Sorry!!

Oh, I know. I suck.

I haven't written in a while because I'm busy w/med school, which is kicking my ass like nothing else. I literally study all.the.time. If I'm not studying, then I'm going out on random Craigslist dates.

CL Guy #1 was an intern at Tufts Med. He was tall, cute, charming. He went to Villanova and Jefferson Med School, both of which I have never heard of, but I didn't hold it against him because he was tall and cute and funny. I'll call him Melville.

We walked around Boston, went to a random townie bar, and we came back to my apt, where we TALKED until 5 in the morning. It was insane, our chemistry. Clickclickclick everywhere. We exchanged about 40 or so texts, and we met up again the next day.

Mind you, I had to WALK to his place on Columbus Ave, and that's a far walk from where I live. And it was fucking raining. But whatever, he was cool, he was cute, and I wanted to make out with him a little and see how big his dick was. So I went over, and we pretended to watch TV until he finally put the moves on me and we hooked up.

It was mediocre at best. He was a good kisser, but let's just say that he probably skipped out on a few anatomy lessons during med school. Doctors are usually supposed to be GREAT in bed... but this one? Kind of a dud. I mean, this is all extrapolation, of course. We never actually fucked. Just came close to it, that's all.

He told me how sexy I was, how much he liked me, how he loved my sarcasm.... and we had this weird conversation about trust. As in, we kind of established that he didn't trust me and that I didn't trust him(we had only met 48 hours prior). Then I kind of freaked out on him, "Oh my god, this is so weird... I met you on the INTERNET and we're hooking up!" And I basically left his place at 2am, even though he was practically begging me to spend the night.

He texted me twice the next day, and I wrote back only to 1. And this was over a week ago, and I haven't heard a peep from him since.

I was so hugely dissappointed. Then I remembered that he said to me as we were hooking up, "You shouldn't ever trust a guy." What a weird thing to say! He was a guy. Truly ominous in hindsight, but what can I do about it now? Pretty much nothing.

I then thought about what happened and what I did wrong, and basically, what I did was that I killed my own mystery. Men chase the mystery, the thrill of the unknown, the possibility of getting some, a la man de la Mancha. But I practically gave my shit away the 2nd night I met him... and maybe I came off as desperate.

It took so much self control not to text him or call him, but finally I had to delete his number so I wouldn't do it. I fully expect never to hear from him again.

But what bullshit! What the fuck was all that about, us staying up until 5 am just fucking TALKING?? Seriously. Was he just bored? Was he just toying w/my mind? I don't get it.

I thought I had a pretty good grasp on the male gender until this Melville bullshit. I seriously had half a mind to just march over to his dingy apt and DEMAND to know why he hadn't called or texted. I will never, ever understand men. NEVER.

CL Guy #2-- sigh. Well, he's great on paper, but he's kind of asexual and dweeeeeby. Like, he's thin and short and kind of androgenous with shaggy hair and unkempt clothes. But he's got an MD AND a PhD from Harvard, he's completely brilliant, and I'm pretty sure he's the smartest person I've ever met. We went out for drinks last night, he emailed me when he got home saying he wanted to see me again, and I wrote him back and told him to call me whenever. So that's pending.

It took that awesome date/rejection combo from Melville for me to realize that the best way to make sure a guy loses interest is to put out. I should not have put out so soon, so much. Oh well. At least I learned and now I won't make the same mistake ever again.

All right, back to studying.

babiesbabiesbabies

God, I really curse this instinct of mine to propogate the species. I can't get babies off my mind. I want to have kids, goddamnit. Ideally, I'd like them now so I won't be a gross old 40 something betch who will be shunned by other moms at PTA meetings.

But then there's this other side of me that is all about whoring and stripping and letting weird guys suck on my tits for $400. Even I can recognize that side cannot exist if I am to be a good mother. I mean, realistically speaking, I have so many mental issues that to have children would be cruel. Mark was right about this, and that's why I got so angry about it. Because it was the truth and there was not much I could do about it.

Of course, let me reiterate the sad state of my life, in which I have:

no money

no boyfriend

no real career that will allow me to make money

I mean, yes, I'm fucking around w/the idea of med school, but do I really want to go through 6+ years of more education? I don't want to be a professional student for the rest of my life.

And let's recap the various men who have proposed to me over the years:

1)Steve(this does not count as a FORMAL proposal, because he was still technically and nontechnically married to someone else when he asked me). Besides, I don't think he sees me as the mother of his future children-- just as a hot chick w/serious head problems who is always wearing a shirt that says "I <3 3somes" because that's the only time I ever hear from him(when he wants 3somes).

2)Ben. Ah, Ben. He of the one that got away. Perfect on paper, but he and I would fight all.the.time. Even on the night of our engagement, we got into a fight and I made him sleep on the couch after he we had anal sex. All those stereotypes about Jewish men proved to be entirely too true. Oh, and his mother fucking hated my guts.

3)Matt. Matt proposed to me after we casually dated for 2 weeks. He was obsessed w/me. At first, I lapped up the attention, because it has been such a long time since I had an official stalker. He proposed to me and I thought about accepting it because I was sad and desperate, but I actually ended up trying to shoot my brains out a few weeks later. It's all about timing.

Argh. Why can't I be an oozing plasmoid that doesn't have to worry about propogating the progeny?? Seriously, I am getting desperate, and the desperation is mounting to a point where I won't soon be able to mask it in public. I'll repel and scare away men from a mile away.

Seriously. I'm thinking about having a one night stand w/a Hvd Law or Hvd Med student and renting my uterus out for the next 9 months. I want to be a mom, damnit.

can't take the trash out of the girl

Ugh, am horrible @ managing money. Spent $300 yesterday at Target, of all places. They had a lot of really cool Richard Chai stuff, and I threw it all in the cart and somehow it ended up being $300.

JAY keeps sending me pictures of himself. Have I ever mentioned that the sight of a man's meat stick really grosses me out? Really. If a guy wants to turn me off, the quickest thing to do would be to send some cock shots my way. Ewww. He says gross stuff like "Tell me your deepest, darkest fantasy" and "What would you like me to do 2 u?" Listen, buddy, this isn't 1-900-free-dirtytalk. Either pay up or shut up.

I had lunch w/Elizabeth today and I told her what I did. She rolled her eyes and said, "Well, I'm not surprised. This is typical man-hater stuff, where you try to exploit men like they exploit you." Man-hater? Am I really that transparent?

I don't know why I hate men so much. I seem to derive pleasure at hurting them somehow. Somewhere along the line of cynicism, everything curdled into this sinister, life-negating mentality. I think my man-hating is really just a natural extension of my self-hating.

Elizabeth laughed so hard at my hiring of Tupac and having him loiter the lobby in an upscale downtown hotel. "Jesus, are you crazy? What were you thinking? Of course they would have kicked him out, he had PIMP written on his forehead!" She said my life was something out of a bad Easton Ellis novel.

Then she said: "You know, Catherine. It's times like these when I really see how your upbringing screwed you up. I mean, you're otherwise well-spoken and all, but I think there's a whole chunk of Life 101 you missed growing up in a trailer park."

Well, no shit. Of course this comes all down to my parents and my trashy childhood. Who else can I blame?

The thing that made me laugh like hell was when Elizbeth told me that I asked too little for the peep show. "Well, how much should I have charged, then?"

"At least $2000."

!!! Bitch, you must be trippin' . No man is going to pay $2000 to see some chick naked, no matter how hot.

"Well, you are severely attractive. Plus you went to Harvard."

Uh, yeah. Think the guys give a hoot where I went to school? Talk about naive.

In other unrelated news, there is this... annoying but sweet friend of mine that keeps giving me weird vibes. Like, he'll tell me he wishes he could meet a girl "exactly like me" and tells me saccharine bullshit stories(e.g. he was a fat kid, he felt alienated), like to get into my pants through my heart. (Ha, little does he know that I have no heart and the way through my pants is through his wallet.) I feel sorry for him and I try to let him know that I only think of him as a friend. I actually called him "homie" last night and punched him in the gut. Then he got drunk and told me he jerked off by thinking of me. Gee, thanks.

I think I will go to church tomorrow. I feel my life is in need of some religious righteousness. As if listening to a homily will make me feel less like a whore destined to burn in hell's everlasting fire.

Just so we're clear

Someone brought up a v good point:

"If you're not afraid to die, why are you afraid of STDs?"

Because STDs don't kill you. They prolong your misery w/nasty looking sores on the vag and labia, and inconveniences you w/shit like burning during urination.

I am not afraid of death, but don't forget: I am vain. STDs give you ugly genitals. I don't need more issues w/my vag, my mole is plenty enough, thanks.

Never enough

I got a taste of what easy money is like yesterday, and I am afraid it has unleashed a beast within.

I realize that yesterday was a complete fluke-- nothing happened to me, the guy didn't try to ass-rape me, and I didn't get in trouble of any sort. And I made quick money. But I am no fool and know that this is rare.

But I really hate my current job-- tutoring MCAT, SAT for Kaplan-- and I'd rather do something else. Before this summer, I was poor, but everyone else was doing ok. Nowadays, I am poor and everyone around me is poor also. This makes mooching off of others nearly impossible.

JAY emailed me today and he wanted to know how much a "full pacakge" would be. Honestly, I didn't know how much to ask for. He gave me $400(including tip) just to watch me strip and pretend masturbate, and now he wants "the full pacakge." Then it's like, ok, how much am I worth in pure dollars? I don't see myself letting him fuck me for less than $1000, but I know this is exorbitant and a little ridic.

I hate my body so much: my boobs are too small, I have a mole on my vagina, and my calves are too big. But I must admit that none of this has bothered any dude from deriving pleasure by looking at me naked. Like, yesterday, as soon as I started to take my clothes off, JAY was like, "Ohhh, hold on, can you keep your panties on for a while longer, I don't want to cum yet." OK dude.

It was pretty weird, and I kept thinking how straight out of Literotica this was. He offered me a drink, and I took 1 sip(no way was I getting drunk w/this possible psycho), and I hooked my ipod up to his laptop, and I stripped for him. Then he was like, "I want to see you touch yourself" so I made some exaggerated moans and closed my eyes halfway, saying cheesy ass shit like, "I'm getting sooo wet." If anything on me was wet, it was my pits, because I was kinda scared he would jump me and ass rape me. But I remember a stripper telling me that the worst thing you could do in front of a john was to show your fear. So I acted like everything was super sexy and turning me on. I'm a pretty bad actor and I was kind of nervous that he would see through the act, but he seemed to buy into it.

Then he was like, "Can I suck on your boobs a little?" And I didn't know how to say no w/o ruining the mood. So I let him, and then he wanted to go down on me, but I smiled and reminded him that he wasn't supposed to touch me. I grinded my ass on his thigh though, and he came instantly. It was over in 15 mins.

All this time, Tupac(my bodyguard) was waiting in the lobby for me. He was supposed to come up to the room if I didn't come out or text him in 30 mins. After it was over, JAY gave me a $50 tip and thanked me very formally. When I came down to the lobby, Tupac was arguing w/the concierge because they were asking him leave. He was like, "WHATCHOU doin' down here already, girl?"

I don't trust JAY or Tupac though. Actually, I guess I don't have to fear Tupac because he is really, really stupid. JAY, on the other hand, is not. He's not a bad looking guy, and he seems too slick to be paying women to do anything w/him. He's some sort of real estate developer who owns property all over the country and travels all the time. That's why none of this made sense to me. Why would a decent looking guy pay $400 to essentially jerk off? Part of the reason I was ok w/meeting him the first time was because I had my Tupac w/me, and also, he was staying at an upscale hotel. But what if he was keeping his crazy shit under wraps until I was lured by his normality? I don't know. I am also deathly terrified of herpes, and receiving $1000 is not enough reason to contract herpes or genital warts or whatever else he might have.

What's funny is that I don't give a shit when it comes to fucking people for free. Like, the fear of STDs has not stopped me from getting action, not even once. But when you factor money into the equation, that's when things become dangerous.

BTW, Tupac isn't his real name. It's T'Shawn, but I call him Tupac because he's black and big and likes rap music.

Easiest $400 ever made. Gotta love the big tippers.

$350 an hour girl

Guess what-- I found out that I absolutely ABHOR minimum wage jobs. I have slowly found my way back into the sex industry once again.

Remember way back when... when I thought stripping was a good idea? I ended up being scared shitless, getting harassed by an ugly, smelly dude named Todd, with blisters all over my 4 inch heels. I did not make the big moolah, let's put it that way. It sucked. I would get irrationally afraid of any dude that would come near me, and I just couldn't "work" the johns enough to get decent tips. I think part of the problem was that every girl dancing was high, and I was not(because I was afraid it would cloud my judgement).

So here I am, back to square one, realizing that the most money to be made in the shortest amount of time is via my body. Hell, I even have the low self-esteem to really accessorize this baby up. Anyway, even though I wanted to go into hooking for a while, somehow, I never found the courage to do it. I was too afraid of getting busted by the popos to really try.

But now, I have my first client lined up for tomorrow. Well, that is, if I don't lose my nerve and actually go through with it.

I posted an ad on CL: "Hot college girl available" under casual encounters.

"Hi, I'm a cute college girl who is tiny, adorable, sweet, fit(5'3" and 100 lbs). I am looking for a hookup with a guy who is generou$ and understanding, and in return, I make a VERY good playmate. Age, race, is not important. Couples are cool, too. Please email me if you are interested!

Ciao"

I daren't post anything under erotic services because that's just ASKING to be arrested.

Anyway, I get flooded with responses, mostly from losers who can't put a sentence together. There is one guy but he has a Jewish last name, and I didn't write back for that reason. Plus, I did some detective work and found out he was a DO, and that turned me off. (Hey, I'm a whore, but I'm still a pretentious whore.) Five hours later, a guy named JAY(the caps are all his) writes, sends a torso shot of himself(pretty cute, actually) and includes his phone number.

So I blocked my number and I called him, and to my surprise: he actually sounds kinda cool. Of course, I am playiing the role of a 22 year old college girl-bait, so I say something like, "I've never done this before and I'm nervous." And then I said my rate was $500

He was like, "Uh... so I don't know if you know this, but the standard going rate is around 200 bucks or so."

Me: "Ohh... Hmmm, really? Well, I have a boyfriend and I don't think I could do this for anything less than $500"

JAY: "How about you come over, and I watch you, and you watch me? No touching."

Me: "How much?"

JAY: "Couple hundred."

Me: "Oh... sorry, I don't think I can do that. But thanks anyway."

Then I hung up.

1 hour later, I get an email from him: "How about $300, watching only?"

I write back: "Hmmmm... I don't think I can go any lower than $350, unfortunately. Well, you can look at my pic and decide. ;)"

I sent him a cheesy pic and he wrote back RIGHT AWAY

"OK. Your place or do you want to travel?"



So basically, this guy is offering me $350 to come over and "watch" him, and for him to "watch" me. That sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?

What's weird is that I googled his phone number and I found an ad he wrote for a "nude model." As in, he wanted to be the nude model. Odd, huh?

So here's where my common sense comes in. I'm going to hire a bodyguard to man me while I do this. He'll be outside the hotel room, but I'm going to pay him maybe $10-$20 an hour, and that still means I'll make $330. Not bad, considering all I'm doing is letting him watch. What he'll be watching, I'm not really sure.

Basically, I am hiring an independent pimp for myself. Kind of funny. I have 3 interviews lined up, and I wonder how many of them will accept the job if I tell them this was for the job of an independent contactor-pimp. I need someone who's listened to too much bad rap music.

Good call

One of the reasons I lock this blog is because of my affiliation w/Hvd. Mainly, I need good recs from my colleagues and former advisors, and if any of this ever got out or I was properly identified-- well, I can kiss my med school career goodbye.

I think I wrote about this a while ago-- but there was this superhot undergrad who was really sweating me, as the kids would say. (Do kids today even say that? I'm so out of the loop.) Anyway, he'd do cute things like bring apples to my office hours and ask me for career advice(even though I later found out he is pre-law, which is completely unrelated to my field) and basically flirt the fuck out w/me.

It really took a huge amount of restraint for me not to hook up w/him, mainly because he was so cute and charming... and well, he really stroked my ego. And thank GOD I did not do anyhing stupid, because I found out yesterday that a girl in a different department was reprimanded for "inappropriately patronizing" with an undergrad! I hear through friends of mine that she just had dinner w/the sophomore, they did PG-13 things like kiss, etc, and she got in trouble. Can you imagine what would have happened if I would have done what I wanted to do?? OMG.

But I didn't not hook up w/him because I was afraid to get in trouble... mainly, I didn't want to be the laughingstock of all of his friends and I absolutely REFUSED to be classified as anything remotely related to a cougar. I always thought old chicks dating young dudes were pathetic and desperate, and no way would I have let that shame fall upon myself. So it was a pride thing more than anything else. What can I say? Sometimes my pride saves me from totally fucking up my life.

I also have to find a new place to live. My roomate decided that me not fucking him anymore is grounds for evicting me from the apartment. Oh well-- it was too good of a deal to last too long anyway.

Anon

It's so ridiculously easy to stalk someone nowadays. Even back when I was in college, if I wanted to stalk someone, I had to do it the old-fashioned way: physically following them to see where they were and where they'd go. There was no Facebook, no Myspace, no Googlemaps. I remember when I was obsessed with Steve, I actually borrowed my friend's car and followed him on his date to the Cheesecake Factory. I remember seeing him with a thick-waisted girl with curly hair. I think I waited for him in the car for 2 hours. Damn, I was so desperate back then. Actually, I'm still desperate, but I'm also lazy, which means I don't have the drive to follow anyone anymore.

But anyway, since I've broken things off(TWICE) w/Ben, I really don't want him to know where I live. I know how to be anonymous, but I wasn't thinking about any of this back when I regitered to vote. Now my address shows up on anywho.com. This really, really bothers me. It's not that I'm scared of Ben or anything like that. I don't think he'd bother coming all the way out here from CA. It's just that I firmly believe he has absolutely no right to know where I live, let alone if I'm even alive or dead. I want to be impossible to find. I'd pay someone like a few hundred bucks to erase online traces of me.

I really want to un-register to vote, if I can do such a thing.

Oh, the Hamptons thing. Well, I did find a bikini at TJ Maxx for $9.99, and it looks pretty cute. I believe I purchased it thinking I was going. But the past two times I've been to the Hamptons(Amagansett, South Hampton), I've had a miserable time. It's chockful of Eurotrash and girls who think Juicy is couture. Don't get me wrong, I love pretentious people, but I like my pretensiousness with a degree of solemness and fake dignity, not outright "LOOK AT ME!" coolness. It really irritated me. Plus, everything is so stupifyingly expensive, and I don't want to live on crackers the entire time I'm there. I'm going with Elizabeth, which means I'll have to pay for the incidentals myself. If I was going with a dude, that would be a different story. I wouldn't care how expensive anything was. But a dinner out in Amagansett could mean $100 tab share for just one meal, and I clearly cannot afford that. I think Elizabeth has enough social tact to not put me in such situations in the first place, but talking about money and dealing with money amongst friends is so uncomfortable for me. So that's why I kind of didn't want to go.

Yeah, and the Hamptons really are not that big of a deal. The nightclubs are stupid and have long lines. Last summer, they had TOPLESS dancers dancing in front of everyone. This was at a supposedly high-end club, mind you. We were not at a titty bar. It was so gross. Plus, all the guys wear too much hair gel and pop open their collars like they rule. The Eurotrash contingency really kind of ruins any ambience there may be at the Hamptons.

Off topic, I've been propositioned for a 3some once again by one of my exes. What am I, the go to chick for 3somes?? I don't take offense at this, but I really do feel slighted when the chick in the participating party is severely unattractive. This is the same ex who asked for the same thing a year ago. And two years ago. Both times, he really insulted me.

Also overrated as the Hamptons-- 3somes. I mean, when I first got into it, I was like WHOOO! This is rad. But it's like, even that shit gets old after a while. I've only ever had FMF, so I don't know how MFM will feel like. Maybe it'll turn my entire world upside down and inside out with pure pleasure. Who knows.

OK, I have to go to the gym. I ate way too much today.

None

I deserve a fucking medal for not killing my mother yet.

Whenever my life starts to improve even the slightest bit-- I can always count on my mother to swoop in and shit all over it. She can't read anything beyond middle-school level, but her one incomprable talent is her timing. She knows exactly when to berate me and sink my self-esteem for maximum impact.

I finally realized why she is such a bitch to me. It's because(and I say this without any conceit, I'm really just stating the facts here) I am prettier than her and I am smarter and much more educated than she is. Oh, and let's not forget my superhuman ability to elude the fat gene she passed onto me. I have managed to stay below a 100 lbs for the majority of my life, through sheer dogged anoerexing and discipline. And she can't fucking stand it.

And her bitterness is something I can't understand. If I had a daughter, I would hope she's prettier than me, smarter than me-- hell, I hope she bypasses the majority of my genes and takes on all of her father's. I want her to be better than me. This is Darwinian, how the survival of our species works. The medical definition of genetic fitness is prognosis for future progeny that is more viable and more advantageous than the filial generation.

But all of this is completely lost on my mother. She is the queen of passive-aggression, and one of her favorite pasttimes is calling me and leaving me these thinly-veiled insults in my voicemail.

I scare myself when I hate my own mother this much. I really have tried, especially these past couple of months, to really forge some kind of relationship with her. But I can't. I'm talking about someone who actually resents me for being better than her. And I can't fucking help it! It took a crazy amount of effort and persistence for me to get out of her trailer park world, and everything I have today, I have because I made it or I got it myself. She hasn't done jack shit for me or my well-being.

Ugh, I hate how this entry has turned into something all about my mother. Sorry.

Yesterday on Newbury Street, I was waiting for Elizabeth so we could have lunch together, and a shady looking guy came up to me and told me he wanted to photograph me. Oh, pukey puke. He gave me his card and even a link to his portfolio, but jesus, if I wanted to be gratuitously naked, I needn't look further than my own apartment, as my own roomie is one of those so called professional
"photographers." But he wants to pay me $100 an hour for me to pose, so I'm thinking about it. I have to talk to my roomate about it first, maybe I can talk him into paying me more.

Anyway, Elizabeth and I are slowly rekindling our friendship. It's weird, because I really looked up to her and she sort of cut me out of her life without telling me what I did to offend her. She still hasn't told me, and I haven't bothered asking, but she was sweet when I saw her yesterday and this weekend she is coming over with last season's stuff she doesn't want. Nothing better than free clothes.

She also invited me to go to East Hampton with her next weekend. I really want to go, but I'm embarassed at not having a decent bikini. What a stupid reason for not wanting to go to the Hamptons, right? I'll probably go, even if I have to wear a $19.99 one piece from Target.

Overdue

A thousand apologies for my absence. But the good news is, I'm alive. Ha.

I've been having some... blogger's block? It's more like serious depression that makes you think everything you do is stupid, even some meaningless little blog like only 10 people read. I know I reneged on my promise to write short entries more often, but when you feel like shit and kind of want to shoot yourself(again), the last thing you feel like doing is talk about how shitty your life is.

So there's that.

Whenever I get depressed over something, it's usually over something I can't do anything about. These days I've been depressed about my age, how old and soon-to-be-saggy I am becoming. I know, the stupidest thing to get depressed over, I know this. I recognize this. But my speciality is finding misery in even the most natural things, so it's age I've chosen this time around.

I know that probably in 10 or even in 5 years, I'll look back and think, Goddamn, why the fuck was I depressed when I was still relatively hot and still in my 20's? I've been trying to think of what Catherine in X years would tell Catherine at age 28 to do. She would probably tell her to stop being a whiny little bitch and to get her shit together. It worked for a day, but now I'm back to being depressed again.

But mostly I think it's because of my self-enforced celibacy that I've been doing. It's not even really celibacy as it is more... isolation from mankind, really. I go all day and sometimes 4 or 5 days without talking to anyone. Me, the approach-men-at-Hvd-bookstore-and-beg-them-to-fuck-me girl, I'm afraid to talk to men. Sometimes I'll catch one looking at me and I'll become vaguely ill, like a slight reflux thing that I get whenever I look at seafood(I hate seafood). I don't know what caused this, but I think the whole thing with Ben has somewhat traumatized me and--oh, yes--let's not forget that I tried to shoot my brains out not too long ago.

Speaking of which, I might as well get it over with and talk about how I did that. I've been putting it off because I felt so idiotic thinking about my FAILED attempt at offing myself, but it's kind of funny and the sheer dumbassery of it all is nothing if not amusing. So.

Anyway, where I last left off, I had come back from my dead brother's pad, where I found a gun underneath his bed and I FedExed it to myself. You know how some people prepare for hurricanes by stocking cans of food? Well, I knew that one day, possibly one day very soon, I'd be wanting a gun to use on myself. So many times I've said, "God, I wish I had a gun," and I never had access to one. I felt like a macabre kid on Christmas Eve, she of this shady gun that her druggie brother had persumably used once upon a time.

So I got back to Boston and my roomate had signed for the package for me. He was like, "WTF is in that? It's so damn heavy!" I didn't tell him, of course. I never told anyone.

Fast forward to May. I'm feeling like shit, like the world is collasping upon me, I'm such a victim of my self-hatred, blah blah. I drink half a bottle of Scotch, drunk dial the med student I met at the bookstore, feel dejected about everything. You think I'm sad when I'm sober, wait until you see me drunk. It's like Elliot Smith mixed with Edgar Allen Poe crossed with Emily Dickinson X 100. The med student was busy and said he couldn't see me, and that pushed me over the edge.

At this point, I started to get incredibly hopeless about everything. You know how dramatic I am, how I make everything out to be either a zero or a thousand. There is no in between, not ever. It spiraled into something drunk, black, and sinister, and I thought: Shit, I have a gun. I can finally do what I've only been thinking about doing all these years.

To understand what happened next, you must understand my experience with guns: I had none. I had never shot a gun, never cocked it, never aimed it. I could barely identify one. But being the drunken sad, idiotic D. Baggerson that I was, I decided that would not deter me. I promoptly found my gun, found the bullets, and proceeded to Google to learn how to load the bullets to properly kill myself.

The next thing I know, the gun is loaded. I stared at it for a while, crying my eyes out, wanting someone to stop me, maybe. But I didn't tell anyone, so of course, no one could. I then started to think a little through my Scotch-soaked brain: If I shoot myself, there will surely be a bloody mess. I don't want my roomate to be responsible for my bloody body/mess. I should do this in a way that will be least messy, as to spare my roomate the horror of cleaning it all up.

My moments of thoughtfulness manifest themselves in the oddest of moments.

So I took the gun and went into the bathroom. Checked my face in the mirror-- I remember thinking, God, I look so sloppy. Then I laughed a little to myself at how ridiculous I was being-- I was going to die, it didn't matter, duh. I turned off the lights, as I thought a proper death would go nicely with total lack of light. I climbed into the bathtub, tried to lie still, aimed the gun near my head. My reasoning for not aiming directly at my head was that I didn't want headbits to explode everywhere. I wanted a death Mr Clean would approve of. So I aimed near what I thought was my head, anyway. When I pulled the trigger, I heard a loud noise and then I felt nothing for what seemed like an eternity. This ether, this halfway point between death and life-- it was hell. I couldn't move.

Only minutes passed and I felt this throbbing pain and a dull pain in my arm. I had turned all the lights off in the bathroom so it was completely dark, but I felt something slimy and liquidy dripping on my body. Oh, and it was warm, like someone was dipping me in a warm bath. It took me only the next few seconds to realize that I was still alive. I failed.

By this point, I realized what a shitty shitty situation I've thrown myself into. If anyone found out, I knew that I would be locked up instantly. Perhaps what I fear most next to being fat is the thought of being locked up, losing my freedom, being locked up in a mental ward(which has actually happened to me once, but that's another story for another time). The pain in my arm became unbearable, but it was almost euphoric. I can't really describe it.

I couldn't get up from the bathtub, and I couldn't turn on the light. Then I heard my roomate yelling something, and I don't remember what happened next. He called an ambulance, they carried me on a stretcher, and I woke up en route to the hospital. The EMT was like, "What happened?" Immediately I knew I had to come up with something feasible rather than "I tried to kill myself," so I said, "I was playing with a gun and I shot myself by accident." I also saw, from the corner of my eye, what I had done: I shot myself in the upper arm. I missed my head. I now had what looked like a spurting, squirting blood fountain with an arm attached to it on my body. I promptly passed out again, and I woke up in the ER later with the doctor asking me how he could reach my parents.

This is how the facts of my life convinced the good folks at the ER that my shooting was "an accident":

1)I was a Hvd grad student
2)I had my preppiest clothes on-- Earl Jeans and a DVF top. Mind you, I was wearing heels during the entire process, until someone in the ambulance took them off for me. Vanity trails me everywhere, as you can clearly see.
3)My aim was bad, SO BAD, so unbelievably bad, that no one would have guessed I was aiming for my head. This is probably where being a drunken asshole saved me, because had I been sober, I most definitely would have aimed well enough to do something detrimental in the cephalization area. What would have actually happened is my wake up in the middle of the night with terror- kind of nightmare: I would have probably rendered maybe half of my brain useless, and I would be wearing a diaper and dictating this with one of those breathing/typing machines that quadrapelegic people use, in the manner of Stephen Hawking.
4)Again: I was drunk. What do drunk kids do when they get drunk? Apparently play with guns and get hurt. Believable enough for the ER doctors at the best hospital in America(Mass Gen).

What no one tells you when you're watching people do it all the time on TV and in the movies, is that shooting a gun is much, much harder than it looks. It's not point and shoot. There's backward momentum and Newton's third force action-reaction pair to reckon with. It is fucking hard. It takes coordination and kinesthetic awareness.

Anyway, that's enough typing for tonight. As a result of my suicide attempt, I should mention that I can't quite bend my elbow or contract my bicep without getting some sharp pains. They told me I had to start physical therapy, but guess what-- my school insurance doesn't really cover it, and I thought physical therapy was kind of for losers. I am wrong about the latter conclusion. I should look into getting some therapy, for both my arm and the contents of my head.

Will write more later. It's really aching.

Story #1

I keep putting off writing entries until I have more time... which probably won't be for a while. So I have decided to write more frequent mini entries, so writing about what happened to me wouldn't be such a colossal task.

So the most obvious question: How did I get my hands on a gun?

No, I didn't go buy it. No, I didn't steal it. Here is what happened.

When my brother died last year, I went to his apartment before my parents got there. I went through his stuff, mostly to clear his drug paraphenalia(because as upset as my parents were over his death, to have to get rid of drugs and various related accoutrements would have been just shitty for my parents). I flushed all the weed down the toilet, threw away all the bongs and rolling papers. And then I came across his handgun under his bed, with a case of bullets and adjacent to a box of condoms.

I don't know what possessed me to do what I did next: I packed it in a box and shipped it back to Boston for myself. Why the fuck I would do that, I still do not understand fully. It was just instinctive, because I knew I didn't want my parents to see it, but I didn't want to throw it away, either. I wanted to keep it, because something inside me told me that I would never have this easy access to a gun ever again. So I went to Kinko's, bought a box and some bubble paper, and packed it and shipped it overnight to my apartment. So those of you wondering if you can ship a gun and some bullets via FedEx: why, yes. you can.

And that's how I got my hands on a gun.

Quick update

I've been putting off writing an entry so that I could write one that properly reflects the changes I think I've made in my life. I think about it when I'm running, when I'm studying, when I lie awake at night.

I'm leaving my PhD program. I haven't officially told my department yet, but considering that I've not lifted a finger in doing anything department-related-- I think they have a clue. I'm taking my MCAT(medical college admissions test)and I'm sending in applications soon thereafter. I'm up to my ears in organic chemistry and physics.

Another change: I'm talking to my parents again. I have to tell that story when I have more time-- but suffice it to say that when shit hits the fan, the only ones you can really count on are your family. Forget apparent friends and affectionate acquaintances-- they don't really count. I found out when I had another breakdown last week.

I turned down a proposal from a guy I would have given my right boob for even just a few months ago. It wasn't as exceedingly hard as I thought it would be. I still haven't told anyone about my lame suicide episode. I'll also need more time to tell THAT story soon.

I was dragged to the stupid Sex and the City movie-- and I hated every.damn.minute. of it. OMG. It was torture for my brain. And the fact that it was 2.5 hours long--!! I spotted a few pussy-whipped dudes in the audience, but I think I was the only female not squealing and yelling when Carrie was abandoned. I have so many bones to pick with this show... but how stupid, STUPID is it that she keeps calling him "Big"? Ugh. I fucking hated the show, hate the characters, and very much hated the movie.

Oh, and someone got me a dog. I named her Mischa and just the thought of no one else being able to take care of her-- it keeps me from shooting my brains out. Haha. Just kidding. Well, sort of. I don't have that gun anymore anyway. '

I'll write more when I have more time. But it's not all bad now. Things are slowly looking up.

Not dead. I'm going through some serious life changes, not all of them bad. Will update soon.

Still alive(ha.ha.)

Still alive(ha. ha.)
Hi, I'm still here. I realize how ominous it seems when I post an entry regarding an attempted suicide and then don't post an update. So here is a perfunctory update.

I really appreciate the comments, esp Dan Ward's. I like his e-persona, which is weird, considering I don't know anything about him at all. It's funny people are afraid to say what they want to me because they think I'll react to it badly, but I can recognize sage words when I see them.

One thing that I don't agree with though is the concept that age( or its corollary, time) will make things better in and of itself. The truth is, a lot of things don't get fucking better, it's simply that we have conditioned ourselves to accept the formerly unacceptable. Most people will merely choose to stop banging their heads on the wall instead of repeatedly injuring themselves, but me? I don't know how to stop. Or if I even have the capacity to stop.

My life consists of only vapid shit, I completely agree. Diet, Exercising, procreating just because it's one more thing to accomplish... it all means nothing, ultimately. That's what drove me to suicide when I began to see how circuitous it all was. That feeling that things might one day get better-- this feeling was the only thing that gave me hope, that allowed me to continue for just one more day. And then one night, it went away.

I wish I could trust anyone enough to talk to them honestly. But I have this continuous struggle inside my head, this sick game I play with people, in beating the system, in exploiting the weaknesses in structure, finding loopholes. How did I manage to walk out of the ER with a bullet lodged inside myself, bloody and bewildered? How the hell did I talk my way out of the psych ward? It shouldn't have happened. I should have let myself be helped.

But if there's one thing this ordeal has taught me, it is that killing yourself is fucking hard. It's not easy tampering with biology, this will to live. Even as I was preparing to witness heaven or hell, it took something supernaturally strong for me to pull that trigger. There was a brief window of time, probably about 10 seconds or so(but it felt like hours) where I wasn't sure if I was dead or alive. Like, I couldn't feel anything, but I had this vague sensation of dizziness and things becoming gradually out of my reach. I sort of began to panic, if death was this limbo of here and not-here, if death was this state of uncertainty. I was after a final ending, not some tenuous maybe/maybe not.

I feel so stupid even writing about this. It's not like I actually coded and was brought back to life or something. I was just stupid and didn't do it right. All I know is, death is not as easy a route as you would think.

Something

I tried to kill myself two days ago. I failed, obviously.

What's laughable is that I genuinely, sincerely tried this time. I didn't tell anyone about it, I certainly didn't blog about it, I didn't even hint to anyone so they could fortuitously come "save" me at the last minute.

This suicide shit is much, much harder than it looks or seems. I salute anyone who can do it successfully.

I don't really feel like going into the details(mostly because I hate being reminded that I failed even at this) but maybe I'll write about it in a few days...

I can't believe I managed to stay out of the psych ward at the ER. Those idiots were so stupid, they believed what happened to me was an accident. They should have strapped me into a straightjacket immediately upon first sight. Yay for another case of outsmarting the system, go me.

What finally made me do it was the despondency I felt on Friday. Just... this grave realization that my life was never going to get better, no matter how much I wanted it to. That I was never going to fall in love again, I was never going to have kids, start my career, have a real life. I was chasing after something that would never materialize.

I can't believe I'm just... out here, integrated amongst society when all I want to do is strap a bomb on my chest and detonate.

But at least I still have my freedom.

That's something, at least.

Yes.

You know I really like a guy when: 1)I don't cancel the date upon learning he owns a motorcycle 2)I don't run for the hills when he comes to pick me up on a motorcycle 3)I actually get on the fucking motorcycle and sort of... enjoy myself.

Oh dear god. Have I become this desperate?

Bold.

I've always refrained from eating pork loin. Mainly because I wasn't sure what part of the pig is the loin. I mean, I know where mine is, because I have such strong urges from there. But yesterday, I learned that pork loin is really not akin to loin.

So last night, I went on a dinner date. My plan to ask out a random dude at the Hvd Bookstore didn't quite work out as I planned. It started off fine, because there are always hot guys there, so many prospects to choose from. I saw a well-dressed early 30's looking guy who was browsing the medical history section. I started to think about what I was doing, but then I realized I would talk myself out of it if I analyzed it anymore. So I just went up to him. Boldly.

Me: "Hi."
Him: [looks behind him, and then to his left, and then to his right]
Me: "HI."
Him: "Hi?"
Me: "So I'm just going to ask you this. Would you like to get a drink later tonight?"
Him: "Uh...This is a joke, right?"
Me: "You can say no if I repulse you. But this is not a joke."
Him: "All right, who put you up to this? Miller? Is Miller around here?"
Me: "Never mind. Okay then. Have a nice day." [I walk away hurriedly before he sees any more of my humiliation]

So I'm walking out of the bookstore and seriously cursing myself and someone says, "Excuse me" and it's him.
Me: "Oh Christ, it's you. Look, sorry I bothered you. You don't have to worry, I'll leave you alone."
Him: "I am SO sorry. Oh my god, I thought one of my friends was playing a joke on me. It's just that beautiful women don't approach me often."
Me: [I blush furiously]
Him: "Yeah, one of my buddies is a big jokester, and he's always doing stuff to embarass me all the time. Anyway, I sincerely apologize and I am such an idiot."
Me: [now smiling, because I have reeled him in]

This was in the middle of the afternoon, not even 4 pm. We went to a local bar to get a drink and we talked for a while. He's a med student(score!) and he was very funny and charming. So drinks turned into dinner(where he had pork loin and I had a salad, and learned what part of the pig was the loin) and then it got to be around 10pm. I invited him over to my place to "watch a movie" and --how cute is this-- he was like, "Oh, okay. Where's the nearest Blockbuster?" HAHAHA. Who the fuck actually thinks an invitation to see a movie at a girl's place is really an invitation to see a movie? I found this oddly endearing. Anyway, we got our damn movie and he came back to my place and... he didn't lay a finger on me. He didn't even try anything and promptly left after the end credits were over. I was like, what is wrong with him? What is wrong with me? Did I have bad breath? Was he turned off by my humongous calves?

Then I got this text from him an hour after he left: "Had an excellent time with u. When can I c you again?"

So by default, my celibacy streak continues. It's like I can't give this shit away anymore!

I don't wanna look like Brooke Hogan

I was reading Henry Taylor this morning and came across this line:

"...but all I learned was, when the wicked die,
they ride combines through barley forever."

Hilarious! I need to use this line in a conversation with someone soon.

I got up this morning and did 7.25 miles, but I was doing it at the gym and the clueless guy next to me was trying to talk to me. HELLO?? You don't talk to someone who has no makeup on, who is sweating like hell, and has her ipod cranked up. I said, "Talk to me after I'm done" and kind of glared at him. When I was leaving, he quickened his pace(aka nearly stalked me) and we had this gem of an exchange:

Him: "So, uh, are you training for the marathon?"
Me: "What? No." [I look at him like he's stupid]
Him: "Oh. Oh. Because I always see you running and you work out so hard. You look like a runner, too."
Me: "Are you saying I have thick tree trunk legs?"
Him: "No! Your legs are great! Really muscular."
Me: "You just ruined my day. Seriously, get away from me."

One of the downsides of running is that it builds muscle in my lower legs. My calves are already big enough from wearing goddamn heels all the time; the last thing I need is legs like Britney Spears'! Ugh. I build muscle really easily. I'm convinced I have an excess of testosterone in my body(hence the out of control facial hair that looks like a mustache if I don't tend to it properly). But he seriously pissed me off and I'm thinking maybe I should do something else for my cardio instead of running. I don't want to bulk up. The same thing happened to Anna Wintour(I can't believe I know this, but I have read her biography). She was a devoted runner until she started getting muscle-y and she switched to tennis instead. But I don't know anyone who will get up at 6 am to play tennis with me.

And I fucking hate the elliptical. It's so... gay, to use a late 90's term. The only thing I hate more than the elliptical is the sight of a MAN on an elliptical. Jesus, pick something more manly to do. The elliptical is for chubby girls with various joint ailments. Did I mention I hate the elliptical?

I have to get a date for tomorrow night. It has been too long since I got out of my apartment for social calls. I'm hanging around the Harvard bookstore today to see if I can spot anyone cute. And then, out of sheer desperation, I am going to ask him out. And if he says no, I'll ask out the guy next to him. I'm beginning to care less and less about how I am perceived by society in general.

Plan

Jesus, I hate being a fat ass.

I got up this morning and I could barely crank out 6 miles. It got to be so bad that I thought, "Well, it's on the inside that counts." Then it took me about 2 seconds to realize I don't have inner beauty either, because I'm a big snobby bitch, and if I lose my looks forever, I'm pretty much done for. So ran, ran, ran I did until I couldn't take it anymore. It amazes me how out of shape I've become.

I have a good formula for losing weight. It works well for me and if I can stick with it, I can lose about 5 pounds per week. They recommend that you don't lose more than 1 pound a week, but whatever, I am impatient and I would never do this if I couldn't see fast results. It goes something like this: run 7 miles a day, every day. Strength training 2X a week. No refined carbs of any kind, no salt, no sugar, no dairy, no alcohol, no dinner(evening calories turn into fat more ergonomically). Unlimited amounts of coffee. This works perfect for me because really, all I need is to lose about 12 pounds. Right now I'm 110 lbs, which is at the uncomfortable end of my weight spectrum. I don't feel good unless I'm under triple digits. I'll get there in about 3 weeks or so.

Yesterday was the Boston Marathon and I knew 2 people who were in it, so I got to go to the after parties and hang out with the marathoners. I was feeling unsexy(due to my fatassitude) so I was a little standoffish and unsociable. That's ok, because most of the people running weren't that cute anyway.

I've also become absolutely obssessed with http://www.fashiontoast.com. It makes me want to start a fashion blog, or at least add some fashion elements to the current one I have. Right now, my outfits consist of big sweatshirts and leggings and boots. So I have nothing, but wait until I deflab myself. I'll be back to making creative outfits with last season's donations from friends and other scavenges from TJ Maxx.

OMFG, I'm hungry. I'm going to go chew on some ice cubes and try to get some work done.

Case

I know I’ve been terrible about updating lately. Part of the reason is my spotty internet connection, or should I say, the spotty piggybacking of my neighbor’s connection. I used to be able to use my roommate’s computer at whim, but he is not as generous with his personal items as he was when we were having awkward sex. Now he just kind of bristles at me when I ask him for favors. That seems to be a general pattern in my life as of late. Men who would do stuff for me, who would constantly ask me out and beg for my attention aren’t trying so hard anymore. Hmmm, I guess this is how former beauty queens feel when they lose their looks.

My friendship with Mark is shot. There’s only so much haphazard drinking and craziness that you can tolerate once you decide your legs are remaining firmly pressed together. I used to drink before to slightly dull the pain I’d feel when I’d go home with a random dude. And since the random dudes are no longer coming home with me, I just don’t have much of a reason to drink.

And how sad is it to continue binge drinking on the weekends in your late 20’s? I am turning 30 in less than 2 years, and Mark is already 32. At some point, the line between fun and pathetic becomes blurred. Now I find myself playing Scrabulous online on Friday nights with a bowl of ice cream in my face. Okay, so that is also quite sad, but it’s been a welcome change of pace from chlamydia and dirty sex at the downtown Hyatt during lunch hour with the gifter of said chlamydia. Ugh, I still shudder thinking about that. Lesson learned.

So big surprise—I’ve gained weight. Hell, you’d gain weight, too, if all you do is stay at home and eat. I haven’t steeped on a scale in about a week, but suffice it to say that I haven’t worn my skinny jeans at all and I’ve been dressing like shit lately.

I think I’ll probably break my random celibacy streak this week out of boredom. Frankly, I do actually prefer the no sex thing, but I fear I will become a malodorous, huge tub of lard with too much facial hair if I continue to live this way. I’ve realized how fucking BORING life is without sex. Seriously, what do people do to entertain themselves when they’re not getting off? Maybe it’s because I derive so little pleasure out of maintenance activities, or anything that doesn’t come with a degree of danger. But if I continue my no sex experiment, I am afraid of what I may become. So much of my self-esteem comes from seeking men’s approval, or more specifically, seeking approval from men about my looks. I am not one of those “natural” beauties, either. Only after proper anorexing, intense exercising, exfoliating, shaving, and moisturizing do I become the product. When no one is seeing me naked, I can tell you that there is very little motivation to get up at 6 am in the bitter cold to go pound out 7 miles. This is how the lonely become the slovenly. Seriously, it’s a slippery slope.

I now have the task of seeking out non-gross guys for dates. Actually, I can skip the date part and jump to the rubbing the nasties, but I should take it slow and not let the entire month go to waste. As in, I am no longer sleeping with sleazebags who wear too much hair gel and loud logo belts with big V’s on them. Before I’d meet men through friends of friends, but since I’ve exhausted the supply of men in my circle, I have to come up with a novel way to meet someone decent. Theoretically, I should go where the supply is my set. If I want someone bookish, I should go to a bookstore. If I want someone outdoorsy, I should go rock climbing. But these methods seem so contrived, so forced. I would fall back on my go-to how-to for meeting men(i.e. put on a Wonderbra underneath a midriff top and pair with illegally short shorts and just go running near the Financial District while bouncing around as much as possible), but I kind of have a muffin top right now and it’s just not feasible. Maybe in about 2 weeks, I’ll be able to.

I always did say that life wasn’t worth living past the age of 35. And now that I realize that about 99% of my general satisfaction in life is born of sex, can I really live past 35, when I’m all gross and old? God help me, lest I become one of those cougars who have deluded themselves into thinking they’re MILFs.

This is a pro-ana blog, obviously

What a week.

I've been working like a dog all week, about 12 hours a day, and getting 6 hours of sleep a night and getting up every morning at 6am to work out. Friday night, I went to bed at 4 am and woke up 2 hours later, worked out, and then came back to bed. I'm so OCD about it but is it bad if I'm actually a little proud of my neurotic exercising tendencies? Nothing is ever in moderation with me, of course.

I'm also contemplating applying to medical school. I toyed with the idea back when I was in college, and for a long time, I wanted nothing more than to be a doctor. Somehow I let people tell me how stupid it was(with HMOs, managed care, etcetc, it's MUCH better to go do something else, they said) and I sort of forgot about it for a while. But now, I think I might want to go to med school. I've dated various doctors over the years, and always I've pored over their med school texts because it was so fascinating to me. So I'm exploring my options.

I still haven't fucked anyone, male or female or electronic. It's so weird-- I was having these awful withdrawal symptoms for the first week, I thought it would be a miracle if I made it past day 10. Now sex is an afterthought, like something I used to do because I was weak and stupid and fucking people was the quickest way that I could think of to make things a little better. And I think my productivity has increased about threefold-- I am seriously all about getting my shit done now. I don't procrastinate anymore.

I haven't had a drink in a while either. Those things that come with the territory of sex-- booze, drugs, low self-esteem-- well, I've been avoiding all of that. I feel better about my life than I have in almost a decade. It's really quite the turnaround.

What I was before this experiment, a rigid caricature of myself. I don't ever want to go back there.

Weather is warming up a little, so I'm back to running outdoors again. Yesterday I was near Newberry and I heard a guy say to the girl he was with, "She's TOO skinny. I'm so glad you're not like that." Obviously a sycophantic remark by a chubby chaser meant to placate his chubby lady friend, but I seriously got such a kick out of that. I've also been playing this sicko silent game where I count how many girls I see who are thinner than I am. Usually it's 1 or 2, but if it creeps past that, I skip dinner and go to bed hungry.

I realize how antiseptic my life has become. Completely ascetic, unyielding, judgmental. I really have become a frigid bitch! At least before, I was putting out, so no one could accuse me of being frigid. Now I'm arctic, totally relentless.

One

Lately I've been thinking about how lonely I am.

I think it's quite sad how, at the age of 28, I don't really have any friends. I guess I hold the term friend to a higher standard than others... when I say friend, I mean someone who will remain loyal to me, someone who will defend me. Disloyalty is probably the trait I most deplore in a person.

I'm really petty, I'll be the first one to admit. It takes me a long time to get over something someone says, even in passing. I take it personally. I tend to burn bridges too. If you cross me, even if you didn't mean to--- you are dead to me and I want nothing more to do with you. I expect people to be perfect. And people are rarely perfect. People are rarely surpassable, even.

And often I refuse to be friends w/someone I consider to be inferior. I refuse to befriend anyone who went to Cornell, for instance. I refuse to be friends w/anyone who doesn't read the right books. This automatically eliminates about 70% of the general population immediately for friendship. And the remaining 30%? About 1 out of 1000 will be loyal enough to be considered a friend.

I get close to people, so incredibly close-- that I'm privy to things people don't even tell their shrinks. Edwina and I were inseparable for a year, and then because I decided she wasn't loyal to me, I cut her out of my life. Just cut out like cancer. There is no residue with me, not ever. It's either all the way in or not at all.

And I've been a little depressed since Elizabeth and I ended our friendship. The thing w/Elizabeth-- perhaps what drove our friendship-- is that I looked up to her quite a bit. She's a few years older than me and I consider her to be the epitome of what my life SHOULD be. She has the perfect boyfriend, perfect condo, perfect clothes-- I sort of put her on a pedestal. I forgave her transgressions, which, from anyone else would have merited an immediate estrangement.

She's been nominally kind to me, in theory. But we aren't friends anymore and I don't really have anyone to talk to, now that I think Mark is a jerk for thinking I'd be a bad mother.

And it's fucking lonely being me. All this elitism, this snobbishness I cultivated in myself-- it leads nowhere but here. And all the guys I've fucked and screwed over-- well, suffice it to say that I have about 200 people wishing me ill.

Obviously I have two choices. I can stay as I am and die alone, or I can choose not to stay as I am and try to change something. I choose not.

Incidentally, my celibacy streak is still going strong. You know what's great is that I actually feel tighter, like I've had hymen surgery or something. I bet the next lucky guy I fuck will really enjoy himself. Maybe the dude shouldn't be a random one, but someone special, to use a vom-worthy word. Seriously, my next time should be some sort of commemorative occasion. If all goes well and I make it to day 30, I think I will wait until I fall in love to have sex again. Notice how I didn't say "make love," as I have boned, fucked, shagged, and boinked, but I have never made love in my entire life. Doubt I ever will.

Oh, dude from Whole Foods called. He is married but "interested in the possibilities." What a gorgeous pig. I was supposed to meet him for drinks but I stood him up. That made me feel a little better until I realized he probably just picked up another chick. Just glad I'm not that stupid anymore.

What have I done?

I went to Whole Foods today and saw the most gorgeous man ever. He was 2 persons ahead of me in line, and he was laughing and talking easily w.the cashier, who seemed to know him somewhat. As he signed his receipt, he smiled brilliantly and said(albeit affectedly) "Ciao." It was like a real Italian "Ciao" not a dirty American trying to look cool kind of "Ciao." Ciao.

So when I got to the front of the line, I asked the cashier, sheepishly: "Uh... that guy with the leather jacket... does he come here all the time?" She got this little glint in her eye and said he came in there at least twice a week. Then she said, "Do you want me to tell him you're interested? I can tell him next time he comes in." I stammered a little and blushed so hard, I felt like my head was getting ready to explode. I think I nodded.

Then I paid for my groceries and she called out my name, saying "You forgot to give me your number!" Still blushing, I wrote my number on the back of my receipt and gave it to her.

And now it occurs to me that: 1)I have done something so stupid, so desperate, so high-schoolish. What the fuck did I think was going to happen, that we'd have some type of meet-cute? He went there to shop for food, as normal people do, not to be harassed by some strange girl. I bet he's going to laugh about it with his friends when he gets my number. 2)If he's smart enough to turn the receipt over, he will see that I have purchased organic tampons, quinah, fat-free yogurt. Ugh, how humiliating.

I blame this on my lack of sex. Not having sex is making me act like some desperate banshee.

incoherence

Another thing that happens when you abstain from all forms of sex is that you start having spontaneous orgasms in your sleep. I think I had quite a few last night, and I woke up this morning feeling like I should feel bad about myself-- and surprise!-- there was no one else in my bed. This is like losing weight after binging on chocolate. What a crazy side effect from celibacy.

My rash has cleared. I bought some soap. I have smooth skin again.

I read a commentary online that had me saying, "I knew it!" at every five minute intervals. Basically, the gist of it was that the old saying mothers don't prefer one child over another-- that this is bullshit. Given that children have different personalities, different nuances of behavior-- it would be unnatural for mothers not to have a favorite child. Of course, no one talks about it because it's so un-PC. It reminds me of another theory I read in an obscure trade journal a few years ago, which said that the reason black people are such better athletes is because...(bear with me, this is rather offensive) back in the slavery days, they were "bred" like animals, that is, for maximum power output and form. The sickly ones died en route or faded to the sidelines. Very, totally un-PC, but it makes sense, if you think about it.

Growing up, my mother was so fucking mean to me, and oddly sycophantic to my brother. My brother really amounted to nothing, aside from a prodigious pot habit and a penchant for getting arrested for crimes most people get away with(petty theft, solicitation, that kind of thing). She's still mean to me, but it bothers me less than it used to, partly because now as an adult, I see her for the loser that she is. Slams are meaningless when it comes from a person for whom I have no respect. The last thing she said to me was that I should think about getting implants because no one will want me with such a "flat" chest. Hey, I'd rather be flat and thin than wobbly with udders, fat rolls protruding. Big boobs do not count if you're a fat ass. But who the fuck says that to their own kid? It's like a father saying to his son, "You have a tiny dick. Get a penis pump." Completely inappropriate and gauche.

So guess what? Your mother does have a favorite child. It might or might not be you. Who cares?

Elizabeth is avoiding me for some reason. I can't think of anything I've done to offend her. Maybe I've just become one of those people who are insufferable because they talk about their problems all the time.

Off to the gym. Let's see what looks of abject hatred I can round up from the women sporting muffin tops.

Luck

The world as we know it is about to end.

In an odd twist of fate that could only happen in movies(and in a life where I feel like I'm in a movie all the time), I won $500 on a scratch off ticket. !!!!!! Exactly $500. Not enough to go buck wild and have a shopping spree, but just enough to cover my ass for rent.

Crazy.

This must be the universe telling me to go strong w/my celibacy vow. Thank god I won't have to try to barter my body for a roof over my head anymore! Now I can just go back to starving in peace. I'm set until the end of April.

fuck.

I'm broke. I don't know how I'm going to pay next month's rent. I've maxed out 3 credit cards, and I applied for 1 more today, but I was DENIED. Big surprise.

Luckily, my roommate is a doughy, dateless dude who will probably accept 1 lay in exchange for the rent. He actually owns the condo we occupy, so my rent($500 a month) is really just peanuts to him. He basically told me in not so many words that I got the room because of my looks. The funny thing is, when I came to see the place, I was dressed in tattered jeans and a torn shirt, looking grubby and gross and spent, AND I also came w/my fuckbuddy(the 3 some dude). How he would immediately assess that I was hot, when I looked like that, is beyond me. But whatev. Many of a dire situation of mine has been saved by some desperate asshole. He's just one in a string of losers I find useful at times like this.

I really fucking hate being poor. I grew up poor. I thought I would be somewhere else by now. I can't believe I am 28 years old and barely getting by on a nominal stipend, not being able to buy basic toiletries and foregoing items most people would consider a necessity(e.g. hair conditioner). I don't have enough money to buy soap, so I've been washing myself with dishwashing liquid from the kitchen sink. Now I have dry patches all over my skin, my hair is falling out, and I nearly wept as I getting ready for bed. Seriously, it sucks. Why didn't I just fucking go to law school? I would have been rich by now. Fuckfuckfuck!

I don't mind going hungry. Hunger is good discipline. But when I don't have enough money to buy new shoes, and I have to wait for my friends to tire of their clothes so I can wear their castaways-- it just becomes ridiculous. What did I do to deserve this shit of a life, I have no idea.

When I was w/Ben, I was living like a queen and didn't have to worry about anything. And that's been my MO-- find a rich guy, move in, and let him take care of me. But even that game is getting old, and I really am wondering when and how I became such a loser in life.

FYI, my groinal/vaginal/thigh area is entirely chafed and red. Palmolive dishwashing liquid is not meant to be used in lieu of body wash.

I hope this rash thing goes away. I need it to go away.

So Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck, in all sense of the word. Ugh.

I wish I knew the seedy, enterprising individuals on that high-priced escort service Spitzer was busted for. Seriously, that would solve all of my problems right now. And I bet my racket could be, "Harvard grad student by day, sexy whore at night!" But men who frequent such services probably ARE around women affiliated w/Harvard. They're probably working w/them or married to them. They probably want to be around stupid bitches who think Obama is who we're looking for in Iraq. Fine, I can wing the bimbo bit, too. I'm good at that. Just fucking give me money! I need money.

Whoever said money doesn't solve anything is wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong a 1000 times. My life has been happiest when I'm surrounded by money or someone with access to money.

Every platitude ever uttered by mankind is wrong: money does buy happiness, the best things in life aren't free, and hard work does not fucking get you anywhere. Just single and broke at 28, that's where it takes you.

What will I do w/myself? And the day after that, and after that?

With my self-imposed celibacy, I have tons of time, so much time, now I can even update this little obscure blog o'mine.

Seriously, not having sex saves me so much hassle, mainly freeing me from rigorous grooming and feminine rituals. I don't have to tend to my pubic hair as often(because I shave every.day, sometimes even 2X a day) but this morning, I didn't and that saved me a whole 15 minutes, yay. And I also usually agonize over my lingerie choice for the day, but today, I'm wearing a sports bra and ratty RDO panties. RDO is Red Days Only, if you must know. And again, that saved me about 10 minutes this morning. All in all, I have gained about half an hour in my morning just by deciding not to fuck any gross dudes for a while.

Another relief is the lack of UTIs. I get them so chronically and it makes me so bitchy and uncomfortable. Oh, I can lay off the probiotics for a while.

Elizabeth assumed that I would be using sex toys to "take the edge off"(HER euphemism, not mine) and I don't know if I ever talked about this before, but I abhor vibrators. I've always found them to be so... mechanical and not at all sexy; it's so utilitarian that I might well use my Sonicare in there(I haven't). Plus the mere concept of... vibration is wholly unerotic. When was the last time anyone's dick ever vibrated? Yeah, exactly.

This no sex thing has also rendered me idle at nights as well. I mean, I never realized how much of my 6pm - 11pm hours were devoted to sex and its associates: the prelude to fucking(dinner & drinks), fucking, or the aftermath of fucking(talking, cuddling, suffering of UTIs). Geez, where the hell did I find the time? No wonder I was tired constantly.

So 29 more days to go. If this doesn't work, I can always eliminate carbs from my diet and see if that makes me feel better about myself(it probably won't).

An experiment

I'm going to be celibate for 30 days and see if that will improve my quality of life. I've been so damn miserable that anything, anything at all, would be welcome change.

And just when I decide to not have sex, my face cleared up last night and I look luminous. No one will enjoy it except for myself for the next month.

One saturday down

Ugh, of all the shameful things in the world... catching an STD from a gross old guy has to top them all.

Chlamydia is fairly easy to treat, and one dose of Antibiotics is all it takes. It's really the mildest form of STD you can catch, actually. I also got tested for everything else under the sun, and I'm all clear.

Last night, I had a date with this guy Jack, whom I really liked a long time ago, before I moved to Palo Alto. We were set up by my friend Elizabeth, and I stopped returning his calls only because I was dating two other guys at the same time and I was being a picky bitch. Anyway, we finally managed to plan to get together last night after weeks' worth of emails, and I was starting to get ready 2 hours before I was due to meet him when I noticed the BIGGEST ZIT IN THE WORLD right near my nose. I tried concealer, foundations of 3 shades, and I even bought some hemmeroid[sic] cream to try to make it less noticeable, but I simply could not disguise it at all. And yes, I'd rather preserve my vanity than see a guy I've been wanting to see for months, so 5 minutes before I was supposed to leave, I had to call and cancel on him. He got pissed off tacitly and pretty much told me to go fuck myself with "Ah, well, I guess I'll just see you around then." I told him I had a medical emergency(hey, clogging of the pores is serious) but he thought I was blowing him off.

Anyway, I told Elizabeth about it and she begged me to tell him. But which is less mortifying-- canceling for a stupid, trivial reason such as a pimple, or lying about said pimple and exaggerating it into a medical condition? Somehow, things always seem to go awry between the two of us.

So Mark and I are starting to talk again. We went to a local gay bar, he bought me a lot of shots, and I think he thinks all is forgiven. It's not, of course, because I collect my grudges like women collect shoes. I will not allow myself to be as vulnerable as I was before, and Mark can consider us closer than we really are, that's fine. We did end up going to a dive jazz bar, where doughy, dateless dudes came on to me like crazy. There was one man who was so stoned out of his mind that he tried to dry hump me and that was really disgusting.

And OMG, I live with the owner of the biggest penis in the world. Seriously, that thing is so huge that it must be anatomically uncomfortable. Of course, I know this because I fucked my roomate when I was depressed(as in, having another usual day) and I got to experience a fraction of the pain childbirth is supposed to bring. Seriously, that thing was a cariacature of a penis. Anyway, I told him I had chlamydia and he was like, "I don't care," so we had sex and it was ho-hum. I guess he's always relied on the fortitude of his girth and hasn't really developed, technically speaking.

My apologies for the spelling mistakes in this post. I got a new laptop and I'm having trouble typing...

I had an affair with a married man and all I got was this lousy case of chlamydia(that, and a cheapo bracelet that gave me a bad wrist rash).

Underpaid mistress

Lately, I've been seriously pissed off for many reasons, but the one that tops them all is so stupid that I'm almost embarrassed to write about it here.

Since I turned 28 in Dec, I've been obsessing over babies. Before my last birthday, kids were something I wanted theoretically, but practically-- I was undecided. I'm going to assume I'm just like everyone else and again, assume, that I will be miserable when I'm barren and old and I have not yet propagated my genes.

Mark, my best friend, is gay and a few years older than me (35, to be exact). I always joke about how I'd fall in love with him if only my ego would let me. He makes flirty, innocuous remarks too. That's our dynamic.

Anyway, about a week ago, I seriously asked him to give me some sperm if I'm still single by the time I'm 30, which is a little less than 2 years from now. I thought my asking was only proprietary, a nominal "May I?", given our deep friendship and closeness. So you can imagine how heartbroken I was when he demurred.

He wouldn't say why either, until I pressed and pressed, and finally, he said: "I think you would fuck up our kid irrevocably. And you have so many mental issues that I wouldn't feel comfortable bringing a child into such a toxic environment."

So basically, I'm fucked up enough to be entertaining and to go drinking with, but too much to have his babies.

I shouldn't be so pissed, but hey-- truth hurts. Mark is right. I know this, but this doesn't lessen my hostility towards what is presumably a difficult situation to resolve in less than 2 years. But always Mark and I would joke about getting married, shit like that-- and to be hit with his low opinion of me really hurt.

And of course, as with all things shitty, I have to find something else to distract me from the shittiness. I started an affair with a tenured professor in my dept. It's not my former advisor, it's this short, Jewish, balding dude whom I wouldn't look at twice, but his accomplishments have rendered him fuckable. He was just at the right place at the right time, basically. Nothing special. Just another ugly, brilliant Harvard professor who barely makes $80,000 a year, whose only claims to fame are articles in obscure trade journals.

It's incredible how amazed he is at the inane things guys my age would just shrug off-- he was very appreciative of my matching lingerie, my waxed ladyparts, my skin, which, according to him, is the "smoothest skin ever." He told me he loves the fact that I'm thin, but Jennifer L0pez is "thin" to him, because his wife is grossly obese. In other words, my hotness is wasted on a man with such low standards of attractiveness. He knows how to give good oral, though. And I haven't reciprocated once, because I didn't have to and I didn't want to.

So with my Plan B backfiring, and this stupid, sordid affair I'm having w/the short bald professor has eaten up quite a bit of my time. The sex is v. good, probably because he is so conscientious about pleasing me. I hate myself afterwards, though.

I'm giving this another week, because I don't know how long I can keep boning a bald, aging father of four who doesn't even have the money to buy me nice stuff(he bought me a barfy bracelet from...Walmart. I had to bite my lips to keep myself from laughing).

I don't know if Mark and I will ever resume our friendship. How can I be around someone who thinks so poorly of me? I have such few friends and losing Mark this way was the worst possible thing ever.

Still alive. Haven't quit blogging. Will update sometime before the week is over, I promise....

Black

I passed out this morning as I was getting off the treadmill. I couldn't finish my 6 miles, I could barely pound out 5.66! My heart started racing painfully and throbbing and I couldn't see anything anymore and the next thing I know, some girl is yelling, "Call 911!" This is the 2nd time this has happened to me at the school gym, and I might have to pay for a membership at a different gym so people don't think I'm some crazy 'rexic running nut(which I am, but I don't want everyone to know about it!). Plus I keep getting these looks (only from women) of abject hatred, and I don't want to deal with all this drama when I work out. Just let me do my thing and leave me alone, damnit.

I'm sure my body hates me. I overeat once every three days, and when I'm not starving, I'm drinking gallons of cold water or reapplying lip gloss. Mark saw me last night and he was like, "You know how some girls take it too far with the being thin thing? You're there. I think if you lose any more, you'll be unattractive. You're starting to look asexual." I know his comment was meant to deter me, but it made me soooo happy that he said that. Unf, who the fuck cares if I look asexual. Sex is only a poor substitute for what I'm really after.

Mark and I are going to Paris this summer, we decided. I'm tired of waiting to be in love so I can visit Paris again, and who better to go w/than Mark? He is so fucking adorable it drives me crazy sometimes. If I'm not married by the time I'm 35, we are going to have kids together. He's tall, blatantly good-looking, and 2X smarter than me. Of course I want his sperm.

OK, I'm supposed to meet Elizabeth for lunch soon and I need to get ready. I'm having iced tea, of course. And she has some last season's clothes for me, including a loose Phillip Lim sweater I've been coveting since forever! I now have an outfit for my dykecon Thursday.

I wasted my youth when I was young

OMG. I just came home from my section and the Swedish freshman invited me to his 19th birthday party. I about died.

Him: "So you should totally come to my party. You can be my guest of honor."
Me: "How old are you exactly?"
Him: "I'm three days away from nineteen!"[he said proudly]
Me: "OMG. I could be your damn mother."
Him: "No way! Unless you had me at like, age three!"
Me: "No, seriously. I'm almost 30."
Him: [silence]
Me: "Yeah, see? I'm too old to party with you."
Him: [he does not disagree]

I ate too much last night and I feel sooo gross this morning. I didn't get up in time for my 6 am run, but I'm dashing to the gym to torch some calories. And I'm officially 'rexing today.

I am disgusting. I'm almost 30. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I need my youth back.

Beds

I went to the Boston Public Library today(gross, I know, but there was a book I couldn't find anywhere else). Some guy, normal by outward appearance, looked at me straight in the eye as I was leaving. I smiled at him, though I don't know why I did that. My stance on smiling is a firm anti. But I did it anyway. Then he said, "Oh my god, Hi!" and ran after me, still holding his unchecked-out books. How do I know they were unchecked-out? Because the alarm rang as he came after me, and two security guards had to stop him. It was pretty funny. Shame though, because he was pretty cute. But probably a bum, if he's checking books out at the public library.

I was snowed in on Friday night, and I ended up having my 1st 3some of 2008(MWW). It was pretty hot. I think the key to a good 3some is to be the star of the event. As in, both parties should concentrate on pleasing only you and the rest is irrelevant. The girl is some chick we met at a bar(kinda gross, I know) but she was a looker, and that's pretty much all that matters when you're looking for a 3some participant. The man is my annoying but buff fuckbuddy(he of the red roses and the offending Hershey's chocolate). I was trying to phase him out slowly, but so much for that plan. He called me four times today and texted me three times. What's hilarious is that Friday was his first 3some ever, and now he thinks he's some sort of a sex maven. I think he feels like a stud, having bedded two women at once. Though he really was more of a watching participant instead of an active, participating participant. He got to rub her tits. I think that was v. exciting for him.

Anyway, he's been sending me these barfy text msgs, obviously failed attempts at trying to get me aroused. Example: "I want to spend all day eating you out." That is NOT sexy, that just makes me think he has no life!(he doesn't.) He's been promoted to an intolerable state of annoyance from beginner's pest. I wish he'd leave me alone.

I've been lax about acquiring that beautiful, non-psycho girlfriend. I'm going to a big dykecon on Thursday in Jamaica Plain, so maybe I'll meet one there.

I like blondes. I don't know why. I like blonde, stacked, artificially processed-looking. The Denise Richards-type. And the dumber, the better. Exactly the opposite of how I like my men. And the nipples must be pink, no brown. I hate brown nips.

Time for bed.

So stupid(me)

This article has officially freaked me out. I should not have thrown Ben away. He was perfect husband material(aside from his rage-head tendencies): Harvard/Harvard Law, old money, taller than 6'0. OMG. I let this one go, how could I have done that?

Am angry at myself. God, I'm such a loser sometimes.

Mark keeps telling me that I have to hurry up and finish my doctorate so I can move to NY, where all the good men are. Yeah, right! If anything, being in Boston is doing wonders for my ego(I am considered supermodel-hot here, but by NY standards, I will just be demoted to "cute." If I move to LA, I'll just be another average-looking chick) and I can't fathom meeting more men in NY. I mean, NY isn't a single-woman friendly city.

All in all, Boston is not a bad place to be if you are a woman. And if you weren't psycho like me and hadn't burned all of her bridges, then you're in the right town to meet smart, well-educated guys.

But seriously, I have run out of men here. I've dated everyone and their college roommate, plus random people who poked me on Facebook. I'm out of options now.

And I'm so fucking sick of internet dating. Darwin dating was fun, for like, one week. I refuse to cower to Match.com, and only creeps ever message me on OKCupid.

And approaching strangers in Boston is not only considered bad form, but grounds for a fierce ass-kicking. I never approach men, anyway. Plus, it's always the assholes who hit on me at Whole Foods and Peet's.

OMGOMG. I should have married Ben. I should have.

Venus

Today was a better day. Almost any day is better day than yesterday.

I had lunch with Mark today. We went to a cute little bistro on Beacon, and we sat next to one of Mitt Romney's kids. I didn't know who he was, but Mark knew him and said hello. He was cute.

Ben's mother called me today. I've only met her twice in my life(once in 1997, and once in 2007) so I was surprised when she called. Summarily, she berated me for my choices and told me that Ben was too good for me. Ben, ever the Mama's boy, obviously went to her crying and bitching about how I left him and how he's irreparably broken inside. What a pussy. I was polite and told her that whatever happened between Ben and I is none of her business, and to please refrain from ever contacting me again. It was surreal. I can't believe Ben isn't embarrassed by any of this.

I was talking to Mark today when he said: "You really don't have any vice, except men, do you?" So true. How well he knows me! All of my problems can be traced to one man or to another. Why am I so obsessed with men?

I found this ad on Craigslist about amateur erotic modeling. Some dude is paying $200 an hour for "hot, normal women" to pose erotically and for the copyrighted images. It was taken down about an hour after it was posted, but I emailed the guy and asked him how serious it was. He said it was very serious, and I sent him a few photos, and he said he would pay me $300 an hour for me to pose for him if I let him take an unlimited amount of pictures.

I told Mark about this, and it completely freaked him out. He begged me not to do it, but I still really want to. Part of it is the money, but mostly for the fun of it. He was all like, "Are you crazy? What if they end up on the internet? You can kiss your career in academia goodbye." That may be true, but maybe I don't mind. Or maybe I'm bored and I'm looking for trouble again.

I ate too much at dinner and lunch. I feel like an absolute sausage. I'm getting my period and I'm turning into one ravenous, hormonal bitch. It's times like these when I'm sorry I don't have a man to nag and emasculate. That always makes me feel better.

Always 3'o'clock in the morning of my mind

The thing is, for the past few days, I've been punishing myself in my dreams.

Every night, I revisit something horrible I've done to someone who didn't deserve it. And I feel guilty, inhuman, indecent. I'm struck with this heaviness that only comes from being a shitty person, someone filled with pure evil. Then I wake up, feel like killing myself, and have a shit.ty day. This has been going on for the past 3 days. They don't even feel like 3 separate days, really. Just a really long continuation of misery with no breaks for sleeping and eating.

I never forgive. Never. I don't forget, either. My system of memory is relentless. I hold onto every single injustice, every single stupid jab that every passing person has inflicted on me. And I take it, stab myself with it, and pour acid and salt all over the wounds. Somehow, masochism works for me. I wish it didn't.

I will always be a self-hating person. No amount of therapy or love will change that. It's easier for me if I accept it and look for other ways of filling the void, like sex. Sex is good. Sex fools me at least for a few minutes, and I can think I'm normal and it feels derivative, unremarkable, that I am having sex. This is what everyone does. Then it's over and I have to punish myself all over again.

Classes are a haze, so are the students who are in my section this semester. I don't remember anyone's name, I just point to the few people whose hands perk up every time I ask a stupid, esoteric question. There is this one kid, a blonde, a very Swedish looking boy, who has this metaphysical take on everything I say. He brought me a red apple and said something cute today, but I was too depressed to actually enjoy it and I ended up throwing it away. But still, work goes on. Teaching goes on. Memorizing rote lines goes on.

Last night, I dreamt that I was taking my life and living it in every pedestrian way, and somebody yelled "Cut!" from above. I started to laugh, because it all made crystal-clear sense to me now. How every emotion and violence and depth I've felt has been a farce, nothing more than exaggeration of my senses, purely manipulated for dramatic effect, editorially enhanced. It made sense! Of course people didn't live this way. This has been just a bad movie. Then I woke up and it was still filming.

It's almost 3 am here, freezing. I have two sweaters on, but still my body isn't capable of generating enough warmth to keep me comfortable. I haven't eaten for two days.

It's never warm enough.

It was...

It was my fuckbuddy. He stopped by this morning to drop them off, and my roommate let him in.

Gave the whole mess to the elderly lady next door. She said "God Bless you" and told me I was an angel. If only she knew...

What the fuck?

Ok, I just came home from class and there is a bouquet of red roses and a box of Hershey's pot of gold chocolates on my desk. Clearly from an individual who does not know me well, given that I: 1)hate, hate, hate red roses 2)hate Hershey's chocolate.

Who did this? So far, my only suspect is my roommate. There is no card.

Maybe these are from Ben? Kind of as a "fuck you, you cunt" Valentine's day homage? I don't know how he would know my new address, though. I don't think they're from Stephen either, this is just not his style. I have to point to my roommate. There is no one else.

I hope he doesn't think he's getting anything out of this. I have half a mind to give these away to the nice elderly lady next door. She's very sweet and welcomed me into the building, and I bet these would make her day. Right now, they are just sitting on my desk, mocking me, driving me crazy.

Inside

OMG, I hate my mom. I know I've said it a thousand times, but the day she dies will be the day I finally get some peace. I can't do anything after I talk to her on the phone because she makes me so tired yet I feel like clawing someone's eyes out. I rage, but my body feels so heavy and sluggish.

I wonder if she didn't breastfeed me as a baby. How is it possible that a daughter can hate its own mother so much? Seriously, is it my brain chemistry that's fucked up, or did she do something to warrant this? I know she fucked me up from age 6 until 17, but what about before that, where my memory doesn't have any tape? I have to believe that a 6 year old kid doesn't wake up one morning and decides to hate her mother.

With my psychotic, impulsive tendencies, it is a testament to my ability to summon superhuman restraint that I haven't physically harmed her. Seriously, I hate her that much. It's carnal, really.

Whatever it is, it makes me hate myself even more. I don't like hating her. I strongly believe in karma, and I don't want my own daughter to hate me, too. Since my brother died, I've made a sincere effort to tolerate my mother more, but I have gone beyond my limit. I can't do it any longer.

God, I feel like looking up the combination of drugs Heath Ledger took and promptly mixing my meds like I shouldn't be. I can't escape from this dungeon of despair. I feel like I'll be here forever.

Disgusting on all levels

My life lately has been a string of one crappy event after another, I just haven't felt like writing about it. Not that I've only written about happy stuff before, but the last few days have been so awful.

I'll try to recap, though. I saw Stephen, the former love of my life. He took the train from NY to see me, and it was a complete disaster. I didn't know what I was expecting-- him to want me, I guess? Yes, that is what I wanted. We've been exchanging smutty pictures of ourselves all week, and then he shows up on my doorstep, whisks me away to dinner, and tells me he has a girlfriend. "Would you be ok with it, though? If we just hooked up while I was here?" he said, so boldly. I died a little inside. Had I meant that little to him? He chepened our 7 year relationship with a single sentence.

I didn't say anything, and told him I had to go to the bathroom. I calmly walked to the back, washed my face, turned off my phone, and walked out of the restaurant with my head held high and averting everyone's gaze. I have not opened his emails or texts or voicemails. I want him to no longer exist for me.

I should be able to get over this. I've had a lot of practice because he's disappointed me so many times before. But this time, he obliterated any hope I had of us getting back together. Ever.

I thought to myself, I don't have a reason to live anymore. Then I got pissed off for feeling that way, tried to replace that feeling with something else equally sinister but more palatable, and engaged in some self-punishment--i.e. I had sex with men who were gross. And I didn't even get paid for it.

I'm seriously thinking about charging for this. It's like sitting on an oil well. Only I'm letting people drill it for free. I won't look like this forever, either. Maybe I could be a choosy hooker, like only do it with guys who aren't gross. Is there such a thing? But then again, I can't stand the sex/degradation combo. It nearly made me vomit every time I had to go to work when I was a stripper-in-training. It also made me want to kill myself even more. Do I dare open that can of shittiness again?

And my aptmate is incredibly annoying. He leers at me, and I caught him taking pictures of me when I was making breakfast this morning as I was puttering around the kitchen. I had just gotten up and I was wearing a wife beater w/no bra, so clearly, my nips were showing. And he took a picture of me like that! He said he was trying to capture "art" but what he really wanted to do is probably go in his room and beat off to them, that asshole. He then offered to pay me to pose for him, because he is a "serious photographer." Oh, barf, barf, barf.

Time for a shower and Project Runway.

Truth at first light

Well, I think my fuckbuddy has transitioned into the maybe-boyfriend territory. He helped me move all my shit, in this dismal weather. I'm not sure Ben would have done the same.

It was kind of weird because I wanted to leave after we were done last night, around 1 am. He literally begged me to stay, saying, "Please? I never get to spend the night with you!" Uh... well, I didn't really feel like trekking all the way to Cambridge anyhow, so I did spend the night. I kept having these terrifying dreams where my brother was telling me to make peace with myself and his life. It was so vivid and sad, I woke up heartbroken and crying. I went out into the living room for a while, and Fuckbuddy came out from the bedroom all concerned, and he made me hot chocolate and we listened to Mazzy Star together. He didn't want me to listen to sad music when I was so sad, but I insisted. It was the best 4 am experience I've had in quite a while. I was also oddly touched that he didn't get annoyed with me for waking him up. Ben would have screamed at me for me to get back into bed.

I woke up around 9 am and he was making breakfast-- eggs Benedict, rye toast. He's the total gourmand and he bakes his own bread and makes his own yogurt and stuff(made me think he was gay at first), but everything was so delicious and he didn't even get grossed out while I was hurling massive proportions of food into my mouth.

Then he asked me what I was going to do today, and I said "looking for apartments." He offered to help, and help he did: his friend actually has an empty room right across from campus! For $500 a month, that's a steal. Then he was like, "Ok, let's get your stuff moved!" So cool that he took care of everything.

And again, my psychotic tendency to question people's motives is coming afloat. Why is he being so nice to me? The sex was good, but it wasn't that good. I don't know. Maybe he's desperate and he wants me to be his girlfriend. He disgusts me slightly. I have a weird aversion to people being nice to me.

My new apt isn't that bad... just really spartan. This was my third move of the year, and we're only two months into 2008. I really don't want to move anymore. It's gotten so bad that I threw away so much of my crap, I barely have anything to my name. But people will usually call me when they want to give away their clothes or books, so I'll have more stuff soon.

There's a weird guy on Darwin Dating that says he knows me and he wants to see me "again." I don't recognize his picture and he creeps me out totally, because he knows I'm a grad student at Harvard and everything. How does he know? Anyway, I tried to cancel my profile on that thing, but for some reason, it's not letting me and it's still showing up(much like OKcupid). This may be a sign for me to hang up my internet dating hat for good.

I'm so tired, but I don't want to sleep, because I don't want to dream about my brother again. Great. Even being dead, he has to find some way to make me miserable and uncomfortable. Or maybe I'm doing this to myself. That would be not at all surprising.