scar tissue

I stretched my ears about 6 years ago. It hurt me more than any tattoo I have on my body. My ears are at a zero gauge, and at the most, I would go up one more size to a double zero. All of the people (men, actually) that I've talked to about stretching ears insist that it didn't hurt them like it hurt me. Each time it felt like someone was holding a lit match to the tendon that runs from behind my earlobe down my neck.

My only conclusion, aside from the obvious (that men are fucking liars) is scar tissue.

I pierced my ears at the mall when I was ten, and these guys had their ears stretched right after they were pierced for the first time. Maybe scar tissue is more tender than normal skin... Which leads me to believe that your first heartbreak hurts, but not nearly as much as the second, or fifth.

I think once the heart is covered in repaired tissue, it hurts that much more when it's torn. Wouldn't you think it would hurt less? Like calloused hands? When people get hurt, they tend to do one of two things. Either they receed into themselves and become less apt to be hurt again, never putting themselves out there anymore, or, like a stupid dog, they keep doing the same old things and wonder why they keep getting kicked. They never learn. I am one of these dogs. No amount of kicking changes my behavior. And I hate that I put myself out there again and again and expect a different outcome. It's not smart, but it's how I am, and no amount of pain will change that.

employee of internet porn

I got a job offer this week. A seemingly hot girl from France (if her photo is actually her *coughcough*) approached me on Yahoo about doing an internet chat site with men from around the world. She had seen my new little toy, the international symbol that you're a geek (IE webcam) and suggested that I look into the idea. Of course, I abhorred the idea right off the bat. And then i sat for a while and truly thought about it, mostly because the idea of doing it made me uncomfortable. I tried to think of what inside me made me uneasy at the idea of internet video sex chat. Did i truly think it was against my morals? Is it because that's what i learned from my parents was wrong? Is it because i'm afraid someone I know would find out? It is because that sort of thing is taboo, and it's not what a "good girl" would do? First of all, it's safe sex. And second, I never have to see any of these people. The site promised to black out all countries I didn't want seeing me, the US being the first and foremost. And i also entertained the thought because i wanted to get to the bottom of this uncomfort thing. Also, it would pay me two dollars a minute, which for those of you who are math illiterate, works out to $120 an hour. Are you fucking kidding me?

So, I haven't come up with anything. I'm not going to do it. One of the many reasons being that I think my self esteem would plummet in direct proportion to my bank account fattening. I know most of my friends would be shocked, disappointed, and/or disturbed if i did it and they actually found out. But the biggest bullshit realization I had was that most men I know would do it in ten flat, and not think twice. And do you think anyone would be disappointed in them? Um, riiight....

the body war

if your body is like mine, my individual body parts don't get usually along with one another. my head and my heart, for instance. my mouth and my stomach, my brain and my muscles, etc etc. but today i learned something, and i would like to share it with you, as i do most times i come up with something that i find that people could benefit from.

i have been sick for three days. today is the first day i found myself to be able to sit upright for any length of time. i've eaten some chicken broth and had gatorade since monday night. but today, i was feeling better. not GOOD, mind you, but better. and so i woke up and started thinking of food for the first time in days. do you know how when you're sick, you have cravings? your mind gets fixated on one thing, and you have to have that one thing or nothing at all? well, my food deprived body wanted nothing other than taco bell. so much so that the craving willed me out of my bed and into my car (as i have nobody in my house to sucker into going for me) and to the drive thru. my mouth and my mind were jointly convinced that this is what i needed to make me better. they both ganged up on the rest of my body and shoved it out the door to go find nachos bellgrande.

my body learned that it shouldn't always listen to the mind or the mouth, and also that a stomach that's been empty for two days SHOULD NOT eat taco bell. if it does, then the stomach will get mad, and then the rest of the body will suffer, as that is how the stomach punishes the other body parts for being retarded. except, of course, for the typing fingers, which can formulate a blog to educate friends on things they should avoid.

let's recap the tips i have shared (or should have shared at some point), shall we?

1. no taco bell, well, let's say EVER. exceptions to this are when you're drunk and there is no jack in the box within a 60 mile radius

2. don't send money or account numbers to anybody in nigeria, not matter what they tell you they have for you

3. when dating someone younger than you, follow "the equation". take your age, divide it in half, and add seven. that is the lowest age you are socially allowed to date. *coughmarykayletourneaucough*

4. when in a foreign country, stick with the native menu no matter how bored of it you get. or you may end up like me, eating dog on a bun, with mayonaise.

5. if stuck eating dog, drink plenty of alcoholic fluids

6. when partying, scope out the bathroom while you are sober. if you couldn't envision yourself laying on the bathroom floor for a few hours with toilet paper as your pillow/blanky because of the temperature/cleanliness/accessibility factor, rethink your next glass of wine

7. don't wear flip flops to a ministry show

8. don't take nyquil before a job interview

9. "improved taste" means "it doesn't suck quite as bad as the first one did"

10. never EVER take advice from a redhead

the candy corn threshold

since autumn, and more importantly halloween, is approaching, i would like to bring up one of the least discussed subjects on earth. and one i have given many hours of thought to with no clear answer. candy's dandy (but liquor is quicker). i crave candy.

i'm not a chocoholic, like many of my female friends out there. i like sugar, and in copius amounts. suckers are tops, but i will enjoy anything covered in or loaded with that lovely confectionary substance. starburst, jelly beans, jolly ranchers, mike and ikes, it doesn't matter. and i can eat lots of it, in one sitting, without the nagging tummyache that i used to get as a child. i've conditioned myself, you might say.

but there is one candy that can only be eaten in small amounts, the only candy of it's kind, and that is candy corn. why is that? i could ingest (and i have) a half pound of gummy bears in a flash, and still be ready for m&ms. but for some reason beyond my comprehension, candy corn is lethal. you're enjoying it, and suddenly you become violently ill when you have that one too many. why doesn't any other form of sugar behave like this? what makes candy corn different? it matters not whether you eat them whole, or, like i do, bite off the colored sections individually. there is a candy corn tolerance threshold, and i have crossed it. and i will again this year.

the journey of self pleasure

I first discovered masturbation at 17, in a sweaty, ebbing crowd of hundreds at a club in Denver. I was pressed up against the stage, my chest forced into the metal barrier, my eyes fixed on the frontman of one of the most underrated bands in rock history.

Near the end of the set as the song drew on, he slowly backed himself upstage, just at the side of the drum kit, and stood staring into nothing, head cocked to one side. I watched as a long line of drool pulled away from the corner of his mouth and fell, slowly, to the wood floor at his feet. My eyes dropped to his waist, where his hand disappered behind the hem of his jeans. Still drooling, eyes still frozen on the ceiling over our heads, he remained absolutely still, with the exception of the hand, stroking himself in the shadows. Any naive wonderment of what might actually be occurring faded quickly as I noticed the color of flesh, and small, furious movement. To be sure I wasn't taken over by strange delusions, I looked at the crowd on either side of me, and nobody seemed to notice. Most eyes were on the band, facing backward to preempt any injury from the pit at our backs, or engaged in conversation with people standing next to them. Surely, I thought, the first two rows could see him from the waist down, and anyone else could only see his face, if they could see him at all. I looked up at him again, and back to the strangers at my sides. I saw a girl, much older than myself, who by her expression was seeing the same thing I was. She felt me looking, and turned and caught my eye. Her look of bewilderment mixed with pleasure made me wonder whether I was aroused or disturbed. I looked back at the stage just as he came, and he stood for a long time before he shuffled slowly back up to the mic.

I met up with a friend in the now blazing light of the littered and emptying auditorium. He was elated, obviously unaware that I wasn't focused on him. He was talking too fast for me too keep up, wasn't the show great? God, they rock. Did you love it? Where were you? I've been looking for you for an hour... And I stood, and asked him, still second guessing what I had seen.

"Did you watch him masturbate?"

"Who?"

"Mike Patton."

"What?! Are you fucking kidding me? When?"

And I didn't answer, but turned around and headed towards the queue at the back. My friend's questions faded into the sound of ringing in my head, and I watched the ground 3 feet in front of me as I walked, wondering what to feel.

shedding the past

A lot of shit has gone down lately, and i felt like it was constantly at my back, like my shadow. So i held a ritual in a friend's kitchen last night around midnight, with a cocktail and a pair of shears. I cut off all my hair.

All my life, I'd had long hair. I've hidden behind it, in a way. It's always been my security blanket. Most everyone I know has said, "OH, never cut your hair! you're so pretty with it!" as though it were my only decent feature. So i got hooked on the idea that it was the only thing that made me appealing to men, and I hate it that i let people do that to me, or let me do that to myself. Let's face it, men love long hair. Long haired women are sexy. But none of the rest of me is conventional, so why live with the hair that's been following me around for three decades? I'm in a new state, living a new life, i figured I would make it official.

I couldn't see what she was cutting, but I could feel it. And we both knew how short it was going to be. I patiently waited and chatted and sipped for about an hour. And when she finally told me to get up, I would have a chance to look in her mirror. I expected to cry. I felt awful, because I knew it was coming, and I didn't want her to think I wasn't grateful. It's just bittersweet to lose something that you've clung to for so long.

Before I stood up, I ran my fingers through it, and my heart stopped. I didn't want to get up, i just wanted to live my life in that kitchen chair, bent over, staring at remnants on my hair around my feet. I sat bent over, much like the emergency position you're supposed to assume during an airplane emergency, and concentrated on breathing. And finally, I stood up, and I looked in the mirror. And I waited to cry.

But I didn't.

In fact, the smile hasn't left my face. I feel lighter than I did yesterday, I catch myself walking differently. I shed the last year, the last 30 years, of change, confusion, and stress, and now I'm left with fuzzy soft locks that I can't stop touching. All those people who told me not to cut my hair should see me now. My hair is hot, yes. But the glow that came with it was worth the wait, and infinitely hotter than my long hair ever was...

caffeine - the real enemy

in the last four hours, i have consumed a big gulp of diet coke, a 24 oz mountain dew, and a large cappuccino with extra sugar. my brain is moving too fast for the rest of my body, and i can't seem to focus my eyes on any one spot for more than 3 seconds.

it's the coffee.

i drink red bull and mountain dew, well, pretty much daily. and they always give me this gentle sense of awareness. but for some reason coffee, which i have only started drinking lately, could be the best and simultaneously the worst invention ever. i can feel blood roaring around the veins in my body. i am speaking faster than i can edit myself. and i feel capable of any feat of strength put into my path, though i would probably suffer heart failure if i exerted myself more than sprinting a few yards.

who thought up coffee? what was the trial and error of creating it like? some guy just said, hey, let's grind up these little beans and run hot water through it. and then we'll drink the result. how many versions of it did they reject before settling on the current one? if it weren't for the taste of coffee, it could be the greatest and most dangerous tool on the planet. aside from the penis, of course.