"Wha-choo mean you don't like my Prada flip flops? Damn girl, you picky bitch."

It's moments like these that remind me that I'm not fully aware of the filtering my brain does. This mental kodak moment came back to me today, as I had a interesting discussion with my female co-workers. Our topic: relationship deal breakers.

My list:
1) Strong attachments to either his mother or an ex-girlfriend.
2) Unwillingness to introduce you to his family or friends.
3) Cheats on me.
4) Looking through my stuff, including email, phone messages, and bedroom drawers.
5) A Cher collection.
6) Illegal drug usage and/or dealing.
7) Extreme secretiveness.
8) Smells bad.
9) Lives in squalor.
10) Obsessed with porn.
11) Hates cats.
12) Worships George W. Bush.
13) Obsessed with body image and/or working out.
14) Can't take a joke.
15) Is more OCD than me.
16) Has a molest-tache or other strange facial hair that he cannot live without.
17) Need for "bling."
18) Slobbery kisses.
19) Treats women like crap.
20) Has or wishes to have GOLD TEETH.

So, time to survey the audience: what are your relationship deal breakers?

Ah, the life of little drama is less weird than I would ever had thought. Only it leaves me blogless and well-rested. Need to rediscover borderline personality to create interesting rants.

Have broken free from the people suckage mindset by diving into complete silliness. Replaced Mr. Cure with possibly gay man (who loves Blondie and Buffy...hmmm) and lets me revel in my geekiness. Am happy that I can be silly again, and will not feel bad that am ignoring possible pattern.

However, this week has made me proud that I have never resorted to 1) becoming a harpy for male attention, 2) dating a redneck motorcycle salesman who calls me up at 3am drunk and yelling, or 3) fucking a motherfucking midget. My judgment is still on target.

Have had a strange feeling for the last few days that something wicked this way comes. Or I could just be over-sugared.

Ah, June 10th....day of infamy.

Both parents' birthdays. (Forever on, I will run screaming away from any Geminis.)
Their "anniversary." (Yeah, right. I'm staying clear from that one.)
My law school graduation. (Useful, no. Memorable, no. Boring ass smile for the cameras, yes.)
Death of best friend's mom. (Sadness. Best mom I've ever had.)

Emotional turmoil abounds. Fear or face? Avoid or ignore? Drown in Buffy Season 6? Hmm, sounds like a plan.

As much as I loathe the things I do, I make a mighty tasty beer:


GUINNESS: You like to be known as a past-tense
heavy drinker and are full of stories of antics
from your 'youth.' You consider yourself more
mature than those 'other' beer drinkers, and
your taste reflects that.


The Greatest Beer Quiz, ever!
brought to you by Quizilla

What can I say, I'm thick, heady, and old irish men like me. I should just accept it and stop trying to be a Framboise.

Now for a little musical interlude:

You do it to yourself, you do
And that's what really hurts
Is that you do it to yourself
Just you and no one else
You do it to yourself
You do it to yourself

And we'll all float on OK...

Theme for the night: closure to psychological case study.

As I subconsciously judged since the second time I met him--the thought which morphed into the nagging red flag in the back of my mind everytime I was with the "dude"--he's still obsessed with the past. At first, I was drawn as if to a damn bug light to this crazy Jon Favreau behavior. I wanted to understand the nature of the depressed relationship-less man. I wanted to see the flip side of what women typically suffer through. I wanted to be his Dr. Melfi and was promptly emotionally sucked in and stressed out. He was my friend and my pitbull, offering to beat up guys who treated me badly. As usual, my masochistic ways made me like the guy, even care for him. Hence the stress of seeing him make so many interestingly fucked-up decisions. Luckily, the past seems to work into his future. Good for him. I knew this would happen but I'll miss him anyway.

My dad came back home today. He's going to stay. Obviously, it will be very difficult for a while. Emotional wreckage ahead.

I can't stop crying because I'm happy he's back, but really angry that he left in the first place. This leaving and coming back just feeds my abandonment issues. Damn men.

Very appreciative of all the offers to beat the crap out of him though. My friends are the best. Thanks.

Decided to simplify my life... no more drama. No more desperate and dependent yearnings for sad fucks sitting around like Jon Favreau in Swingers. I'm no tall gorgeous blond to turn the eye and make them forget about their burningly disastrous past. But I'm not a cheap beer can to suck dry and toss aside.

Not that I'm god's gift, I'm pretty fucked myself. In attempts to be a nice person, I've been personally involved into a psychological mess of a friendship and subordinated my interests for male attention. I hate myself for it, but couldn't stop. It's as if I felt good to let someone use me emotionally. This last week, I constantly visualized stabbing myself in the chest, and going on with my day as if I didn't have a knife sticking out of me, and twisting the knife around once in a while to remind me how much I hurt myself.

But enough of this gory masochistic mess. Storytime.

Story #1: A sweet man, my co-worker Gene, my father's age, was out yesterday at lunch with his other buddies, other coworkers of his for over 30 years. We get close at my job; we travel a lot and have only each other's company for long periods of time. Anyway, the guy is cracking everyone up and laughing as usual when his eyes roll back into his head and he passes out. He died yesterday, with his friends. He was a helicopter gunner in Vietnam and had his face restructured after he got shot through the bridge of his nose. He was past retirement age and was going to retire this year, waiting for his wife to become eligible. Since a bunch of us were up in DC this week, and we all feel a bit removed and helpless, so we all drank like fish saw each other at our most human and drove home early today. We're going to miss his smiles and "chronic melancholia".

Story #2: One of my best friends, A, got a call at 1 am that his father is in the hospital. He's an older man, but he raised A and his sister by himself after his wife died of ovarian cancer when A was 4 years old. He's a scared old man, who can't speak english, begging for his son to see him. I haven't heard from them, but I hope he's not as bad as they say.

Story #3: Another one of my friends, H, just found out that her big sis from college is in a nursing home in a diabetic coma. She just turned 30.

I'm ashamed that my life is a self-created drama. Do we have to obsess about our lives to feel important, to feel somehow meaningful?