Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Ugh! Sugar! Sweet Goddess


Or headache.

Actually, I think it is sickness. I ate some sugar. After how long trying to kick it (again)? I’m like a fucking alcoholic, without the support group. I guess I could go to OA (for those of you with no addictions—the “A” is always for “Anonymous” and, in this case, the “O” is for “Overeaters.”) At OA, they do not allow you to have white flour, sugar, and something else… I can’t remember from my foray into getting a support group 10 some-odd years ago.

Fucking tasted good though. And it was nasty fucking chocolate. The kind of chocolate I wouldn’t deign to eat, if I were eating chocolate. But since I’m not, and haven’t been, I ate it and it was de-lish!

Moving on.


BF bought me 2 (not so) lovely couches on the weekend. (Mental note: do not forget to give him $$.) Weren’t expensive—1 full-size and 1 loveseat (not matching) for 30 bucks. Not bad. Not bad. But they weren’t v attractive. Actually, they weren’t that bad. But the wrong colors and styles for what I would have in mind.
Why would he purchase couches for me, you might ask. Funny story. My new puppy has been having really good snacks of my $50 sectional and my $0 (yeah, that’s right-free!) comfy couch. So he purchased these new couches. . . and she started in on the ugly one. Ripped off the skirt—or at least what I’m calling the skirt, that bottom part that hides the legs. I looked at it, and was all *&%*!! and $*%&#$!! But then stopped. It looked soo much better. J Seriously, I like the couch now. I’ve ripped off the rest of the skirt—threw it away (no evidence) and now have to decide if I’m going to spill the beans to BF or not.

Saturday, September 04, 2004


So, last night.
G is over with Mc. And Mc starts in on how month's ago at G's birthday festivities, I spilt water (seriously) and blamed him. I honestly didn't remember the interaction because that particular night I had just told off sister and was emotionally over wrought. But as he wouldn't let go, I began to piece together the incident.
And here is where the anger comes in. I didn't move. I didn't push my plate which, by chain reaction, caused another mysterious article on table to push into Mc's glass and thereby making it fall over, at which point Mc, rescued said glass (of water) and placed it back down on said trecherous table wasteland in aforementioned exact hazardous spot to, instantly and at once, fall completely over and spill all over table and splash several festivities participants. I apparently made flippant remark about dumbasses spilling some such.. and am instanly accused of causing said chain reaction by Mc, thereby making the entire incident my fault. Miracle of Miracles, people side with me, saying obviously I didn't spill water. Mc is humiliated.
Whatever. Humiliated over spilt water.
Ok, back to anger. Who cares? Happened months ago. Was water. Mc didn't have to clean it up, was at restaurant. Was not really public--just a few close friends who could give a rat's ass, except to laugh at each other's foibles.
G is my BEST friend. Or at least used to be. Now that G is involved in long term relationship, I am back seat baggage that only once in a while gets hauled out and gone thru, just to make sure what's still in there. And of couse, when needed. (That's not exactly fair, but who cares? My blog. Fuck you.)
Mc is selfish. Spoiled. Bratty. Mc has to have everything Mc's way. Mc is going to be 30 soon. One would think Mc might eventually grow up. But would you? If everyone continually gives in to you? I'm not sure that I would, except that I have. Because I feel bad if people have to go sooo completely out of their way for me. Constantly. All the time. For no reason. Other than to appease my ego. I mean, once in a while, sure. We all need an ego stroke. But all the time? Get over it. Get over yourself.
Oh, yeah, anger.
So what, in the last (?) 5 years, G has sided with me once. Over a glass of water, that everyone saw him spill.
But Mc had a cow (apparently) with G over incident. Why didn't G trust Mc? If G didn't see the beginning of the chain reaction (ie Me evilly pushing plate-to cause another unnamed object to push into evil glass of water) which he at once Rescued, but Mc saw said happen, why didn't G believe?
Ok, fuck you, Mc. It isn't as if I saw (or all of us for that matter) you standing over a bloody corpse with a knife and I said something damning like, "You murdered him. Ha ha." And then people believed me, and your partner of (?) 5 years has to have faith that you wouldn't kill someone. It was a glass of water.
Ok, so you have little fit in privacy of own home with partner.. accuse accuse. Fight over (eventually). But then to bring up retarded subject months later? What's the matter with you? Was your manhood so impuned, your honestly so taken into question, your ego, your spirit, your soul, so crushed that you cannot recover because someone once believed me over you?
Let me repeat, fuck you.
In the years that I have know you, you have been a horrible partner to my best friend. You are selfish. You have to have your way, all the time. You never, ever compromise. Never, not once.* You spent months (read: over a year!) out of work, forcing the supposed most important person of your life, the one you supposedly love more than anything, to work double duty To pay all bills. To be the adult while you got to carry out your childish fantasies.
And I pushed these things aside. But I am angry that you don't seem to be making any progress at all. You don't seem to be growing as a person, to be maturing, to be wisening, to becoming more of a complete, whole person.
Old fears and hurts resurfaced. In the five or so years that you've been with my best friend, I have felt so much pain. As my best friend continually choses you over me. Believes idiot things you say, over me. Believes you to be funnier, kinder, smarter than me. Fine. Love is honestly blind. I can't wait for someone to think I'm the funniest person in the world, the smartest, the cutest, the nicest, etc. And it hurts when Mc says some horrible thing (or I've started it this time), and the responses fly-- and G always always sides with you. Implies that I am somehow, not as... smart, or nice, or whatever. That Mc is right, that Mc is always, always right.
Lugging out the entire arsenal, years of pent-up hate, and hurt, and disappointment to be directed towards you. I long to tell you how you don't measure up, how you don't deserve all that you get. How when you make a mistake, you don't have to pay for it, others do -- in blood, sweat and tears. And you just go skipping merrily on your fucking way (exept to say, why they were mean. Of course they were you fucking moron. It's punishment. Everyone else let you off the hook. They are there to wake your ass up--let you know that you fucked up--but you still don't get it.)
But I have to stop. I cannot tell you what you so desperatly need to hear. I can't put my best friend in that position, not only because, of couse, I will certainly loose, but because I don't want to hurt G, to make things harder on G. To tell G, your long-term partner sucks, and is sucking the life from you.
But I will be more mature, and I will compromise.

Pity, because I feel like being childish. I feel like hurting people, and destroying myself.

* Wonder of Wonders! We all went to a movie on Saturday night. Instead of doing Mc's first choice, he compromised. Perhaps he is growing after all. Perhaps I've grown enough to enable me to see it.

Friday, September 03, 2004


I just wrote my first fan e-mail.
It was to Mark Morford, writer for the SF Gate.

It went a little something like this:

“I am sorry to learn that you have a partner, because I think I love you.

From someone who really needed it.”

I was seriously crying. Talk about a Horoscope and the universe giving you what you need. Apparently I was crying out…and the universe answered.
Thank Goddess. Thank you.

Hours tick by. Or do they?

Day One without My Beloved.


Ok. Here we go again kids. Trying to kick the juice, the junk, the dope, the lightening. The Sugar.

Hour Two.

Actually, I’ve been up a little more than two hours. . . but who’s counting. Oh, that’s right, I am.
I am depressed and weepy. I tell myself not to despair. Nothing ever comes from despairing—nothing, nothing ever gets done. And it’s true.
Did you see Scarlet O’Hara despair? No. She decided she was too busy trying to fix things, trying to save the beloved Tara, trying not to starve, trying to keep her family from starving. She just didn’t have time to despair.
And it helps. (Telling myself that.) Oh, and also I’ve been telling myself that it’s just coming off of the juice, the smack, the sugar that is making my emotions so . . . volatile. And it could be true. What it really feels like is going insane. And not so slowly. Kinda quick, so you notice it is happening. “Why am I behaving like this?” You ask yourself. “Why, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the sugar. Perhaps you are insane.” You answer yourself rationally. Heh. Rationally. Answer yourself.

I watched a lovely movie last night. I Capture the Castle. Lovely young women: English and poor. Lovely young, rich American men (and one was Henry Thomas... makes me kinda glad he survived ET). OK SPOILER. So, the lovely young woman, our heroine.. winds up with.. well, not nothing.. . and not alone, she has taken care of her family. But not with the object of her affection. And the end of the movie (my hand to gawd) she says, “I love. I have loved. I will love.” Fade to Black. Fuck. What the hell. Ok, great. But that’s why I watch movies. I need a mother-fucking, even-if-it-makes-no-sense, twisted plot, don’t-care-how, HAPPY ENDING. Need it. Like I need to breathe. And so yeah, a little hope, but not really happiness. And I’ve discovered in my pitiable life that HOPE kills you every time. Every time. Obliterates you. Crushes your soul. Kills your spirit. Makes you waltz then sticks out its big, rude foot and purposely trips you. So you fall on your face, in the most dramatic, theatrical, humiliating, public way, ever.

What am I complaining for? Well. After that and I just wanted to cry, I got on my newly returned, fixed computer. (Moment of silence and reverence for the COMPUTER.) And I checked my horoscope. And it was all.. You have had to relive part of stuff you thought you already handled, but didn’t (and pushed deep into your subconscious, you pathetic idiot. And will now wake up out of a very real dream and cry inexplicably for an hour whilst you are overcome with sadness and deep, deep, hidden trauma) and now that you’ve re-dealt with those aspects, move on and push your boundaries. Made complete and total sense. [Now I know that these are vague. And allow for various interpretations, but seriously, folks, how do they do it??? And as I write this… this is what they’ve written:
“Circumstances in your life may be full of drama and you'll need to use all channels of communication to share your story with those around you. Although you can be putting on quite an impressive show, you may not realize that you are only telling part of the story. Your beliefs are coloring your perceptions more than usual and you can only see what you believe.”
So here I am thinking I am giving myself therapy, and hopefully entertaining people. But I’m not being totally honest, with myself or with you, dear reader. Fuckers calling me a liar. But I digress.]

Soooo, anyway…I felt really sad. And I did a little (expensive) tarot reading (but considering they gave me the credits for free, wasn’t really a bad deal). And what was this wondrous question I inquired about in my future? I couldn’t really decide. Would I find love.. that’s not right, I have love. I love my mother. I love my friends, etc. And what if I love someone who doesn’t love me back? Would I be loved? No, that’s not right, either. G loves me with all his heart. Just can’t work out. So, I settled on “Will I find happiness in love?” So lovely Tarot tells me to push my boundaries…let my passions come through (because this is obviously something you are uncomfortable with, you fucked-up, damaged prude). And then goes on.. and I’m all.. who is it talking about?
Yeah, well. Money well spent.

Oh, look it’s been about 3 hours. And no sugar. Good for me.

And yet, the discomfort lingers. But I’m not weeping at work either. So. There ya go.

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Dumbass and uncomfortable.

Why I should not have sugar.

I have a headache. A sugar headache. A headache that could have totally been avoided. But no, I have one. I had a HUGE, ooh, a HUMUNGUS sweet thing of somesort. Which, by all accounts, I should not have had. Not because – I am allergic to sugar, not because it leeches the B vitamins from my body, the very B vitamins that are essential to weight loss, gives me a sugar high, then a raucous sugar crash- and then I wish for death, not because I am going to considerable difficulty to be on a health maintenance (read weight loss) program, not because I am spending not inconsiderable sums of money on vitamins and healthy eats (when I truly have no money), not because today, of all days, is the day of the week that I must face my fears and weigh in , in front of a kind (skinny) woman who has taken on my case, at no charge, just for my betterment. No, not for any of those reasons. The real reason is because I had one very similar to it yesterday. And it was gross. Grody. Yucky. It did not taste good.

Any normal sane human being would have remembered (apart from all those reasons listed above) that yesterday, it tasted like crap, and today, it is one day older- and has been sitting out for the better part of 2 days. Do Not Eat This Vile Thing.

But I did. And I must say, it was very good. Right up to the blueberry goo—that was indescribable, and very much tasteless, but I ate anyway.

And now. The. Head. Ache.