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PREMIER PROPRIETOR OF PROJECTILE PENIS PROTECTION!
Also known as Steph's All New Year.
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No more embarrassing over-share and random brainfart talk.
Clearly I am not as comfortable with what I say here publicly as I thought. Insecure but with a big ego, easily hurt with a lot of pride - not a good combination.
So goodbye, LJ. Probably will keep it up to leave comments or whatever. but see ya. If I start up something new we'll see what happens. It's not you it's me, see you when I see you, vaille que vaille, etc. etc. have a nice day.
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Man, I'm taking a course about colonialism right now and it makes me stabby in ways I have previously repressed. The superiority complex of colonists and their degradation of so-called "naive" or "uncivilized" peoples just drives me mad. I almost don't have the stomach to sit through some of the videos.

The worst thing is the fact that some of these racist attitudes still exist today. The idea of "inferior races" is one such example. Bitches, don't you understand that race is a societal construct? Genetic variation is higher between members of one "race" than between members of "different races." Genetically, and on an even smaller scale chemically, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS RACE. So shut the fuck up! There are no "species" of human beings. Human beings can all interbreed and thus are all members of THE SAME SPECIES. How freaking stupid must one be to think otherwise? Is it just poor education? How can this bullshit be eradicated?

ughh I'm just disgusted at all of this.

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I wrote this whole thing about something Caro said that made me think. It was in relation to dating oneself, or rather someone just like oneself. It was very philosophical, intellectual and quite deep, if I do say so myself.

But you know.. I got distracted by the fact that damn, I have enormous boobs. Like for real. I don't pay attention to them, even though people talk about my boobs kind of often, but sometimes I look and think, what the hell is that on my chest? Those things are ridiculous. People pay money to get implants this big.

Clearly I am not a master of introspection, deep thought or philosophy. What can I say? I like my boobs. It's a damn good thing too because, um, they're kind of here to stay.


Oh and I really like that gc has stopped groaning as if in pain whenever I ask if we can get a dog. He's started to say, "What kind of dog?" A few more months and my victory will be complete. aww I adore him.
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I'm trying hard to remember that I left J. for a reason.
It's hard. He would have given me a lot of relationship stability and even a little bit of financial stability. We got along very well when he wasn't driving me insane. We shared very similar senses of humor (dark, a little bit mean, and full of mischief). He was fun, had pretty eyes and big shoulders, and loved music. He was packing some heat (interpret that however you want to). He brought Jimi Hendrix and Guns N' Roses back into my life. He promised to teach me how to shoot, ride a motorcycle and play the guitar.

But P. adamantly insisted: "No regrets!"
She was right, of course. I try to listen to P. in the first place, but this is especially important advice. No regrets.

Well, at least I don't need him around to teach me guitar, because I realized that fourteen (14!!) years of formal music training is just enough to know how to play the intro to "Seven Nation Army" by The White Stripes on my dusty acoustic. YES. Okay, I know that sounds really lame to more experienced guitar players but I finally got off my reluctant ass and made my fingers sore practicing notes. I just wanted to stop thinking about J. and it worked! It hurt so much and I was concentrating so hard that I forgot that I sort of miss him.

At first I was having a bit of trouble with the frets because my hands are small and I'm not used to the numbering, but L. strongly suggested I use what he calls the "retarded fret number system for newbs," in which I used Post-It notes to number my frets until I got used to them. As for the small hands problem, he said that it would get easier to stretch with practice, or that I should get a smaller guitar. He also said that if I opted for the latter he'd personally kick my ass. It did get a little easier, but I definitely need more practice. I'm still ridiculously proud of my little "Seven Nation Army" success. I also managed to get through a little bit of "All The Small Things." Those were the two most recommended "for beginners" tabs.

Attempting to play "Dani California" resulted in failure, though. So did attempting to play "Smoke On The Water." I'm such a newb.

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Current Mood: pleased pleased
Current Music: The White Stripes - Seven Nation Army

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Today, I was a victim of drive-by flirting.

My experiences with drive-by flirting have included:

1. The "Mr. Flake" (also known as "Greek Restaurant Boy") incident, the only time I was the perpetrator of drive-by flirting.

Those that know this story know it very well. It spreads quickly, like a venereal disease among skanky college co-eds. Ms. Elizabeth had taken me out to a Greek restaurant for my birthday, and the waiter had some kind of miracle muscle-butt that I could not stop ogling. At Ms. Elizabeth's incessant mockery and prodding, I decided to leave him my number on a napkin (OH HI SO TACKY), but did not have the presence of mind to realize that what she had handed me was a Sharpie; therefore, when the ink leaked through the napkin I was unprepared and panicked, leaving a large tip and escaping from the restaurant. Upon reaching my vehicle, I decided to give it another go. The Sharpie marker was used on more appropriate material (printer paper); I pulled up in front of the restaurant, and while Elizabeth waited in the passenger seat left my car idling as I ran in, handed my number to his stunned boss saying, "Please give this to the guy with the glasses," and ran out.

A week later he called, and the rest is history. (He was sweet but very boring and not very bright. He always called me late at night whenever I told him I had to get up very early, and once asked, "Where are you?" [my response: Davis, CA] "Davis? Is that a restaurant?")

2. Numerous traffic light hand gestures indicating, "Roll down your window!" or "Phone number?"

3. The man who crashed his car into a freeway on-ramp guardrail and leaned out his window to say, "You look SO buuuuuuuutiful bebehhhhhhh."

4. And today.

As I drove from L.A. to Santa Barbara, a man in an enormous black truck pulled up on my right hand side. He leaned out the window and winked, his stunning blue eyes noticeable even with the distance between us. I responded with a blank stare, and continued to drive. After a while I looked at the truck again; he had been driving perfectly in sync with my little Corolla. I proceeded to cut him off because he was creeping me out. AND HE PULLED UP NEXT TO ME AGAIN.

Note: there were very few other cars on the highway with us, and none were very near. So yes it was dangerous but whatever let me finish.

Mr. Blue Eyes Giant Truck continued to leer and I continued to cut him off. It was really funny after a while. The best part is that he was eventually separated from me by a BIGGER TRUCK. As the Pancake said, "He got cock blocked by a bigger car! HAHAHA."

Thank you, Mr. Blue Eyes Giant Truck, for making the end of my week so great. It's been a rough few weeks and I needed that laugh.


The end.

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Current Mood: amused amused
Current Music: Plies feat. Neyo - Bust It Baby Pt. 2

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It's kind of ridiculous how much I anticipate his weekend calls now that it's been two weeks in a row.
oh, honey. koala bear. sweetheart. (And I continue to emasculate him with terrible nicknames.)* Really looking forward to having him in California again.


But it's going to be a fun weekend whether or not he calls. Body Worlds with Amanda tomorrow, beach with Steph Saturday? :) :)




*This is kind of in revenge for naming his rifle after me "because [he is] constantly smacking the butt stock."
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MY UTERUS AND ALL ITS ASSOCIATED BODY PARTS AS WELL AS HORMONES HAVE STAGED A REVOLUTION.
It is a coup d'etat against the Nation of My Body.
My uterus does not care that if it rebels the rest of the body suffers.
My uterus does not care that I have baby bump or feel extreme nausea.
My uterus does not care. It just wants to kill me.

Oh and I'm not pregnant. There's no way, for sure, unless it's some form of immaculate conception.
No sex = no pregnancy, end of story.

Fuck you, uterus. I'd punch you but it will hurt me more than it will hurt you.
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I am actually resentful of the fact that I miss gc. There is something SO wrong with that. I've never been good at dealing with romantic feelings and get irritated at myself for allowing them to creep into my life unexpectedly.

He had some down time this weekend and was finally able to call me. I tried to be funny and a little cold but in the end I just missed him more not having told him so. He probably thinks I don't care, because I act that way all the time.

Oddly this isn't something I do in my day to day life. I am pretty unreserved in my affection for close friends and immediate family. But I guess a non-platonic relationship which is not just physical but also emotional has so much more heartbreak potential, because frankly I trust my friends and family with all my heart. Boyfriends? Not so much.

When he comes back I'll let him know that I maybe kind of a little bit really, really like him. And by that I mean a whole lot. sigh.
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Wow. I decided that I will no longer update Facebook and only use it to occasionally reply to a comment or track invitations and event dates.

This is in the wake of another realization: I reveal way too much about myself. Case in point, THIS JOURNAL, but only people I really like know about this LJ and it doesn't have my name on it (at least, I don't think so) so I don't mind spilling my guts here. Plus it's a release and I like writing as well as the comments that are often at least some measure of comforting, useful advice-status, or hilarious.

Facebook overshare is the worst thing I could do right now.

... and I'm already talking too much. It's the caffeine pills.
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To my friends: thank you. You are all freakin wonderful and I can't tell you how lucky and glad to have you in my life. Thank you for calling, texting, emailing, loving me despite my crazy and being amazing in general.

I did sleep for three-four hours when I got home. Feeling slightly better.
I also did some major shopping. No joke. I spent ~$60 (that I do not have) on leisure reading books. I am broke but indulging in my retail therapy high soothed me a bit as well. (Steph H., when you have some time you've got to read "Service Included." It's so hilarious and I think you'd love it. When I'm done I will totally lend it to you if you like.)

gc comes home in two weeks and two days. Not that I'm counting or anything. ah, can't wait to see my BEAR and then argue with him loudly on the street about the ethics of male prostitution. We are such a demure and loving couple, you see. It's not like he tells me I'm frigid and therefore a classy ho, and it's not like I accuse him of getting pregnant by his lover Jean Pierre en France.. or anything. You know. None of those things.




P.S. Does anyone want to go see Body Worlds with me? I know it's nerdy but it seems so cool! That doesn't say anything about me at all, by the way. haha.
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running on diesel.
Name: running on diesel.
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