makes me feel like I'm sixteen again. I always wanted to feel that specific type of lust again. The infatuation mixed with lust and innocence. Then the weirdest thing happened, I met someone who made me feel like a kid. And not in a bad way, or maybe it is in a bad day. Somehow he just makes me nervous and I want him so much. But I don't want to keep him around. He doesn't make me laugh, and to be honest his personality is kind of irritating.

I don't know. I can't choose, but I don't think I'll ever be given the chance to. It's all so stupid.

Labels: Alcoholism, Being the Duck, Courting, Theatrics

“So what’s he like anyway?”
“Small.”

It doesn’t take a genius to know what she was talking about. It doesn’t take much really, just a certain susceptibility to innuendos. Just the idea was enough to make me think, am I sure that I want things to continue with this man. The implication that he might not be good in the sack and suddenly I’m backing off. Now, that either makes me a complete slut, or it means that there is something really wrong with our society. Is it so important to be well endowed? Women seem divided in opinion. Some are of the opinion that it isn’t the size or shape, it’s what he does with it that counts. Others say its the thickness that’s important, and then there are some that say that a huge dick equals great sex.

I’m not sure what men think, I’m sure their opinions probably vary as their sizes vary, a man who is less endowed would probably maintain that it isn’t important while a well endowed man would say that it was. A lot of men seem to be under the impression that they are considerably larger than they are. Wishful thinking really. They’ll ask you whether you think they’re big and you can’t exactly say, “actually, I’ve seen bigger.” And you aren’t going to if you’re about to shag him, unless of course you are very drunk and in a particularly vidictive mood.

Romans (or some other people approximately around then) found it vulgar to see large phallus’s so in all their statues made small ones. And they had a lot of statues. But then going back waaaaay before then you get absolutely ginormous ones expressed in art. Like that chalk person, can’t remember the name now, the one carved on a hill. Anyway.

Everyone seems to have an obsession with size. Actually, everyone seems to have an obsession with cocks in general. I can understand it, but the size just seems over rated. If I hear that a guy is small I shouldn’t suddenly start to worry, it shouldn’t be important. Admittedly I don’t want anything more than a fling so whether he is a good shag is pretty important as its going to be practically the only part of the relationship. But size doesn’t really matter, the performance can be just as good whatever.

Right?

Labels: Courting, Pleasure

He didn’t say goodbye, he just kissed me once at the base of my neck. That was the last time I saw him. He was useless at hello’s, but his goodbye’s had style. I know that now if anyone mentions his name, it will sortly be followed by them laughing. I’ll wince too, because I just can’t help wondering what the hell I was thinking. The boy was a walking disaster area. An annoying, drunken disaster area who played more games with me than I played with him.

I’m nostalgic. A dumb female who, surprisingly, knows when she’s got it good. Which, I suppose, makes it much worse that I’m not happy. And I’ve gotta be dumb to be nostalgic for him. He wasn’t even a fling, just someone who repeatedly hit on me. Though I suppose that those of more cynical natures could point out that he also repeatedly pulled me.

It’s nearly christmas. You’ve got to look back over the year’s mistakes and feel a certain amount of nostalgia. If you don’t then you simply aren’t human. I’m going to have to write a new set of new year’s resolutions that I probably won’t fulfil. Worse, I’ll have to go back and find last year’s resolutions. Then I’ll be both shocked and horrified at the progress I haven’t made. Sometimes it feels like I’m going backwards.

I’m tired. I’ve always been cynical and lonely, but now I’m tired too. Being single is a way of life, it’s so hard just to give up for someone, no matter how fucking fabulous their car is. Maybe I’m just being stupid. I know I’m being stupid about Bench- disaster areas are not attractive. But Mark is perfect in every possible way and I’m acting like a spoilt brat.

The gold digger in me is screaming that I should throw myself at his feet and beg him to shag me. But I’ve obviously not got the heart of a gold digger because I’m acting more hot and cold than a very confused water boiler. I do like him. But I don’t really have the time or energy for a relationship, or even the pursuit of one. With men I’m pretty low maintenance. I don’t need to be taken out all the time and I don’t get jealous if they flirt with other girls. But I’m tactile, I guess I just need to be thrown on my back and told what’s gonna happen next. Men are the hunters and believe me, sometimes I need to be hunted. But other times I need to be the hunter, and with him I sort of felt like I was. Then I got him. And the joy just seems to have disappeared. To make it interesting he has to go after me now.

That’s why I’m nostalgic. I get bored easily and need to be messed around a little, if you don’t play games with me I’m going to play games with you. And if you don’t prolong it then I’ll win, and when that happens my interest disappears.

Labels: Coquetry, Courting, Past tense

When I walked out the house it was raining. I ran back in and got my umbrella and tripped up as I ran up the stairs. I was late. This isn’t exactly unusual, lateness and me are things that quite commonly spend time together, especially when it’s important that I’m on time. It was a sign, the torrential rain, the lateness, the tripping up. Seperately they’re pretty much mundane stuff, but together they were a bad sign. I can’t help it, I’m cynical of anything religious, political, or even vaguely related to the way people react to things. But I’m superstitious, I’m not sure whether it’s a contradiction, but I can’t help it. I won’t put an umbrella up in the house, and I read tarot cards. Worse, I listen to people who claim to be psychic, whatever they say. Even when they say the world is going to end, though I’ve gotta say that I do take those people with a pinch of salt and will look out for any other signs of madness that they might be exhibiting.

So if I see something that appears to be a sign… I worry. But it was ok, I didn’t need to worry. I had fun, and he was so nice. He treated me well, he had a nice smile, he was sooo nice!!!!!!!!!!! And I hate nice. I’ll take dangerous, or wild any day, cocky, even a total shit head. So I know I’m screwed up. And I’m wasting my time thinking about signs.

I’ve been wasting so much time lately. With the tarot cards that tell me stuff that I already know, or tell me that I’ll eventually manage to lose the unlucky-in-love thing I’ve got going on. But I don’t know… Before I left I checked my tarot cards and they told me absolutely nothing. Then I went out and I had fun. It was good, he was nice, we did the ritual and yeah, I didn’t hate it. But that isn’t what I want.

Labels: Being the Duck, Courting, Superstition

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