National Disaster

I just can't bring myself to write about the usual barrage of sex, work, drugs and how totally hot I am. I am pretty bummed out about the recent devastation of Hurricane Katrina. In many areas, every home, every office, every road - destroyed. Thousands of people forced to flee and one can't help but imagine what he or she would do if they lost everything familiar to them. I've sent countless prayers and made a donation to the American Red Cross and although there is little more I can do at this point, it doesn't seem like enough. Needless to say, I'm having a difficult time putting my mind towards my endless vices or work. Unfortunately, however, I haven't lost my appetite.

Tuesday, bloody Tuesday

Guess what genius engineer didn't get her pallet hauling limits project done? If you guessed yours truly, you'd be correct. (We can negotiate a prize later... after I get the project finished, of course.

I need a sandwich... and a good makeout session... followed by hot sex... and a pint of ice cream.

See how my mind wanders; it's no wonder why I struggle with completing projects.

Phoney Bologna

My cell phone has been on the fritz for a while. But I hate technical upgrading for no good reason. I have even talked about this with my friend, 37, who always has the latest and greatest everything and is annoyed by the fact I am SOOOO 2002. I frivolously spend lots of money, but it's never on technological (or practical) stuff. Coach bags - sure, food - of course, Jimmy Choo's - without a doubt, a new cell phone (something I use everyday and is my primary link to friends and family) - forget about it. Silly, I know... but it's also silly that I still haven't gotten that rash checked out (I mean, how important is peeing without pain really?). This would be a resourceful upgrade, but my old one works pretty good, so it there isn't a logical need for change. (I feel the same way about vibrators, boyfriends, and my job.) My phone is two years old, making it practically archaic by cell phone standards. No camera, no 'real tones', nothing special. Sure, I need a new battery and occasionally it will drop a call for no reason... but still. The only reason I even got the thing was because I was harassed so mercilessly (and I am looking at you, Mitch) about my old one being too old. For a long time, I thought I needed a Blackberry, but in reality, I just need something that acts like a phone and has caller ID (crazy, isn't it). Although, I wouldn't be against it having a special "vibrator" function... if you know what I mean... but phones are far too small for any real pleasure.

At some point, I know I'll need to break down and get a new one... probably at the most inopportune time, but whatever. For now, I'll just put the money towards something I really need - hookers.

Monday, bloody Monday

I was out of my office today...
Boss e-mail: Nicole, How are you coming along with the pallet hauling limits? (blah, blah, crap)
My reply: Blah, Blah, Blah, specs bullshitting. I will finish them tomorrow.
Boss response: Thanks Nicole. Are you going to share them with me??
My reply: If you're lucky.
This ended the e-mail dialogue. I REALLY hope he has a sense of humor about this.


Wow, 5:30pm already. Mondays, I fucking love Mondays. I either get nothing done or totally end up working my ass off. This is a working Monday. I am just now sitting down to get some projects done and eat a snack. I received a lot of "How are you coming on this..?" e-mails from my boss today. I have a million projects on the burner right now and very little to show for them. It's not that I am not working, but I just can't seem to get past the 15% point when something else gets thrown at me. If only my job consisted more of shopping for the perfect shoes... or handbag... or top... or anything, really and less engineering work. I've never had a difficult time shopping. So, why am I spending time writing this with all the work to be done? Well, it's a nice break, really. And I think I've pretty well established my ability to procrastinate. All day, I've been tied up with other people, working on their stuff and it's nice to get a minute to myself before I start the grueling process of actually finishing something of my own - something other than a tub of leftover Chinese food I brought for a "snack".

Special Weekend Edition Pratings

itgirl: please, don't leave. I enjoy your comments a whole lot; I think we all do.

Normally, I don't do the whole weekend blog thing, but I'm feeling it today. It was my birthday on Saturday (yesterday) and it was fucking great. We're talking Mom's marinated grilled chicken kabobs great. My birthdays have been a far cry from fun or meaningful over the past ten years or so, so I was excited for the chance to make it worthwhile. My friend, KJ came out here, and we had one hell of a good time... it was mere coincidence that this planned weekend was on my birthday, but I'm a snob and making it all about me. [She had a shabby birthday last month, so she said it was a weekend all about her. We're perfect like that.]

The day started off a little rocky after atoep openly commented that I wasn't funny, but I tried not to take it to heart. The man is brilliant but I just don't think we "get" each other (yet); hopefully over time, we'll develop understanding. But gosh, other than forgetting to stop by the sex shop for a vibrator, his comment was the worst part of my whole weekend. I've been known to have a string of bad luck so, for me, it really doesn't get much better than that.

We went golfing and after finishing up a so-so round, I was complimented by a older gentleman playing behind us on what a beautiful swing I have. I've been complimented on my 'stroke' before, but it was never in reference to golf. What an absolutely wonderful thing to hear (especially since it was my birthday). If you are a golfer, you'll totally understand this. If not, you'll never understand this.

We went into the city and continued to have great conversation, as well as, a great hotel room, a great meal, listened to a kick ass chick (of whom I'd seen before). I was kissed by a couple hottie groomsmen and I got to feel up my hot, married, blonde bombshell friend, kj (albeit briefly).

I know what you are thinking... how pathetic is this chick's life that a seemingly "normal" weekend it such a big deal. Well, I can offer only this - you had to be there.

Thank you, kj, for everything. Thanks, old friends (even though you don't read this), for calling with happy birthday wishes. Thanks, Cory, for finally ending it. Now, my friends and readers, I need to go take a nap.... and eat (duh).

Back on Track

I started my diet (again) this week. Although, I am pretty sure the case of Amstel Light and the sack of weed from last night is not "on the program". After I had my Segway accident, it broke my workout momentum and I became discouraged and didn't quite put the gym high on the priority list. Additionally, I've had a new treadmill sitting in my living room for the same amount of time and have used it a whopping three times. (It's shocking that I am fat and single, isn't it.) Well, I am back in the saddle and ready to shed some summer wedding-cake poundage. I'd also like to have sex without my partner asking me if I need a towel and a Gatorade, after only 15 minutes.

I am still sticking to this triathlon thing, even thought my partner (and I'm looking at you, TBC) has fallen by the wayside. He is currently suffering various ailments and is in a period of transition, but still. We both need to start kicking it back in gear... right, TBC?! This weekend will probably consist of everything not "on the plan", but having fun with my friend kj is more than worth the extra workouts next week.

Risk

I just finished a mammoth post about risk and more specifically, my difficulties with taking emotional risk. As I read through it, I realized by writing it, I was grossly exemplifying the entire post. It was a way to express my feelings about someone without really expressing how I feel to them. I suck…. and I’m a pussy… and I’m fat… and I scored low on my GRE three years ago.

How is it already 3:30?!?

I'm not posting today. I was tied up (not literally - I wish, that is such a turn on) all morning and trying to make up for it this afternoon. Plus, I am just not feeling it; instead, I am feeling myself - please forgive the typos of writing with one hand. I love you people and by "you people", I mean both of you actually reading this garbage. I will be back tomorrow.

terrible funny

After a blogthon yesterday, I am actually having to do work today. Although, I found time for three personal phone calls, vaginal play in the bathroom, and surfing some of my favorite sites that I haven't visited in a while. (I love my job.) Anyway, stem cells are back in the news again and I coincidentally ran across this...


I don't know why it struck me as funny, it just did (and it got funnier each time I read it).
I fucking love humor.

Rolling Out the Welcome Mat

Ok, so I may or may have not mentioned that I am taking on a boarder. It’s not a roommate – it’s different. Like the difference between a 2 or 3 finger vagina. (Some of you will get this, some of you will not.) Well, it was supposed to be different, anyway. It started out by my former roommate saying he had a buddy (Brad) going to school near me and asking if said buddy could stay one night a week. No problem. Well, it looks as though Brad will be staying Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights. I guess I have a roommate, seeing as how I am only there Mon-Thurs, as well. When I agreed to him paying $50/month – it seemed very fair, as it was for one night a week, occasionally more. Shit, I was paid less for a series of videotapes of my sorority sisters in the shower. But now that I know he is staying all week, it doesn't quite seem like enough, but I know he and his wife (I know this is getting stranger with every sentence) have another place they’re paying for and… well…. whatever. If it gets to be a financial burden, I’ll just make him fork out some more a month or sell his car when he is sleeping. I am not worried about it, though. Not at all worried, in fact.

So, this new roommate is a very bittersweet thing for me. As I have said before, I like masturbating to porn constantly and gorging myself on chili cheese fries. This usually ends with me “self-medicating” and lying naked in the fetal position on my coffee table, calling ex-boyfriends and crying myself to sleep. My former roommates did not mind the ritual, but who knows about this guy. It will be nice to have the company, that’s for sure, but at what cost (figuratively, not financially)?

I will most assuredly keep you posted. Maybe this new person will lend himself as good blogging material.

Teri's Wedding

My Mom has six bothers and sisters, each with a family. There is one black sheep family and my cousin, Teri, is a member of said family. Ok, I would love to write about my cousin's wedding but everything is a punchline. Seriously. My developmentally disabled (mildly retarded) cousin married a toothless bipolar man from Missouri. Together, they conceived and born a child and the ceremony was a wedding/baptism. The reception was at the hotel bar. There's more factual stuff like this but I need not go on, you get the idea. With all the quirks you would never understand unless you were there. It was a lovely ceremony and I am very happy for them.

Bad Joke

I am the only cousin over the age of 12 who is yet unmarried. Correction: I am one of two cousins over the age of 12 who is yet unmarried. I am also the only cousin over the age of 12 who still reads at an eighth grade level. Correction: I am the only cousin (age not a factor) still reading at an eight grade level (damn "gifted" brats). It should also be noted that the other single cousin, Chris, has been absent (conveniently) from every family event since we were 14, leaving me to the wolves. To be fair, most of my family members over the age of 12 are nice enough not to point out the fact that I am desperately alone... and fat... and have smelly palms. Which leaves the ever inquisitive 8 and 12 year-olds.

8 & 12: How old are you?
Me: Twenty-five.
8 & 12: Why aren't you married?
Me: Because the president won't let lesbians get married in this country.

What possessed me to say this? I have no idea. What possesses me to throw dog crap at people I work with? Again, I have no idea. I don't even know what kind of reaction I was expecting to get from an eight and a twelve-year-old. I wish I could say that this conversation was and intimate moment shared among cousins, but it was not. Quite the opposite, really. Although it was said to the two young girls, it was heard by all.

Thank God my parents laughed... only not very long... and not very heartily.... and the entire time they were shooting me the look, "You are kidding, aren't you?" Once my parents heard only themselves laughing and stopped, only the faint sound of crickets and a distant train could be heard. I scanned the room looking for a friendly, comforting, even amused look. Shit. Most of my very liberal Catholic family just stared at me the way you stare at schizophrenic midgets but the few conservative Catholics could've had a bowling ball slip in their mouths and not know it. I'm not sure what happened; my family is very fun and good humored and this reaction was one I would not expect from them. After far too many seconds of awkward silence, I finally broke the tension and announced, "I'm kidding! Dude, it was a joke - seriously, I'm not a lesbian." Everyone made a half smile chuckle and went on about their business. Later that evening the talk of weddings came up and I was asked what I wanted. Now, I don't really know but I was sure whatever I said included the word husband, guy, man, or simply referenced past boyfriends. Even so, what followed was designated members of the family approaching me, one-on-one, reassuring me that if I were a lesbian, the family would be supportive. Shit - I think I may have gone too far.

Before I left, I again reassured my parents that I was indeed a heterosexual female who liked sucking cock and eating pussy.... wait, not that last part. That is the last time I make a sexual orientation joke... and I should probably stop bringing women home and having sex with them, too.

Opulent Living

I was SOOOOO much busier than previously thought, but I hate to disappoint. Although the sight of me always disappoints and I'm not doing a whole lot about that, but whatever.

TBC and I were talking about a book a couple days ago and the book crossed my path again in the article titled, Simple living yields simply millions in savings, found here:

The article basically supplied me with seven more reasons I will never be worth a million dollars, unless of course I choose to sell every organ I have on the black market or patent the next Pet Rock idea. For those of you who know me and read the list, you will smile and think happy thoughts of me... for those of you who don't know me, you'll probably still read this and a premature "fuck you" for judging me.

1. They live well below their means.

What, like you don't pay 70% of your paycheck towards a mortgage and the remainder on Jimmy Choo shoes?!? Seriously, what does "below" really mean, anyway?

2. They allocate their time, energy and money efficiently, in ways conducive to building wealth.

I've already done that. I spent a lot of time, energy, and money on landing all of my rich ex-husbands and it certainly has built my wealth.

3. They believe that financial independence is more important than displaying high social status.

Nothing is more important than making others feel inferior. Well, maybe making fun of others is more important, but that is where it ends.

4. Their parents did not provide economic outpatient care.

Ok, if my parents didn't "provide economic outpatient care", how would I afford to feed my addictions: food, drugs, weddings, and Coach bags (not necessarily in that order).

5. Their adult children are economically self-sufficient.

I am so totally economically self-sufficient. I buy everything I want. Additionally, I don't believe you hit adult status until your married - that is what my parents taught me.

6. They are proficient in targeting market opportunities.

Did someone say Target and the Market District? Finally, I qualify for something on this list, I love shopping at both places.

7. They chose the right occupations.

To my credit, I may have actually gotten this one right.


So, I am shooting 1 of 7 from the field; I guess you could say this leaves a lot of room for improvement. You could also say I suffer from only-child syndrome. While you're at it, you could also say I am gorgeous. (Only the last item being false.) I understand by saying these things, it fuels the already marred image you have of me, but I can take it. My friends and enemies will agree that generally speaking, I am a good person, except to really stupid people... and racists... and people who think they look good in orange... but overall good. I am generous of my time, my resources, and my self. I worked through high school and college and have not forgotten when my family was in transition and had nothing but bills and piling debt. Things changed, however, and so did my affinity for extravagances. Recently, though, I had an epiphany and changed my ways after the purchase of my home. I did not stop snorting lines, drinking myself stupid, or having sex with random men but I did declare my financial independence from my parents (not that it was all that much since college graduation). It's been tough (for both parties), but not as tough as going without salsa for more than three days, so I know I will be able to make it.

Have a great weekend. I will miss some of you and continue to loathe others... you know who you are.

Later

Today is a busy day at work (meetings, not actual work); tomorrow, not much better. This weekend - a cousin's wedding in the miserable state of Wisconsin. I'll be back in the saddle on Tuesday. More than likely, I'll get a post in before then, but there are no promises.

Live Longer... Smoke Pot

This was the actual title of my high school senior research paper concerning the medicinal values of marijuana. With that said, I have the pleasure of announcing that my good friend, Eddie, has launched a blog site for the South Dakota cause.

http://southdakotaformedicalmarijuana.blogspot.com/

Eddie is great buddy, I hung out with him just a couple weekends ago. Although he plans on getting his doctorate in history, he is currently in law school and also researching and writing a book.... on top of it all, he parties as hard as anyone I know. I couldn't be prouder of him.

Just the SportsCenter Highlights, please.

I follow baseball. Although I don't pay a lot of attention to the National League, I try to stay on top of the American League. (figuratively and literally) Figuratively, because I cheer for the Twins!!, the Yankees, and the White Sox (in that order).... and literally, because I've been dating Derek Jeter for just over three years. The thing I like least about baseball is having to actually watch the games. The thing I like the best about baseball or anything in a stadium, really - beer, peanuts, beer, and Chicago Dogs (no onions, lite on the relish). To me, baseball is the second most boring sport at the professional level, soccer being numero uno. Although you get a few bursts of excitement, you have to endure many minutes of lull. With that being the case, I may as well be home having sex, it's the same principle. So when last night's game went into SIXTEEN innings, it was a bit of a drain. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy the social aspect of going to baseball games... and the food... and the occasional girl on girl action. Thanks to total cutie Cuddyer's homer in the ninth, the game was pushed into extra innings... SEVEN extra innings, to be exact. I'm pretty sure I paid the beer man's rent for the next three months. Luckily for you readers, the Twins won - you wouldn't have wanted to hear my wrath had I endured over five hours of stadium time if the Sox had come out on top. Needless to say, I'm super tired today and in no mood to post much... plus, I actually have work to do these days. Weird, I know.

So long, friend.

I'm over it. No, not my chlamydia.* I am very giving of myself to others and I feel I am this way to a fault. As a result, I open myself up to being walked over. (I also open myself up to big cocks, but that's another post for another day.) There should be a point at which you say enough is enough, but my heart is very forgiving. I think I've reached the breaking point, however. I've given all of myself, to one relationship in particular, and have gotten little in return. It's not to say that Cory (there, I said it) has not been there for me in certain times of need, like when I wanted a burrito, but he has not been the man I thought he should be. Lately, I've kept my "relationship" with him for selfish reasons; as much as I would hate to admit it, he has probably kept me for selfish reasons, as well. (And it's not just because I am really great in the sack.) I am not going to make a big deal out of it tonight or tomorrow when he leaves. I'm not even going to talk about it - there's nothing to say that hasn't already been communicated on some level. It will not be like the time I threw a drink in the face of my soon-to-be ex. (His drink - why would I waste my perfectly good liquor on a man.... unless, of course, I am plotting to slip him a roofie... after all, that's how I landed Cory.) Anyway, I've been struggling with this for some time and saying goodbye to him will most assuredly mean a lot to me. Not as much as saying goodbye to the McRib every year, but you get the idea.



*strange but true: My friend's dad is the national expert on chlamydia.

Honesty's policy

Recently, I've been faced with various forms of honesty and the deceit surrounding the virtue. One of my favorite things to say when I would get caught in a complicated web of information was, "I didn't lie, I just didn't tell the whole truth." Even now, I still use this theory, "I told you I had been tested, I just didn't tell you I tested positive."

However, this theory should not be applied to all situations. If you are dating someone and that person doesn't tell you he is married or dating another, he's a scumbag piece of crap I hope rots in hell and his children are cursed with poor athletic skills and his wife never laughs at his jokes and his hair falls out by 32. Not that it's just recently happened to me or anything and a reason I write this post... rotten bastard. But, I digress...

There are varying degrees of honesty. My friends, they get my complete honesty... sometimes, to a fault. There are friends who can take it and those who cannot, but that is something learned through friendship. My friends know I can take it, for the most part, but also know my hot buttons and don't dare tread in those flesh-eating parasite infested waters.

In some instances, honesty is unnecessary. A couple days ago, I honestly told someone that I would not give an honest assessment of something. The response was, "That's bullshit, Nicole." This response is the other reasons for this post. Here's my rationale: Let's say I knit a sweater. (stay with me on this, I have a point) I have given everything I had into this sweater; it's my blood, sweat, and tears and I am very proud of it. I do not want someone telling me it sucks, especially someone I only vaguely know. I feel everyone is entitled to that kind of respect. It is not a matter of liking or disliking something, it's a matter of appreciating the work that went into it. I like Chicago-style pizza for the same reason.... well, that and the eight layers of gooey goodness.

You want me to do what??!

I like making out, I really do. Seeing as how sex has been very disappointing lately, I think fooling around has trumped it. Maybe saying the sex "lately" is the wrong expression, as it has been quite a while since I've engaged in the act and I can't remember the last time I actually enjoyed it. Although, I can vividly remember the last good Philly Cheese Steak I had. I'm pretty sure the two are directly proportional to one another. I'm hideous and let's face it, sleeping with me could be counted towards one's community service hours.

Anyway, back to making out. Recently (ok, 1994), I was fooling around with this guy (at least I think it was a guy) and he started sucking my toes. My first reaction was to pull away, but I thought what the hell - I love being licked, sucked and nibbled and it's his mouth. I figured his tongue would make quick work of the piggies and move swiftly past my cankles to my thunderous thighs and finally hitting the jackpot at... well, you know where. But, strangely enough, he stayed there for an unusual amount of time until I finally pulled him up to... well, you know where. I was pissed, though, because the whole thing weirded me out for the rest of the evening. Granted, the evening only lasted about another 8 minutes, but still. I couldn't get it out of my head that he was turned on by something that was so perverse to me. I feel the same about sadomasochistic type shit, too. In fact, most fetishes are fatuous to me and in no way sexually exciting - except those involving food, for obvious reasons.

Ok I really deviated from the making out post and now my head is filled with weird goat-fucking type images and I am just going to have to end this one. It's been a long week and this is hardly my best writing or what I wanted to leave you with before the weekend. Have a good one, nonetheless. I'll be with Cory, which has been a post waiting to be written in my head for a long time and I am sure it will spill out next week. (you can only imagine, kj.)

Help Wanted

Following the meetings today, there was an open bar 'social hour' followed by dinner. If cock sucking had been on the schedule, it would've been my ideal evening. This is the point where I would make some joke about how I took the whole open bar thing too far, got really wasted, and said or did something to embarrass myself. Unfortunately, there's no joke here and that is exactly what happened. 1 Jack/diet, 1 gin/tonic, 4 Miller Lites (16oz), and 2 shots later... dinner was served. I think it's safe to say I made quite an impression. If anyone knows of job openings for a fat, alcoholic, lazy engineer with no people skills, you can find me in the alley behind Whataburger turning tricks and passing out in a pool of my own vomit (at least I hope it's my own vomit).

One from the Road

It's Monday afternoon and I am just now beginning to recover... it was a typical weekend of booze, drugs, and anal sex. I had a wedding on Friday night in my hometown. This weekend's nuptials were more than just "a wedding", but I encumbered those thoughts like a champ. The liquor flowed freely and once again, I found myself peeing in the fruit punch; I'm beginning to think this has become somewhat of a wedding habit of mine. Saturday was filled with more drinking, sitting on the dock bitching about our parents**... and oh yeah, plenty of anal sex. I am a fat pile of shit, so of course I managed to find time to eat, but showering and washing my "dirty" sheets was simply out of the question. After not going to sleep at all on Thursday night, I thought it would be a brilliant move to not sleep Saturday night, either. Although, it's hard to fall asleep with a dick in your mouth. I was a bit woozy on the morning flight, but perked up and managed to fill yesterday more of the same.... drugs, booze, and oral sex (I like switching it up a bit on Sundays because God is watching).

I was a trooper this morning, though, and I am even at work. (not in Chicago, though). Seeing as how I am so important (and that the other engineers like staring at my tits), I was invited to attend a conference in Minnesota... my old stomping grounds. Since I am a genius when it comes to avoiding work, I wrangled a paid trip to hang out with my friends for yesterday and today. It's true that I am at work now, but I showed up at 1:30 and am only still here because I am writing this post - hardly "work".

I'll would try to post something over the next few days, but it would require me firing up the computer at night and since I only do this thing to deter me from work... that would be silly. I'll catch up with y'all in a few days.

**Apparently, it was "Fatigue Your Kid About Marriage" (aka FYKAM pronounced, 'fuckem') weekend in South Dakota. Of the six of us sitting on the dock, 3 girls - 3 boys all very single, five parents had mentioned if we were entertaining thoughts of getting married someday. We polled some other friends at the bar - same story. My parents usually don't bug me about it, but in the spirit of the FYKAM holiday, my Mom started in on the drive home from picking me up at the airport.

Oh, I would also like to note that while in the MSP Airport, I rode the escalator with Ryan Harris, Notre Dame football standout and featured in MTV's True Life, "I Want the Perfect Body". I was then joined on the Tram by Dustin Diamond, who played "Screech" on NBC's teen hit, Saved By The Bell.

Funniest comment

I sort of live this blog thing on the coat strings of crm, atoep and tbc. When someone new makes a comment to their blogs, I usually check out the link and see what comments were made by my guys. Occasionally, I'll add to them, here was one such time:

Comments made from http://worldismine.blogspot.com/2005/08/saudades.html

I hate it when people do not speak English.
the big cheese Homepage 08.01.05 - 9:52 pm #

How dare you comment to my blog in English....
the big cheese Homepage 08.02.05 - 3:12 pm #

As far as I know William Shakespeare didn't write in this pig latin. I don't understand what you are writing. For a man, you're not very articulate.
atoep Homepage 08.02.05 - 3:14 pm #

For a woman, you are not very articulate, either.
Nicole Homepage 08.03.05 - 12:08 pm #


I am sorry I had to delete this comment from my Cocks Unlimited post, more spammed comments... anyway... here is the reply I got from my comment above:

Lylian Porto said...
Dear, fuck off. I write my blog in my own language and for a woman you are not very articulate too.
8/04/2005 6:09 AM

So sweet. Nothing like starting the day with 22 total spammed comments and some foreigner telling me to F off in a poorly written sentence. Happy Thursday, everyone!!!

Cocks Unlimited

If you were looking for some cheesy internet porn, I guess you've been Punk'd.
This is no joke and is, in fact, the actual place I stayed at this weekend. It's a bed and breakfast / hunting lodge.

Cocks Unlimited (first edition, eliminated photo, whereby post no longer has anything to do with cocks or the unlimited nature, thereof.)

I thought maybe cocks and teeth were a bit too close in nature to be referenced so closely... and it wasn't very fair to make you read a boring post for the best part of the today's post.

My lower teeth were never crooked, just the the two cuspids overlapping my incisors. Braces had never been recommended and when I smile, you don't even see them. But since I am already so hot and sexy (wait, that should read hot and sweaty), I wanted to get them fixed as long as my Dad was offering** (giving into my threats). Since I would be starting graduate school (work deterrence program) and looking for a job (ice cream taster), I did not want the metal mouth. Additionally, the braces would hinder my night job, performing (giving blow jobs) at the local strip clubs (fraternities) to feed my kids (a drug habit). I wanted to go with the Invisalign, but they are significantly more ($2000) than regular braces ($3500) and my parents (selfish bastards) would only pay for the regular. Since I am such a hard worker (bullshitter), I received some scholarship money ($2000, although I told my folks it was only $1500 and used the rest to pay for an Irish folk band to play while I did 3 lines of smack and ate an entire Boston cream pie.... and a hoagie, I just love hoagies) and decided to pay the difference. Why have I told you all (idiots still reading this boring garbage) this? It brings me to last night - the official worst night of sleep ever (except for the time I went home with Derek Jeter and he kept waking me up for more sex).

**Thanksgiving Break, 2002
Dad: What's wrong with your teeth.
Me: What do you mean?
Dad: Your cuspids are crooked?
Me: They've always been like that.
Dad: Why don't you fix them.

I moved and haven't been back to my orthodontist to get my next set of retainers and I haven't worn my most recent set in like, three months. In that time, my teeth have shifted and I have an appointment on Monday to go get the new ones. This meant, I had to put the last set of retainers in to get them back to where they should be. Knowing this would be painful, although not as painful as the bizarre infection I received from the high school janitor (he said he'd been tested), I popped in a couple "pills". Trying to shift 3 months of orthodontic neglect in one night was not one of my more brilliant moves, nor was the time I got drunk at work and took a dump in the filing cabinet. The "pills" made me restless and very delusional in the dosing-off stage, forcing my conscious brain to wake me up. In and out of consciousness for the better part of 2.5 hours and I think I orgasmed twice, but I can't be sure.

The Defining Relationship (thanks ck)

As a precaution, this is going to be another (somewhat) introspective blog post, so if you are not feeling it... I should be back to my old self by Wednesday.

We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime; it's easy. The loves I've had carried different emotions, been at drastically different times in my life, and each time, he/it meant something to me. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is and what love is supposed to feel like. Although you may meet four or five of these people in your lifetime, there is always that one person you love who becomes that definition. This person unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of those qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The individual who embodies your your personal definition of love, however, does not really exist. The person is real and the feelings are real - but you create the context. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they are often just the person you happen to meet when you really, really want to love someone. This is a losing battle for you because for the rest of your life, this person will control how you feel about everyone else.