Debauched, escapist, and offensive.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Unemployment has rendered me completely useless. I have been wearing the same outfit for three days. I went for a drive after realizing that I had not gotten into a car for a week.With nothing to do, I have spent a disgusting amount of time psychoanalyzing my psyche and doting attention upon myself. On Monday I went to a counselor, to extend my self-importance to others, and to spend lots of money on an expensive (and apparently useless) shrink.
Counselor: So what brings you in?
Me: I want a counselor.
Counselor: You want to talk to someone?
Me: (No, I want to communicate through gestures.) That's the idea.
Counselor: I talk to people.
Thanks!
But even without counseling, the internet has successfully (or unsuccessfully) provided an assortment of labels: avoidant attachment disorder, high sensitivity, hypoglycemia. I'm considering having attention deficit, but it's so cliche right now. Instead, I'll take anxious personality disorder, since it affects digestion, and I'd like an excuse for the farting.
Anyway, today, I pegged myself as 'Type 7: The Enthusiast' according to an internet personality test. Under the title of Healthy, the site describes Type 7 as "Deeply grateful and appreciative for what they have. Become awed by the simple wonders of spiritual reality."I thought the test had mislabeled me, but then I noticed the heading 'Unhealthy Sevens,' which read "Saying whatever comes to mind: storytelling, flamboyant exaggerations, witty wise-cracking. Debauched, escapist, and offensive."
I proudly crossed ADD off my list, and in blue ballpoint pen, added "Unhealthy Enthusiast" in its place.
Manly Moments
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
"So who's the worst you ever had?"Oh god. I had told Guy I'm Dating that he wasn't exactly Cassanova in the sack, and he starts asking me unrelated questions.
"Excuse me?" I pause for Guy to respond, but after meeting only silence, I say "I don't know."
He persists. "C'mon," he says as he nudges my shoulder, "tell me about they guy who always wore his socks or whatever."
"Ok. Umm, you were pretty bad." What? Am I supposed to lie?
We sit silently for a couple minutes before I go to get some water. I leave Guy on the couch, go into the kitchen, and return to find Guy smirking as he eagerly awaits my return.
"I once dated a nymphomaniac. Oh man, it was crazy." He pauses, thinking. "I can't tell you about it."
"What?" I say.
"It's not appropriate." He shakes his head. "She was completely nuts."
Oh gawd. He's got this big smirk on his face.
"You're totally dying to tell me."
"Alright, fine. She lived in this studio apartment." I wish that he is kidding but he continues. "There was a bed, the nymphomaniac chick, and-"
How does he expect me to respond to this? With awe and amazement? "A nymphomaniac! No way!"
"And she had these bed sheets-"
"Your penis must be SO BIG."
"And the sheet were like, all over the place, but-"
"You manliness is overwhelming."
He pauses. "You are interrupting me."
Yes I am. When guys defend their manhood by telling stories about nymphomaniac ex-girlfriends, I tend to interrupt them.
"Sorry." I back off. "You were making it too easy."
Lauranardo DaVinci
Thursday, September 20, 2007
This is a picture I drew for the Scary Monster Drawn in Microsoft Paint Contest. I thought I'd share with you, since I worked so hard on it. 
Alone at last
Thursday, September 13, 2007
For the first time ever -- I have been living by myself for months in a row. Benefits have included: extra free time, leaving dishes in the sink, and keeping the bathroom door open while pooping (more air flow = less stinky). But the most prominent part of being alone is the nakedness.New Naked Activities to date:
- chopping veggies
- washing dishes
- writing job applications
- sweeping
- this blog entry
Sweeping has been the most interesting of the activities, since the motion of my arms causes my boobs to bounce around. I assume they were doing this when I swept with my clothes on too, but I didn't know about it, so I was interested to watch them while swishing the broom about.
Anyway, another great benefit of living by oneself is the farting. Free, unashamed, loud, stinky farting! You know what I mean. Farting without having to say "I need a glass of water" just so you can relieve yourself in the kitchen where no one will know. No need to separate the butt cheeks to prevent that distinctively farty sound. And no need to indiscreetly wave objects around in the Just-Farted Zone to dissipate the smell.
Absolute freedom!
The downside is that I am psychologically unable to fart while naked. Like, I'll be sitting on the couch telling some company how I'm such a "motivated self starter," and I'll want some gaseous relief. This usually results in holding the fart in for a while, but when this gets too difficult, putting clothes on. Which interrupts my naked couch activity, and also terminates my nakedness freedom. I guess you can only have so much freedom at once.
Ultimate farting challenge:
What do you do when you're getting it on with a total hottie, and you have to fart?
(This one is tricky - and I haven't discovered any successful tactics yet.)
The other boyfriend
Sunday, September 09, 2007
The guy I'm dating is upset with me because I refer to him as "the guy I'm dating." This was originally discovered in the following conversation.Guy: I really like you.
Me: Thanks!
[pause]
Guy: Aren't you going to say you like me too?
Me: I've said it before.
[Guy glares.]
Me: It's not that I don't like you. It's just... the same reason that I don't call you my boyfriend.
Guy: Wait, you don't call me your boyfriend!?
I failed to say it in that conversation, but a couple days later, I realized I DO call him my boyfriend. Quite often! For example, he will say something stupid ("I want to want to listen...") and I will respond with a comeback like "my other boyfriend is less stupid." Or maybe, "Monday/Wednesday Boyfriend wants to purchase Tuesday from you."
So this doesn't directly call him my boyfriend. But so what, it is clearly implied. And that should be enough.
(Geez, what a high-maintenance guy I'm dating.)
I am single!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
As a female who likes to go for walks -- I have begun to wonder... Men in cars have a tendency to honk horns, whistle, and cat-call young women walking down the side of the road. Why? I mean, what do they expect the woman to do... get in the car and give out blow jobs!?
As you may suspect, I was having a particularly bad day today, and decided that a quick jog might help to lift my mood. I made it around the block and into the neighborhood without interruption when - to my surprise - some guy literally ran out of his house and started chasing me down the street. He was repeatedly yelling "Are you single!?" Then he would pause for a moment, and then "HEY! I asked you if you are SINGLE!!"After the fifth time he yelled this, I realized it was true love and passionately threw my clothes off my body.
Guys, the first thing to know is that women get sexually harassed ALL THE TIME. And if you haven't noticed this, it is because your puny unobservant brain doesn't realize that your presence is the only defense against this. Second, if you ever feel the need to whistle at a girl for walking to the grocery store, use some common sense. And some lube... jack off sometime.
Now, to the guy who yelled at me today:
Sorry, I am married, to a several large black men who dislike you.
Lies Lies Lies
Saturday, September 01, 2007
"Your CEO says that your lab is melting," JB whispered into my ear.For the purpose of the 7x7 Hot 20 Under 40 party, my company had printed me brand new business cards that read "Nuclear Physicist," despite the fact that my official title was actually 'science technician.'
In light of my situation, I decided to enlist support. Showing up with my friend JB, the CTO of Tesla Motors (who used to be a fusion researcher himself), would help me obtain the outrageous amount of publicity my company was expecting me to generate, and also satisfy the magazine, which had advertised me as the up and coming genius of the year. (Geez, no pressure.) My CEO, unfortunately, failed to inquire into JB's past before lecturing him about our runaway success in cold fusion."Apparently, the fusion is so out of control," JB said, barely able to hold back his laughter as he repeated my CEO's claims, "that your laboratory instruments keep vaporizing. HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
I should have known right then that eventually (read: very soon) the company would no longer be a company.
Which brings me to my current state: 25 years of age, and laid off from a fusion research position for the 2nd time in a row. I'm not sure what this says about nuclear energy, but it does not bode well for my fusion-job-retainment-skills.
For now, I have extra free time and reduced income, so I am accepting applications for a Mon/Wed boyfriend to supplement the free dinners purchased by Tues/Thurs Boyfriend. Not only will this save me some cash, but I plan to obligate New Boyfriend to write my resume, so I can deny responsibility when I get rejected from jobs.
