Ahhhh... I'm doing this again. I didn't think I would but I am.
I'm venting about my relationships on my blog. Ew.
So the gentleman from the bellow post and I have fallen hard for one another. Painfully hard. Even though I feel like I'm so in love with him, I also feel like my heart is breaking all the time. I feel like a little girl. I just want to be noticed all the time. This is going to sound like the most pathetic thing, because it is, but I actually had to delete his number from my phone to keep from texting him today.
He told me he wanted me to let him in and tell him everything, but I dont think he realized how much their really is. I'm honestly more comfortable hiding everything from him so I think I'm going to go back to that. I don't want to be a drama queen so I'm going to ignore him for awhile. Try to make myself lose interest a little.
Uhh. I guess that's it for now.
Over and Out
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Making Love
So I've been seeing a young man who works with me. This is not the time nor the place to be rambling about our psuedo-relationship, but I've got to do it somewhere.
For the purposes of this blog I will begin calling him James Blunt, James for short. Not to be [in any way] confused with that terrible singer/songwriter.
James are I have been working together for several months, but were always in seperate relationships and had only said hello and goodbye in passing. Something very strange and magical happened recently and we both were released from our wreched relationships. Almost instantly we started texting each other all the time and he would stay later to talk to me every day.
Very quickly, lets backtrack to when we first began working together. He is tall and skinny and my-type-y and I thought he was very cute. I honestly judged him to be boring and densish. He seemed like a total bro. Holy shit! I was so wrong!
Last week I asked him to go see a movie with me. I called it a "not-date", as I often do. Not-dates are very similar to "friend dates". The only difference is that I am interested in the person I go on the not-date with. So here we are, watching this terrible movie [Watchmen review coming soon], and he puts his hand on my knee. I, of course, put my hand on his and there it stayed for the greater portion of the movie. Then I kissed him. His lips were soft. He tasted so good. I just smiled. I can't believe I did that.
After the absolute abortion that is Watchmen is over, he walks me to my car. We kiss. It's heavy, passionate, and perfect. I end up pinned with my back against my car as we kiss and let me tell you, you could fucking see the heat rising off of us! We stop. We're in public. Too weird. We part ways.
[note: this story will get weird and steamy very soon]
The movie was on Friday night. Sunday, I drive two towns over, like a fucking chump, to see him. We've been texting each other constantly. We can't get out of each other's minds. Blah blah blah.
I get to his place, and it's instant. Tearing each other's clothes off. Wild passion. Then, out of nowhere, this skinny white boy pulls a dick the size of my forearm out of his pants. WHAT?! I was a little excited, mostly scared. We made love. I want to say we had sex, fucked, copulated, consumated. But really, we made love. I was nervous. It hurt a little at first. He is so sweet. He kept asking if it hurt and slowing down. It felt amazing. Everything did. The kiss, the sex, even just the way he ran his fingers over the small of my back.
We got lost in the moment, something I've certainly never done with anyone else. I'm cynical and clinical. I didn't believe in love, much less two [way too young] people's ability to make it. He honestly wants to look into my eyes. He wants to kiss the tip of my nose and my forehead.
The night ended in him not being aware of my lack of birth control options and one of those big, possibly life-changing OOPS! moments.
Monday morning I buy Plan B at Rite Aide.
Tune in for the next installment entitled "Get Over Her" sometime in the near future.
Over and Out.
For the purposes of this blog I will begin calling him James Blunt, James for short. Not to be [in any way] confused with that terrible singer/songwriter.
James are I have been working together for several months, but were always in seperate relationships and had only said hello and goodbye in passing. Something very strange and magical happened recently and we both were released from our wreched relationships. Almost instantly we started texting each other all the time and he would stay later to talk to me every day.
Very quickly, lets backtrack to when we first began working together. He is tall and skinny and my-type-y and I thought he was very cute. I honestly judged him to be boring and densish. He seemed like a total bro. Holy shit! I was so wrong!
Last week I asked him to go see a movie with me. I called it a "not-date", as I often do. Not-dates are very similar to "friend dates". The only difference is that I am interested in the person I go on the not-date with. So here we are, watching this terrible movie [Watchmen review coming soon], and he puts his hand on my knee. I, of course, put my hand on his and there it stayed for the greater portion of the movie. Then I kissed him. His lips were soft. He tasted so good. I just smiled. I can't believe I did that.
After the absolute abortion that is Watchmen is over, he walks me to my car. We kiss. It's heavy, passionate, and perfect. I end up pinned with my back against my car as we kiss and let me tell you, you could fucking see the heat rising off of us! We stop. We're in public. Too weird. We part ways.
[note: this story will get weird and steamy very soon]
The movie was on Friday night. Sunday, I drive two towns over, like a fucking chump, to see him. We've been texting each other constantly. We can't get out of each other's minds. Blah blah blah.
I get to his place, and it's instant. Tearing each other's clothes off. Wild passion. Then, out of nowhere, this skinny white boy pulls a dick the size of my forearm out of his pants. WHAT?! I was a little excited, mostly scared. We made love. I want to say we had sex, fucked, copulated, consumated. But really, we made love. I was nervous. It hurt a little at first. He is so sweet. He kept asking if it hurt and slowing down. It felt amazing. Everything did. The kiss, the sex, even just the way he ran his fingers over the small of my back.
We got lost in the moment, something I've certainly never done with anyone else. I'm cynical and clinical. I didn't believe in love, much less two [way too young] people's ability to make it. He honestly wants to look into my eyes. He wants to kiss the tip of my nose and my forehead.
The night ended in him not being aware of my lack of birth control options and one of those big, possibly life-changing OOPS! moments.
Monday morning I buy Plan B at Rite Aide.
Tune in for the next installment entitled "Get Over Her" sometime in the near future.
Over and Out.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Happy Belated Birthday, Self
Here is a photograph by Ms. Millie Jones of my lovely husband and I at my birthday celebration.Enjoy.
Over and Out.
EDIT: Due to technical difficulties, the full wonder of this .GIF cannot be enjoyed. I'll be working on that.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
This may be a little racist, but...
My son looked an awful lot like a cholo this morning.
Chocha O'Clock!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Ugh
Once again...nothing to say because I've been slacking in the good music department.
Though, I've been listening to tons of Lady GaGa lately, so maybe I'll have something to say about that eventually.
In other news, have you ever noticed that you really pay way more attention to what underwear you have on when you're on your period?
Over and Out
Though, I've been listening to tons of Lady GaGa lately, so maybe I'll have something to say about that eventually.
In other news, have you ever noticed that you really pay way more attention to what underwear you have on when you're on your period?
Over and Out
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Why not them?
The Jonas Brothers are on the cover of the new issue of Rolling Stone.
While reading the article online I noticed a sickening number of comments calling them sellouts, disney-channel-bred-labrats, and teenboppers. People are saying that the Jonas Brothers don't deserve to be on the cover of Rolling Stone or even in Rolling Stone at all.
Let me begin by stating that Rolling Stone is a bullshit magazine to begin with and I have trouble truely caring about who is on the cover at all, but I absolutely must defend the JoBros on this one.
Why can't they be on magazine covers? Yes, they're popstars, but in no way would they be "posers" because they don't appear to be posing as anything at all. From what I have seen in my extensive research of these boys they are everything they claim to be. Most importantly they are good people, and if good people can't be on magazine covers then maybe it's time for me to stop reading magazines.
The Jonas Brothers are currently one of the world's largest pop sensations of the moment. Becoming that is something that they worked hard for. As a mother I can appreciate both the family atmosphere they portray for their fans and the energy they put into it. They are clean, safe, and exciting. They love what they do and they do it well. What more could anyone ask for out of them.
If they aren't good enough to be on the cover then who is? Do they need to be drug addicts who play death metal and have rape convictions? Do they have to only play shows to less than 100 people and shun children altogether? Why? None of this seems to make sense to me.
I guess in the end all I really have to say is that if someone hates the Jonas Brothers that much they need to just steer clear of any media whatsoever until Jonas-Mania is over, and from what I've seen, that may be a long time.
Over and Out.
While reading the article online I noticed a sickening number of comments calling them sellouts, disney-channel-bred-labrats, and teenboppers. People are saying that the Jonas Brothers don't deserve to be on the cover of Rolling Stone or even in Rolling Stone at all.
Let me begin by stating that Rolling Stone is a bullshit magazine to begin with and I have trouble truely caring about who is on the cover at all, but I absolutely must defend the JoBros on this one.
Why can't they be on magazine covers? Yes, they're popstars, but in no way would they be "posers" because they don't appear to be posing as anything at all. From what I have seen in my extensive research of these boys they are everything they claim to be. Most importantly they are good people, and if good people can't be on magazine covers then maybe it's time for me to stop reading magazines.
The Jonas Brothers are currently one of the world's largest pop sensations of the moment. Becoming that is something that they worked hard for. As a mother I can appreciate both the family atmosphere they portray for their fans and the energy they put into it. They are clean, safe, and exciting. They love what they do and they do it well. What more could anyone ask for out of them.
If they aren't good enough to be on the cover then who is? Do they need to be drug addicts who play death metal and have rape convictions? Do they have to only play shows to less than 100 people and shun children altogether? Why? None of this seems to make sense to me.
I guess in the end all I really have to say is that if someone hates the Jonas Brothers that much they need to just steer clear of any media whatsoever until Jonas-Mania is over, and from what I've seen, that may be a long time.
Over and Out.
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