the serenade in the soliloquy

i have to talk about floyd.

we made it through to the meat.

marci's been talking about how all the weird shit people pulled

just got to me. she's finally starting to agree that i clearly reached a stage in my life when none of it got to me; i'm all: lalala, yep, but what nobody really knows is how much i love floyd. and i won't let myself touch it. i can't think, work, function; i'm trying to be me without allowing myself to be me. my most authentic self was while we were pals. he didn't treat the blonde pink-tufted fauxhawk like i was being fake. or like i'm not pretty enough to pull it off. what i did for myself like losing a little weight, eating more healthily again...that was well-received. actually, actually wearing makeup--he was all, that's for me? sorry, girl, i ain't into you like that.

which was what i needed. wanted. he's the left half of the rorschach. none of the mr. rights line up exactly, but they have lined up in one way. with him and the others. greg is so cute i could have fallen for him but i'm ugly right now! anyway, greg, the monster. i was petrified for months.

then jenny was sage. floyd was sweet.

and greg was awesome. i thought he seemed stable. not prone to violence. after. after everything. it's like a poem. he peels away. he's beautiful when it shines.

the diamond.

so floyd was amazing but everyone who raped me about the autobiography said they were doing it to save floyd from the autobiography.

so if i die he's fine. if not, she hates me, she ruined my life, is what they say they need to rape me to teach me--to save him. to teach me that men will stop women from ruining other men.

and they don't even rate the book. hah.

one of them was really mean afterward about how fat i was, which i laughed off because we had met several times over the weekend, and he was the one who was cool about it until he could text how fat i was. they always say they can't believe how incredible the sex was or how i was fuming the whole time and that me spitting hateful attacks to try to get out of having sex didn't make it fun at all. kind of the point. ruin my night, yours is just as ruined. so it is always guys who really like the sex and the conversation but hate that i won't do everything they demand. they kick me out and wait until i'm too far away to text me that i'm fat and a pity fuck. i had a pretty great body when i saw greg but his number got blown away and i was too drunk with my camera in my hands at 3:30 in the morning.

and the kid was all, no, don't, leave it! don't you like me? he was taller and lithe, and could have grabbed the paper.

instead, the kid, only 23, someone I was fine sleeping in my jammies with talking up a storm with at 32, got ultra-jealous, and i was like, it would be gross so no, and greg was cute and normal. he had been kind of angry when we 'd first met. my burning quest wasn't for a kiddie set of loins. over it!

it was to ask "what's changed in your life to make you so happy?"

and that's when I start fluttering. his eyes are--

--but the fucking kid. and after 15 minutes of elbowing him in the ribs and not wanting to kick out some stupid nerd at 4:30a...

it's all ruined again.

fucking blind tiger! every time i have a nice encounter there some jerk fucking rapes me. 

i do not need 23-year-olds who know nothing about life. Insecurity isn't good for sex. i wanted to give greg the magic 8 ball book.

it's about him being my magic 8 ball.

and the outcome rocked.

the strangle squad

so i was putting on eyeliner and mascara for my 92 of shame back to adams morgan, since jon b.&john-boy usually escorted me to parties. i felt pretty so experimentation with contact lenses led to prettier eyes. anyway. we had a weekend routine. party together and separately friday, crash, meet saturday night, party together and separately, split up sunday until monday for partying and crashing.

so i was applying purple eyeliner. and they slammed in. stormed in. I ignored them because jon was always like, they are just bitches, skanky asshole fuckers, let me call them whatever i want!

and i draw the line at sluts but whatever. i just stopped him at that line. we maneuvered it icily.

so they came up to me in his communal bathroom and one grabbed me by the neck. slammed me against the body-length mirror by the exit as someone kept an ear. and three were threatening me, really making me laugh inside with their mean comments about how i'm too ugly to deserve him. which is why my best friend is keeping an ear out, pretending she doesn't see. she's cracking up inside too.

if you don't keep laughing at the absurdity of a meat face your best friend is always saying he has to push out of his and find time to bitch to me about over a pizza...you'll freak out that she has a hand around your neck.

when you tell him he flips the fuck out. when you tell him not to do anything he fucks the pretty one win the two first names. she looks at you like "i stole your man." this is the last day. i meet his parents  half an hour later.

he looks at me sheepishly and then we realize he was hoping for one last good time. but he's out of time and admits as much. he blinks too much when he's ashamed of himself and you almost appreciate that more than anything he's said all year, all the sexism and all the times you smirk that you're not the one he's with when he's particularly rude about some poor girl, a girl you love and respect, a girl you're glad he's telling you about because his secrets are theirs to keep. so you do.

and you're glad there's nothing to wring out of. no end-of-year kisses to make up for a romance you both hated for its tie to this glamorous blonde he thinks has an inner bitch lurking in me. so there, your eyes dance all lit like sun-glazed rosettes when he comes out in tears: "she stole my brotherhood jersey!"

and that is when he nods. he knows his friend has raped me and that he waited a scholastic year per some agreement. that he hit me for being afraid after his friend tried to fuck me and i flipped out for three nights crying as much as seven tiers of bridal chocolate fountain. he knows everything has been a charade, that we talked when alison said i looked at him so disdainfully it was like i hated him. that we talked about being in love with each other but having a friendship. it stayed that way and i didn't want to be bitter. before the internet there were perfect endings.

so he was like, yeah, i thought i'd get revenge on you. fuck you, you only get 30 minutes of my time. but looking at you, i have so much to say and there's never going to be time to fill that gap.

and then at the end he ran out crying, right, at me, and stopped short. by his shithead expectations he was stopped shorter than a bus.

he never was the right choice, but he really knew what he was losing then.

flank by flank

floyd is nothing but a gentleman. i can't just pretend he wasn't someone essential because when i do i forget what's most essential.

and it is quintessential.

but john-boy and jon b. were my best friends.

and john-boy was honestly hotter up close. i was freaking out thinking he would try and i knew i'd be exposed as someone totally heartbroken over it--jon b. hit me once and said really mean things about my looks, and i remember the girls choking me in the bathroom once. one of my best girl friends just pretended she didn't see. thanks, girl.

ain't you got my back.

and thankfully it was the boys' bathroom. they didn't know he'd left for practice. i left before he got back to go home and shower and change and eat and give him time for nookie with a new cookie, since we just slept in the same bed so we could be a bitter married couple early on.

so years later:

"you know, that was the first time had orgasms from sex, almost."

"what!? you never told me!"

"why? i was 19! no way was i gonna tell you you were going to be my first yummy he's favoritest sex! you already were! i was just getting my g-spot stroked at the perfect angle--"

"but i thought i wasn't getting through! it'd been two and a half hours, four if you count everything!"

"oh, another thirty seconds--trust me, i know now--"

"you never told me! i thought i just sucked for you!"

"so i ruined everything?"

"yeah."

twice. the second time was really fun and i so, so close.

but he was all, never mind, i can't fall in love again, this is going to turn out worse than bad; i need to party hard and forget someone, not do this, you know? i've been dying to do this the second you left and now you're back, but i've just gotten used to fucking around--

--and being with you

i would never forget.

but let's have a date.

so he hit me to make me remember one night, and that night

i knew i should have taken a chance on john-boy.

listen.

sometimes the whisper pierces deepest.

but that night it was just me, the b

and my complete innocence when he said we should make tacos.

he has never liked my face.

scum and ditties

scum versus ditties

is

a pictograph

a poem

zesty breathing

i got so busy i never blogged this two weeks ago

fatso did a lot of bad shit

and something i caught wind of reminded me that i'd forgotten to

so

i had this roommate freshman year and a few months junior year

but one reason it didn't work out junior year

at MSSD

was because fatso was cheating on this other gal with me, raping me

and i didn't even know at first that they were an item

and then anytime i consented to going up the concrete steps to the isolated moonlight

sometimes going so far we'd have to suck security roaming the balls

hee, duck and halls

i would just sob and plead to be friends and just friends and just besties and ask why it was happening that my hands would be pinned and my mouth opened with his and just disappear into my dissociation

but he was so gossipy

he told me he didn't want to keep dating my roommate junior year

and i have known her since intake

because she had bad breath, and asked me ME me

to tell her

but fuck no it ain't my place and it ain't my kissing

and i was splintering and she couldn't figure out why

but how can someone mess with someone he supposedly loves

and someone else he supposedly loves

and then cruelly

someone he has told he loves

just to mess

with the other two

sometimes when your eyes are blue

they're what people use to fool

themselves

the butterfly effect

joe loves the krohn more than anything in cincinnati

my new roomie and her boyfriend, who now rents the apartment upstairs, are in their mid-twenties and a total smash

they're artistic and fascinating, and so much like my old group of cincinnati friends it's delightful

i think they will make me go kayaking

and learn magic: the gathering

they think n&e are the cutest and i wish joe could meet them

and the krohn with its butterfly show is basically

around the corner