Smatterings of sanity.
(otherwise known as "there is no real point to this post".)
 
Today is Sunday, July 25th.  It's an anniversary, of sorts ... it's been two weeks since I had sex.  I think I'm spiraling into a form of depression, as I've just pretty much slept my weekend away.  Jesus jumping Christ on a pogo stick, I forgot how much I missed sex.  Not just the regular rendez-vous with my b/o/b, but skin-on-skin, body-on-body sex.   I didn't realize how much, until I became a faithful reader of Koochie Taster ... that man could charm me out of my bikinis with his words.  This made me think ... hmm ... you know, if I'm going to not get any, then I could have just tolerated R's indiscretions and at least had some companionship.  So, I did what any sane single jailbait-kissing woman would do ... I bought a companion.  A fish.

Now, I realize that this isn't really earth-shattering news for most people, with one exception:  I'm a serial fishy murderer.  Every time I name a fish, it dies.    So really, I feel a twinge of guilt about actually getting another fish, but hey ... I'm just hoping that it's OK for a while.  I really like Betta fish.  The new fish is bluish-purple on his body, that fades into a bright red on his beautiful fins and tail.  He's pretty small, so I'm assuming he's fairly young.   I am determined not to continue my fishy-murdering streak.   I have embarked on an educational spree, starting with BettaTalk (highly recommended, if you have Betta fishies). 

Regarding my love life (or lack thereof):  I'm about ..:: thisclose ::.. to giving J the boot.  I mean, telling him to just fuck off.  I'm pretty tired of letting him mind-fuck me.  For instance, take this string of email from Friday:

-h.:  I have a date with a brutally hot chick tomorrow.  (think I'm taking myself to see Catwoman - there's just something about Halle Berry with a whip that drives me wild ...)

J:  Who is the brutally hot chick? She into group sex? Ha ha. :-P

-h.: Well, Halle Berry is a total hottie.  And I was informed today that I am a rather attractive woman (gasp!  sexual harassment in the workplace!).  So, I guess the answer to "who's the hottie" is "either woman".  And sorry, if Halle is into group sex, I get first dibs.  :)

J:  Oh I thought you meant you and a hot chick was going to see that show.

-h.:  Gee. Thanks.  So, what you're saying is that I don't make your "hottie" list.  Hmmm.  You're going to make me cry.  Wah.  (although I will give you that I pale in comparison to Halle.  She's tasty.)

J:  Don't you dare put words in my mouth, I never said that.

- end of meaningful discussion -

And then I don't hear from him for two fucking days?  Whatever.  WHAT THE HELL EVER.  If he wants a fuck-buddy, fine.  He's hot, great in bed, and I'm cool with that.  But if that's what he wants, he shouldn't expect me to babysit him all day at work, and listen to him piss and moan about his customers, aching back, blah blah blah.  He shouldn't be talking the "I want to be a family man, I'm tired of being a freak" line, if he doesn't f-ing mean it.   Don't talk shit about tying me up and making love to me all night long, and then don't call for two days.   Be a man, be honest, quit humping my brain with your juvenile bullshit.   You either want a piece of ass on the side, or you want a meaningful relationship with a woman, make up your GOD DAMNED MIND.   End of rant.

I guess this entire rant has been brought on by the fact that I got smacked upside the head with something (actually someone)  this weekend that I never expected in a million years.  I won't get into it yet, for fear that I will jinx it.  But I will just say, for now, that this could be fun.  I think I like this.  I KNOW I like this.  I just need to let my guard down and let it happen.

More later, I'm sure ... love to all.

9 PM EDIT (yes, P, I know I'm supposed to be writing my paper):   I generally hold my correspondence in the strictest confidence, asking permission to post any snippets (reference M's rant about folding her ass into her trash can and singing everyone's favorite song).  But I posted a very small part of the conversation between J and I because it seems that I whine about how he is mind-fucking me without concrete proof.  There is far more than this, of course, but this is a minor proof of the shit he throws at me and expects me to just wait around patiently for His Royal Hotness.  Just FYI.  Ahh, maybe chivalry is dead after all ... not all men can be polite and kind, right?