Does this make me a stalker?!

August 12, 2011 at 12:46 pm (Breakroom Boy, marriage, relationships, sex, stalking)
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Oh, how I long for the good old days! Before the advent of the internet and social media, I would see a good-looking guy at a party, or wherever, and there would follow weeks, perhaps even months, of longing and wondering. Who was he? Where could I see him again? Most of the time I never found out unless he happened to be a friend of a friend.

Even though Breakroom Boy works in my office, he’s not in the same department, so I didn’t think it would be all that easy to find out who he was. True, we all have to wear a name badge but what was I going to do? Linger about the break room all day in the hope of seeing him, sidle up to him, stand uncomfortably close  and then peer intently at the badge dangling from his waist? Well….I did consider it, but I ruled  out that investigative technique.

No, this is not Breakroom Boy.
But he does look a wee bit like this.

Instead, I briefed some co-workers to keep their ears to the ground and….success! One of them heard somebody use his name when they were speaking to him. Thanks to the employee directory, and my deductive powers, I was able to work out his last name as well. I know more about Breakroom Boy than is healthy. Let’s see what I know:

(1) His first and last name (and, oh, his father’s and grandfather’s too – although he is Breakroom Boy III, so it’s obvious what their names are)

(2) His age (32)

(3) Where he’s from

(4) What he studied at university (business – boring!) and his career since then

(5) His email address, home address and phone number (um, yeah)

(6) What kind of music he likes to listen to

(7) Where he likes to hang out

(8) His relationship status

(9) What his girlfriend looks like – I found a couple of pictures of him online with the same girl. She’s pretty, but she ain’t got nothing on me.

It was kinda thrilling to find out so much about him but I am ashamed to admit that I actually stayed up until 4:00 a.m. just trying to find out more stuff about him. How fucking out-of-control is that?! It’s creepy, and I would be creeped out if I knew anybody had spent that amount of time looking up stuff about me. I almost didn’t admit this on here, but I feel it’s important to address the fact that I am GODDAMN CREEPY! Oh my God!

Worse still, I created  a brand new AIM account just so I could anonymously say hi to him via chat. He didn’t respond! But, thankfully, all I said was “Hello”, and he has no idea who the chat is from. I’m thinking this is the universe’s way of telling me to leave this alone.

I must also admit that all my social media shenanigans have ruined the mystery a little, too, which makes me less eager to get to know him. I’m disappointed, and surprised, that he’s American even if Mexican-American is better than some vanilla white guy. I knew he was Latin, for sure, but he doesn’t carry himself like an American at all. I had imagined that he was Brazilian for some reason. He also grew up only 200 miles away and moved here apparently to go to college. I find this very boring. Why on earth didn’t he want to leave? Widen his horizons a little? Finally, I found a picture of him and (probably) his girlfriend dressed up in some lame-ass Hallowe’en costumers. Let’s just say that my brooding man of mystery did not look quite so intriguing dressed up as a mobile phone!

I think I’m over my obsession. Breakroom Boy is probably nothing like what I imagined, needed, wanted him to be. How could he be? Nobody could ever be that good.

I need to focus my attention on more healthy things but, still, I find myself drawn to adventure. At this point in my life, I can honestly say that I am only faithful to Midwestern Man because an opportunity not to be hasn’t presented itself. I crave excitement and passion.

I guess this makes me, at best, a weak person; at worst – a bad person.

14 Comments

Not only depressed…now depressed and scabby, too!

September 27, 2009 at 11:58 pm (borderline personality disorder, depression, dermatillomania)
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I’m not feeling very good tonight. I’m tired, and I’m depressed. My rent is due on the 1st and, as per usual, I have made nowhere near enough money. I should have worked this weekend, and fully intended to, but I only saw one client, and just couldn’t be bothered seeing anybody today. This would all be fine if I had actually purposefully chosen to take a day off, and had filled it with fun, relaxing activities, but instead Midwestern Man and I just wasted time, lying about in bed, walking with the dogs to get tacos and sangría, and then walking somewhere else later to get fries. This sounds like a nice, relaxing day, doesn’t it?, but this is all our relationship entails…walking pointlessly and randomly to get something to eat somewhere….and, oh, yeah, watching “Deadwood” on the sofa and drinking wine. The only reason I go along with such slacker-like aimlessness is because I never allow myself to have any “official” time off so my poor body and brain just malfunction and grab any rest they can at inappropriate times. It would be much better to take designated days off and schedule interesting, meaningful activities, but somehow I never manage to do that.

I’m also feeling pretty angry at Midwestern Man right now. Why the fuck can’t he ever organize something fun and interesting for us to do? He could say “Well, we always end up wasting time on Sundays, even though we say we’ve got stuff to do, so why don’t we take a nice day trip somewhere?” Anything! Anything! Anything just to break the fucking monotony of our relationship. I know I could try to organize something, too, but it would just be nice for him to surprise me occasionally.

My husband’s idea of fun is having sex on Sundays, talking, lolling about in bed for hours, and then having sex again. In the meantime, I’ll be starving because we won’t have had anything to eat all day and I’ll be dying of fucking boredom because I stay in my house every SINGLE fucking day, and the last thing I want to do on my days off is lie in bed.

I’ve had yet another pointless, aimless Sunday and my house is a fucking mess because I didn’t clean it, as I should have done. It’s the same thing every fucking Sunday. My house is never ready for the new week…dishes in the sink; the made unmade after sex; the washing not done; the pet bowls not cleaned etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc. The chaos of my house just mirrors the chaos of my brain.

The worst thing is my bed. MM sweated all over it during sex today, and now there are three animals lying on it asleep. “Bed” is not the word for it. It’s a collection of filth and dirt! But I don’t have the energy to get up and change the sheets. What’s the point in having clean sheets, anyway, if I haven’t hoovered the carpet, cleaned the litterbox, picked all the stuff off the floor and filed away all the papers strewn all over my desk?

If all this wasn’t bad enough, I have also picked so much at a spot on my face that there’s now a scab there. Luckily, the scab is directly across from my left eye, right next to my hair line, so my hair covers it. This is the first time I have ever picked so relentlessly at something which is technically on my face. Usually, I pick at places on my scalp. I know there’s a condition called “dermatillomania”, which is basically just the constant picking of scabs, and it would appear that I have a mild form of this. It has never got out of control, and you’d never be able to tell that I pick at stuff by just looking at me, as I usually just confine myself to my scalp. I’m lucky that I’ve never got a bad infection, as I will sometimes stick pins in the wound to get a particularly difficult piece of the scab off. Yes, I know, I’m gross.

It’s good that I don’t have a severe form of this condition but sometimes I think my main problem in life is that I have a wee bit of everything in a mild form. Right now, I have an irrational, intense hatred and disgust for MM, and I swing all the time between this and loving him. On my old blog, I wrote about how I think I have a mild version of Borderline Personality Disorder, and I’m pretty sure my mother does, too. There are so many aspects of my personality and behaviour, which could be explained by a Borderline Personality Diagnosis, but the symptoms in my case are relatively mild, so there’s not much incentive to seek help.

I don’t think that I’m an alcoholic, but I suspect that my terrible, despairing mood tonight is because I had a lot (for me) to drink this week: a couple of bottles of cider; a bottle of wine; a margarita and a sangría. If I drink for two nights in a row, I’ll feel the way I do now. Tomorrow morning, though, I’ll probably be back to normal mood-wise, so I’ll forget about how depressed alcohol makes me. Once again, there just isn’t the incentive to stop drinking completely or limit myself to a couple of drinks on a Saturday night.

It’s hard for me to change my behaviour because I don’t have one big thing fucking up my life in a huge, disastrous way. I know it’s crazy to say this, but I almost wish I was an out-and-out alcoholic, for example, and could hit rock bottom, so I would finally be able to say “OK, there is really something wrong with me. and I need help, or I can’t continue”.

6 Comments

So, you’ve heard of NaBloPoMo, but what about NaSexHaMo?

September 13, 2009 at 9:51 pm (my husband, NaBloPoMo, sex)
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Readers from my old blog who have followed me over here are no doubt stunned at what a prolific writer I have become on “My Petrichor Past”. On the old blog, I’d be lucky if I wrote a post per week. Over here, however, my little fingers have been flying over the keyboard because of “National Blog Posting Month”, or “NaBloPoMo” as it is known more informally. The idea is that you have to post every day for a month.

Right now there is nothing I would rather be doing less than writing a blog post. I have terrible allergies and I would much prefer to be curled up on the sofa, sipping a nice piña colada (which, for some reason, I have been craving all day…God knows why, as I can’t even remember the last time I had one). I am feeling extremely uninspired and tired, but, nonetheless, I am going to post. This is precisely why I like NaBloPoMo – it makes me accountable. I’ve posted for the previous twelve days of September 2009, and it would be a damn shame to stop now. Also, I’m competitive as hell, and I can’t let all those other NaBloPoMo’ers beat me! It was the same thing when I was training for a marathon. I had to start training at 6:00 a.m. every Saturday morning, meaning that I’d have to get up at 4:30 a.m. (I could have got up later, I suppose, but I do so love having a nice leisurely breakfast in the morning). There’s no way in hell I’d ever have got up that early if I wasn’t training with other people, and didn’t have the prospect of kicking some ass.

Being so intensely competitive is probably not a very nice quality but can I say? I guess I must be a Type A personality. This is probably why I’m so unhappy being a sex worker. I suppose one could be incredibly ambitious about giving a great handjob but that has never been one of my goals in life!

However, I digress…

Earlier today, just after I had finished having sex with Midwestern Man, I was wondering what to write about for today’s post. I thought about how it can sometimes seem like a chore to write a post every day for NaBloPoMo; but then it occurred to me just how good it is to be forced to write something every day, even if it is usually some self-indulgent, self-pitying nonsense. What I’m writing about may not be great literature, but it is, nonetheless, writing. NaBloPoMo and blogging, in general, keep me connected to writing, and this is huge because I desperately need a creative outlet. They also keep me connected to the outside world, and help me “meet” other people (one of my new favourite bloggers, Terry, over at Bazookah Joe is someone I “met” on the NaBloPoMo site).

What I also like about NaBloPoMo is that it helps me get over my overly romantic notion of writing and creativity. So much of the reason why I’m not more creative is because I have always spent so much fucking time waiting for my bloody Muse to show up. It’s not sexy or exciting, but it’s helpful for me to think of writing like a chore or a job. The funny thing is that when I do that, I find myself getting inspired anyway!

As I was lying in bed with my husband having these thoughts, it occurred to me that we could perhaps use the NaBloPoMo model to stimulate my practically non-existent libido. You are probably thinking “huh?”, so let me explain. Well, I just said that I often don’t feel like blogging because I feel uninspired, but I do it anyway because of NaBloPoMo and end up with my fingers flying over the keyboard. What about if there was a NaSexHaMo (National Sex Having Month)? If I don’t feel like sex, I’d force myself to have it anyway every day, and perhaps end up really enjoying it and feeling closer to Midwestern Man (and, curiously, it does often happen like this!).

I think this sounds like a very interesting idea! Who cares to join me in the NaSexHaMo challenge?! Maybe we could even have our own website, documenting our successes! :-)

2 Comments

Distracted by Larry Brown

September 8, 2009 at 11:46 pm (my husband, my sex life, no libido, sexual intimacy, stray cats)
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So much for my new routine of getting up early, feeding the pets, writing in my journal, blogging and then going for a run – all before starting a day’s work. This morning I decided to read a “little bit” of the novel “The Rabit Factory” by Larry Brown, which had been sitting on my bookshelf for ages. I think I got it years ago for some book group I never ended up going to. I’m not sure why I never read it. It was possibly because the main blurb on the back of the book was from the local “newspaper”, which I find very provincial. I must have thought, snobbishly, that nothing championed in that rag could possibly be any good.

How wrong could I have been! What a bloody good read. A total fucking page-turner, and it has absorbed me the whole day. How rare it is to find a novelist who’s an amazing storyteller. I’m all for experimentation in literature, music and the visual arts but, goddamit, I want to be entertained as well!

Now that I have five cats and have officially earned the “crazy cat lady” moniker, the first sentence even had me grabbed:

“The kitten was wild and skinny, and its tail looked almost broken, kind of hung down crooked”.

There’s also a (male!) pit bull called Jada Pinkett! Oh how I laughed out loud when I read that!

Speaking of stray kittens, the new addition to my family is doing better, as his eyes no longer seem infected, but they do still seem to be ulcerated. I thought they would heal better than this, so I’m taking him to the vet again on Thursday. I really hope that they can save his vision, even if only in one of his eyes. Cats are just such amazingly resilient animals. I doubt this kitten can see very much, as his eyes are pretty fucked up, and yet he still scoots about the floor chasing a little ball! I once had a cat with no eyes (he had to have them removed because they had also been attacked by the feline herpes virus, but they were too badly damaged by the time I found him) and you would never have known he was blind unless you looked at him very closely. He did all the things my other cats did, and only very, very, very rarely bumped into a piece of furniture, and usually because I would have moved it from its normal location.

Just how do cats do that? I’m just in awe of them. God, just listen to me. How many times can I blog about cats? I just got an email from Blogcatalog telling me that my blog had been approved for inclusion, or whatever, and guess what the google ads are on my blog page?! There’s one about sex and another about fucking cat litter! Sometimes I think Google doesn’t only scan the content of my emails and blog, but also has a window into my soul.

Something weird has happened to me ever since finding this fifth cat, though. It really does feel like I’ve been initiated into some kind of cat hoarding club. I can’t stop looking at my cats, and admiring their beautiful feline elegance and independence. God, I love them.

You may be glad to know that Midwestern Man and I finally fucked today. I’m nearly always too tired at night to have sex, so I decided to tell him to hurry back from work and fuck me in the middle of the afternoon. I didn’t really want to, but I know it’s not fair to deprive him of sex. It was really lovely, though, and I feel closer to him again. He says that I’m “like a man”, in that I’m only nice to him after we have sex. There is, sadly, definitely some truth to that. Today, one of my new favourite bloggers, Pandabox33, commented on yesterday’s post and said “I found that just doing it sometimes helps”. This resonated with me a lot because, yes, I find that iif just grit my teeth and force myself to have sex that I actually enjoy it…and then I want more of it. Unfortunately, we then have a small lull in our sex life and then I forget all about how much I like it. Sigh.

Well, must dash, as I’m attempting the Nablopomo challenge this month, and I have to post every day in September. It’s nearly midnight, and I don’t want to miss a day. Sweet dreams everybody.

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