Losing Steam.

Churro recently discovered the joys of sitting on the couches in the living room with the rest of us.  Mostly because his mom gave him her old laptop when he went home last weekend and now he doesn't have to be in his room to be on a computer. 

Even though he probably could have used his iPad.  Laptops are still better.  Every time I touch an iPad I feel as though my hands have been coated in KY and it's going to fly out of my hands and shatter into no less than a billion pieces before it even hits the carpet.  Which totally makes sense.  Because iPads are constantly breaking apart.  On carpet.

My other roommate actually has a Mac, too.  But since everyone else was downstairs with a laptop, he dug out his netbook and decided to join us.  It's actually been a pretty week as a result of this.  I feel like we're actually connecting with each other instead of just living together. 

We had a few hours between classes today, which provided me a window of time during which I was able to catch up on a couple of blogs I've been missing in the last few months.  And it gave me a chance to write a post!

So, hello, there!

This year continues to be kinda weird.

Last weekend I went on another waxing expedition with Oose.  This time was not nearly so bad.  Or strange. 

We went to a different place this time and the waxer wasn't quite so...  OCD, let's say.  She was younger and really comfortable talking with us about anything.  Which is good.  Because we tend to lack any kind of boundaries. 

She also didn't touch my anus, so that was a big plus.

This makes it sound as though I wasn't particularly fond of the waxer we had last time, which isn't true.  I just wasn't a fan of what I paid her.

The difference between first and second wax was so extreme that I didn't even need Desatin this time.  Or frozen peas.  And my yoni was actually pretty soft.  I'm so used to shaving that I still expect to have prickly hair nubs poking at my skin trying to escape and be all itchy and unsightly again.  But it just doesn't happen.

Waxing is awesome.


In other news, I heard from Bambi again this week.  He said he was leaving his girlfriend because he didn't think he could "take it anymore."  He also emailed me a video of her trying to get through the bedroom doors he'd apparently locked himself behind.  It was like that scene in the original version of The Haunting where everyone is locked in the den and the doors start bending in. 

Then she called me to scream at me.  I'm guessing she lifted my number from his cell phone.  After he got it the second time I changed it after I left him, I just didn't deal with changing it again.  I wonder if maybe I should change it now, but then I'd have to give everyone I know my new number and, on top of that, I'd have to learn a new number myself.  Not exactly on my list of things I want to have to deal with this semester.

I guess my ex's crazy ex isn't either.  So, we'll see if she calls me to yell at me again.

I know I shouldn't be worried or even care about him, but I can't help it.  I don't want to be involved in the situation but I also don't want him to die.  I've come up with three potential possibilities: 1- He left and now doesn't have a phone or computer, so that's why he can't tell me he's not dead.  2- He is dead.  3- He ended up staying with her and just isn't talking to me because she doesn't want him to.

I have a feeling it's option three.

I think that makes me sad because it means he's trapped with her like I was with him. 

If I want to be completely honest it also makes me a little sad because I don't want him to love anyone but me.  But I don't want to be completely honest because that makes me selfish and it also probably means that deep down I'm always going to have feelings for him.

Which makes me feel like shit.

Yay.

Okay.  I'm going to deal with the pile of laundry in front of my desk that makes me look as though I belong on an episode of hoarders.  And do some homework.  And maybe take a nap.

Definitely not in that order.

And So It Continues.

Sometimes I genuinely fear that neither of us will ever be able to have a relationship with someone else without cheating on that person with each other. 

I hate cheating.  And I'm afraid of him and of the idea of being with him.  As I should be, judging by our past together.  But neither of us has dated someone else since we met without cheating on that person.  With each other.

It's not that we want to cheat.  Neither of us condones it in any way.  It's as if we just can't stay away from each other.

It's not fair that I should finally should start to feel as if I'm really healing and he choose that moment in time to contact me.

It's not fair that he should tell me he misses me.  That he's thinking of leaving his girlfriend.  That he still loves me. 

It's not fair that I will always love him. 

And it's not fair that a few words in a message from him cause me to relapse this much.


Why is it that love either makes you feel completely wonderful or completely defective?

Too Much Sleep is Never Enough.

2012...  I'm not so sure about you...

So far this year (and we're only a month in) I've done some cool things and had some odd things happen.  For instance, both Guac and Bambi have contacted me because they had to tell me they missed me.  Nothing changed as a result of their admitting that, but it was odd and unexpected. 

I went to Yosemite for the first time, which wasn't even an idea until right around the first of the year.  The trip was rapidly planned and over even more quickly.  But worth it. 

I got my yoni waxed for the first time ever.  And, as Oose pointed it, since the woman who did our waxing recently did Patrick Dempsey's makeup for something, his face now has one degree of separation from our vaginas. 

I quit my job and began working less than part time for the first time in four and a half years.  Less than 40 hours for the first time in two.  I felt for a while as though I was lost and a little useless.  Four days into the semester I am thankful I did what I felt I had to because my course load this semester is crazy.  I would be super stressed out and not eating already. 

Then again, I might not be able to eat by the end of the semester because I won't have the money to be able to afford food.

Oh, and I was in an opera.  The first time in I-don't-know-how-long that I wasn't a lead, so that was weird.  Usually I've been able to find some way to get out of being in the chorus.  But that's over now.

I need to figure out what I'm going to do with my summer; my voice teacher is really recommending that I do a summer program.  I'm just super concerned with my financial situation.  I may have to acquire a part-time job before the end of the semester. 

Sigh.  I don't want to work retail again. 

Seriously, where is my sugar daddy already?!

Ill-Advised

A story of hair removal.


I spent last weekend in Santa Cruz with Oose.  We had decided during the week prior that we should try waxing for the first time. 

I'm not referring to our legs.

I had mentioned going to a professional waxing salon and she couldn't get over the idea of how uncomfortable she would be with some moderately trained Vietnamese woman peering into her cooch.  I still can't discern how that's very different from going to the women's clinic and having a different person checking your yoni every time you have to go back.  But I wasn't about to push the issue.

Oose suggested we just get at-home kits and wax each other. 

Yeah.  I know.

I tried the salon idea a couple more times, but she seemed so genuinely uncomfortable that I eventually just caved.

I think we both regret that now.

With a bottle of wine, some excellent tunes, and the support of her very accommodating boyfriend, we each made it about halfway through waxing before we gave up. 

I still have a picture on my phone of the wax on my upper thigh that rorschached into a moose after I instinctively put my legs together when it didn't come off with the paper.

The next day we ate some brunch and ran a few errands before we talked out the situation over coffee.  I basically was refusing to try to do the rest ourselves and she pretty much agreed.  So I googled salons in the Santa Cruz area and found one willing to make two simultaneous/back-to-back appointments for us at 5:30 on Sunday.

The woman I found was super nice and very clean and professional.  She let us know everything she was doing and let us both stay in the room while one was being waxed without being the least bit weird about it.  She was also very chatty and made the whole situation seem normal as opposed to awkward.

Most importantly, she didn't make us feel like idiots for trying to do it on our own.  I think she realized we felt dumb enough without her. 

Let me tell you, finding someone to rip the hair out of your cooter is not cheap.  But it's kind of worth it.  The hair doesn't grow back as fast as it seems to with shaving, there's less of it, and you don't get all irritated from finding random patches of hair that you missed or that are difficult to get to.

On the other hand, it's uncomfortable to sit for the first night.  It was even worse for use because of the double waxing.  Also, hair apparently grows in stages, so your skin isn't perfectly smooth until the third wax.  Though, after the first time the hair is finer, so you feel it less anyway.

I would definitely suggest that if you decide to try getting a Brazilian you should invite someone you really trust to go with you and hold your hand.  It's not as painful as I would have thought, but it's definitely nice to have the morale support.  Plus, it scares the crap out of you when they're about to pull the strip. 

Also, you should probably be aware that they wax everything.  And I mean EVERYTHING. 

If I had decided to name this story according to the part of it that scarred me the most, it would not be "That Time Oose and I Decided to Wax Our Own Genitalia."  It would be "That Time A Stranger Touched My Asshole."

I need to be packing so I can head back home in a less stressful manner than I usually travel.  I just can't seem to get myself involved in the task.  My mind is too full.

I don't know how I get myself into these situations.  I hate drama and try to be a relatively drama-free person.  It just follows me.  Especially when matters of the heart are concerned. 

I miss the days in which one boy would decide he liked me and would then ask me out.  I miss the days when friends with benefits didn't even seem to be an option.  I think friends with benefits sucks more than actually being in a relationship.  For me, at least.  And having someone only half-assed pursue me with the intent of only getting sex (because I don't notice that agenda) only makes me miss being with someone who truly loves me and wants to be with me more than almost anything in the world.  Or at least someone who acts like it. 

For the most part I'm starting the year off in a good place.  I have some healthy objectives for 2012.  I have a bunch of yarn.  I quit the part of my job that I couldn't keep up with (though, that was hard; I really love the people I work for).  I even had a decent stay with my family. 

I've even finally made it to a place where I realize I don't miss Bambi at all.  I miss the idea of him.  I miss what he was to me, not what he actually was.  I miss love.  I miss having someone to sleep with me.  I know I've mentioned this a time or two before, but I just hate sleeping alone.

Oose and her boyfriend broke up this summer; they got back together again in December.  He realized after she had left that he couldn't be without her, then he managed to do the things he needed to in order to be with her again.  I will admit there is a part of me that is jealous about this.  Because Bambi, despite how much he said he loved me, could never do it.  Would never do it. 

Ultimately I am forced to realize that's okay, though.  I am much, much better off without him.  Judging from what I learned last time I spoke to him and what I knew of him before that, I can't say the same for him.  I was and continue to be the best thing that ever happened to him, with the possible exception of his daughter, who he really didn't have that much to do with anyway.  In a way I suppose that's gratifying.  More than anything it just makes me sad. 

I know that I couldn't fix what was wrong with him and it's not my fault.  But as a result everything that happened between us I know that I can never date someone who needs to be cleaned-up (so to speak) ever again.  I may be a problem solver, but I can't change or fix people.  Especially not those who aren't willing to do anything for themselves.  Likewise, I can't be something I'm not.  I can't pretend I don't feel something I do.  And that's for the best.  That's healthy. 

I'm just so tired of keeping everything inside.