OK

I'm not going to post just to post anymore. Something interesting actually has to happen. Preferably my getting laid.

would be nice.


PS
Chuck Bass is freekin AWESOME. Call me.

will i get what i want will i want what i get

Do you wanna make love to me

ok! KP answered, ordinary chitchat, I mention a concert I wanna go see, it's in another town so will probably involve spending the night and stuff..And I think I may be inviting him, Very subtly. This is not a good idea. Every other concert (three) I've been to with this guy has involved hooking up. So. Bad. Yes.

OR!! Casual sex? perhaps? I dunno.

The studio where I dance want to hire me as a yoga-instructor,they actually headhunted me. That is some kind of cool. Nightclub where I work is wonderful, all the guards call me darling and act all big-brotherly when obnoxious drunks start getting a bit too close for comfort. Which is actually like ten feet, drunk people smell really bad. And also I got 40 euro tip last night, so weeeh =)

Lucky Strike smokin queen

I facebooked KP. Yeah. depressing music really isn't good for the decicion-making progress.

There she goes, just a-walking down the street

Joe Purdy - check

Lucky Strike - check

middle of the night, sitting in my window and smoking. Feel like getting drunk. Life really ain't nothing without love, if I may get all country-song-y.

Sent Tenty a text "hey, long time, how are you? scince you helped me move in to my flat, want to see it?". He replied saying it was really tough seeing me last time, and he didn't think it was a good idea for him at the moment. It was both the most perfect and the most horrible reply I have ever gotten. Totally honest. And just underlining the fact of how perfect the guy is. And how unbeliavbly unnecissary our "break up" was. It started as just a friendly approach to a cool guy I used to be close to. And now I just want to hold him and be held by him. And I have to leave him alone. Because I care about him.

I miss him so much, and I'm sad, and lonely, and for some reason I want to talk to KP about this heartbreak. Is that fucked up? That's fucked up.

I can't say I want to be someones highest priority, and for someone to want to give me the world, because I have been, and I am. But they haven't been the right someones. I want to stare into those blue blue eyes, and I want to talk to KP about how the fact htat I can't really hurts. I don't know why I feel like that would help, and it probably wouldn't, but in my sleep-deprived heart it makes sense.

Sleep-deprived head just wants to kick some sense into sleep-deprived heart. "You want to talk to one ex about how another ex won't talk to you because he hasn't gotten over you? What are you an idiot? Go take a nap. A run. A valium. Whatever. Before I get pissed and start typing in all-caps here." Then heart goes "You're just a big lump of zombie-lunch, what do you know bitch". "WhatEVER you big MUSCLE! Like you're ANYTHING without me! GO EAT A FUCKING WAFFLE OR SOMETHING! Emotional twat." And that really gives my lungs a nicotine-craving.

short skirt long jacket

Yeah I got batshit drunk and poledanced around a signpost.Then I made out with Danny for a bit.

The result of my trying to distract myself (by being wasted and playing with dude's poor grease-like head), was that I followed a guy today for 10 min becase I'm near-sighted and from a distance he kind of looked like KP.

So.... mission not accomplished. Which I guess means I'm not Tom Cruise. Which is kind of cool.

Ok Go

Yeah so I miss KP. I just compared him, with considerable joy and in all seriousness, to a teethed vagina, and I miss him. I want to facebook him with something like "hi, wanna hang out? long time". <- notice no capital letters and casual phrasing.

I know it's terribly bad idea. Monumentally terrible. I don't know why I want to contact him. Haven't had any contact with him for about six months. Except for daily checking his facebook profile (apart from that wonderful brief period where I killed facebook).

I had even reached a higher state of being, complete with small sitting fat men and lots of ohm-ing, where I would refuse him should he tru to re-establish the hook-up.

But Now I can feel it coming. Like a donkey can feel a storm (they like, lie down or something. Because everyone knows lying down while lightning and thunder and rain happen upon your unprotected head is a GREAT way to protect yourself from storms), that I will facebook him. I won't be able to help myself. And it will be horrible.

Maybe I should run out of the metaphorical storm (SUCK ON IT YOU STUPID ASS'!), and be dry and... comfortable or something. The dry and comfortable being getting batshit drunk while poledancing around some street-sign or another.

I think I need to get laid. It's been two months. Damn me and my not being a slut (belive me, I've tried, like having sex with AB, but that has just resulted in uncomfortable awkward sex with no joy what so ever being experienced on my part)!

On a side note, KP is a pink stormcloud in the shape of a teethed vagina.

And I'm a donkey.

Fuckin A.

Lemons

I think I understand KP's shit now. When you can get whomever you want (you can't of course, but it FEELS like you can), it's just not that interesting anymore. You flirt and have heartfelt conversations just enough, until you sense like an emotional fly-trap (you know that freeky plant that looks like a vagina with teeth [on that note, really freeky freeky film about that. Vagina with teeth. I wonder what Freud would make of that.], tha one that traps flies in a sticky substance that will, eventually, melt the fly until it's just a fly-like goo that sustains tha teethed vagina.), that the person thinks you're the perfect partner. And one of the things that makes you perfect is that you're not even perfect. You're just non-perfect in a quirky fun way.

Anyway, you're not being fake. Just very selective about how much about yourself you show the metaphorical fly. And the fact that they think you're perfect sustiains you. Almost makes you belive them.

But since love now just feels like an elaborate game you're always winning... You never win. It's not real. It's a game. And no-one matters.

I can do this to a certain point. But when my flies want to get serious or physical, I back off. Waaaaaay off.

KP didn't (or doesn't) have the physical problem. Just the serious.

This whole thing is sad. And possibly not true. And if it is, comparing KP to a teethed vagina just feels really really good.

=)

Yeah. I really am.

Trip to narcissisme-land.

I tried to look at my self from an outside view-point, like a person who didn't know me personally, and I was struck by how GODDAMN AWESOME I AM! Seriously! It is seriously impressive just how perfect I am (if seen from the outside that is, if you get to know me, things get a little complicated).

First, with the basics. I'm a redhead. Hot. I chug beer like a dude. I'm smart (doing physics for fun for christ sake). I'm nice. Rarely get angry (even when Danny lost my keys and I had to climb in through my second-story window like a very sexy cat-burglar). I listen to old-school rock (Bowie being God), I can paint and sculpt, fluent in two languages, can get by in a third. I'm naughty in bed (oh yeah I went there), yet look so innocent and can be so polite I have never met a boss or parent who hasn't loved me.

But enough with the trivial awesomeness. What made me really fall in love with the personal-ad that is me. The nail in the coffin, if the coffin was a box made out of pure AWESOME, and filled with MORE AWESOME. I was a professional yoga-instructor. Yoga. Professional. I'm just gonne say that one more time YOGA FUCKING PROFESSIONAL. Think for a minute about how freekin bendable I am.

Oh yeah.

And when I quit as YOGA INSTRUCTOR I of course had to find a new type of exercise to take up. Now, you might be thinking, what could possibly be more freekin awesome than professional style yoga (by the way, we're talking both legs behind the head at the same time. While lifting body off ground with hands. Yeah)? Well. I took up pole-dancing. Awestruck by the awesomeness that is my life yet?

POLE DANCING STRIPPER STYLE!

Yeah.

Can it be narcissisme if it's true?

Washboard Lisa

Gah... I have these happy-spells, and then I start thinking, and suddenly I'm miserable. It all fit's in with my theory of relative happiness. You can't ever be happy, coz you'll never have everything, and the minute you become happy, you suddenly have time to think, and then you start thinking about all the things you don't have, and ftzzzzzzz said the happy-bubble.

Like now, I KIND OF want a guy. I think. Except I don't. At least not anyone I know. I think. Except maybe Danny. Except no. And then I think that I'm never going to meet someone I'll fall for again. But then again I thought that before Tenty came along, and whoop-dee-doo.

It may be a case of too little sleep. Danny stayed over tonight, SOBER (I think I have seen him actually sober on like... two occations... maybe)! And again absolutely no naughty buisness what so ever, we're talking not even a kiss. I've never spent the night with someone before who didn't at least grope me a little.

I'm not sure how I feel about it.

Or him.

I don't know if I actually feel some sort of spark, or if I just want to feel one, and tehrefore I do. The mind and heart of a narcissistic teenage girl works in mysterious ways.

Also hung out with Stu for a bit. I think I might have started collecting guys who like me atm. Guys I never actually enter the ballgame with, but who're just... hanging around in the stands (sports metaphors? Am I high? Do bears shit in the woods? I'm not sure).

Party on saturday with Beard-guy, and his room-mate, Another-BFF-Ex. Could have bagged at least two guys there (one was all heee-y let's dance, the other tried for 20 min to convince me not to go home to sleep, but to stay alone in the flat with him...). COLLECTOR MANIA!

Am I a bitch? I think I might be.