At roughly the same time every night I hear this buzzing sound coming from the apartment above me (or is it next to me? I can never tell). Its on for at least an hour so it can't possibly be someone brushing their teeth with an electric toothbrush. Really I don't know what it is, because even though the walls are thin they're not thin enough for me to be able to decipher precisely what is making that sound. Its like clockwork though, to the point where I'm kinda waiting for the buzzing to start so I know its time to go to bed.
Ah to be young and live in a thinly walled box.
agosto 30, 2006
agosto 27, 2006
you gotta work with me
So as we know, I've been dating for a while. By no stretch of the imagination am I somehow new to the concept of having a boyfriend. Having a boyfriend is my natural state of being. Once you've been around the block a few times (or a few hundred times) there are few things that catch you off guard. You know how things go. Or so I thought. For the very first time in my very short life I'm dating someone and I'm the one who is making things all complicated.
Now I know, if you know me your rolling your eyes and thinking "come on jes you've always been the complication" but hear me out. When before it was all square peg in a round hole now its like this makes too much sense, I'm overloading on how perfect this is. But this isn't perfect in the hormone induced craziness of relationships long since past, this is perfect in a completely sane we are two grown people with a plethora of issues but we figure it out as we go along, and then everything is good.
Everything is good.
That's the problem. Well if your me at least it is because I'm used to making things work. Used to stubbornly fighting and sacrificing to make something work that was never meant to work for so long. So the bliss, the insane compatibility freaks me out. Because I'm not used to someone actually understanding and hearing the words that trickle out of my mouth. I'm used to "agreeing to disagree" every five minutes.
So this is nice. Nice and scary, because what if I fuck this up? Then what? It wasn't him or us, or the universe, or the timing, it was me and my id. So that's where I'm at. Trying to not be the complication and just be.
I'll let you know how that goes.
Now I know, if you know me your rolling your eyes and thinking "come on jes you've always been the complication" but hear me out. When before it was all square peg in a round hole now its like this makes too much sense, I'm overloading on how perfect this is. But this isn't perfect in the hormone induced craziness of relationships long since past, this is perfect in a completely sane we are two grown people with a plethora of issues but we figure it out as we go along, and then everything is good.
Everything is good.
That's the problem. Well if your me at least it is because I'm used to making things work. Used to stubbornly fighting and sacrificing to make something work that was never meant to work for so long. So the bliss, the insane compatibility freaks me out. Because I'm not used to someone actually understanding and hearing the words that trickle out of my mouth. I'm used to "agreeing to disagree" every five minutes.
So this is nice. Nice and scary, because what if I fuck this up? Then what? It wasn't him or us, or the universe, or the timing, it was me and my id. So that's where I'm at. Trying to not be the complication and just be.
I'll let you know how that goes.
agosto 19, 2006
I'll let you whip me if I misbehave*
There's something about Sex and the City that has always bugged me. Its bugged me since the very first time I saw a full episode of the show (horribly dubbed in spanish in cuba) and it continues to bug me now whenever I'm flipping through and catch a rerun (which I always proceed to watch even though I've seen every episode at least 3 times).
The condoms.
If you have watched SATC at all, you know that Trojans are prominently displayed everywhere. In the first episode, when Carrie meets Big she drops her purse and a roll of Trojans fall out of her purse. It was a meet cute satc style, girl meets boy, drops her purse and shows boy that she carries a roll of condoms with her because you never know. Its all very safe, very cute, nothing wrong with this picture right? Wrong. My problem is that women who spend $600+ on shoes and $10 on candy martinis would know better than use trojans. Trojans are the condom of choice when your 16 and dont know any better, but think you're the shit. When in reality you have absolutely no idea what "good" is because you also drank some Bud Light and thought it was amazing. Basically your 16, you dont know any better, you're trying to be safe. All very smart. I'm not knocking the use of condoms.
What I am knocking is the use of trojans past the age of 20 (I'm giving you a 4 year window to not know any better). Especially when your characters on a show in which the entire universe centers around having the very best things in life. Ohh and there's one episode which always gets me, its season 5 and Miranda's baby grabs a trojan (still in its wrapper) and sticks it in his mouth and everyone is horrified until Samantha quips "oh don't worry I have those things in my mouth all the time" and everyone laughs because its funny. Except for me because I'm always horrified, because if you've ever had a trojan in your mouth you know that its not all good, those things have the worse taste known to man. And the smell the smell is awful.
So they should know better. And you should know better. There are better condoms out there than trojans. Much much better. And just like you spent some time and some money searching for something better than bud light you should do the same with condoms. That is all. Go forth and multiply, or something.
* The title is from justin timberlakes "sexyback", dont think that I'm trying to tell you I'm into s&m.
k now the links:
* Okay so first I read this. And then I read the article. Actually no, I started reading the article and then I proceeded to throw up a little in my mouth, because when someone says shit like this with a straight face I just can't keep my food down:
The female orgasm is the natural mechanism by which men assert dominion over women: a man who appreciates this can negotiate whatever difficulties arise in his relationships with them.
Last Christmas, my wife threw me out after discovering I'd been cheating on her. On the night we got back together, I made strong, passionate love to her. Unfaithful as I'd been, I was not going to let her have me over a barrel for the rest of our marriage. I needed to keep a sense of self and not allow her to mire me in guilt and a desperate quest of forgiveness.
I needed to let her know what she would be missing if we broke up for ever. I gave her a manful bravura performance that night, and at the height of her passion, I asked her: 'Who's the boss?'
The question threw her. Initially she wouldn't give me a reply, but I enticed it from her. 'You are,' she finally gasped. 'You are!' I am a very difficult man to be with. I know I have caused my wife great pain and anxiety. But she is an adult, and ultimately it is wholly her choice whether she wants to be with me or not - I cannot be anyone other than myself. Originally when I read this I was going to do a whole post on this thing. And then I realized that I didn't need a whole post, just a few sentences. A good female orgasm, brings a man down to his knees. Its not the thing that a man holds over a woman, like "look how manly I am, I gave you the greatest pleasure you have ever known," its the thing that makes even the strongest manliest men, into idiots. A good moan, an arch of the back, and men turn into putty. In s&m the partner who is actually in control is not the dominant, but the submissive who sets the pace and can at any time say the word and end the "play." Things are not always what they seem, is what I'm saying. By telling you that "you're the boss" she's choosing to give you what you want. All power is relative.
* My favorite blog has always been "girl with a one track mind" but I don't link to it often because the subject manner is beyond pg-13 Long story short it was an awesome anonymous blog, which got turned into a book, and then ended up in having the bloggers identity discovered. All very sad, very tragic, because I'm sure my favorite blog will never be the same.
and how this post end up being all about sex?
The condoms.
If you have watched SATC at all, you know that Trojans are prominently displayed everywhere. In the first episode, when Carrie meets Big she drops her purse and a roll of Trojans fall out of her purse. It was a meet cute satc style, girl meets boy, drops her purse and shows boy that she carries a roll of condoms with her because you never know. Its all very safe, very cute, nothing wrong with this picture right? Wrong. My problem is that women who spend $600+ on shoes and $10 on candy martinis would know better than use trojans. Trojans are the condom of choice when your 16 and dont know any better, but think you're the shit. When in reality you have absolutely no idea what "good" is because you also drank some Bud Light and thought it was amazing. Basically your 16, you dont know any better, you're trying to be safe. All very smart. I'm not knocking the use of condoms.
What I am knocking is the use of trojans past the age of 20 (I'm giving you a 4 year window to not know any better). Especially when your characters on a show in which the entire universe centers around having the very best things in life. Ohh and there's one episode which always gets me, its season 5 and Miranda's baby grabs a trojan (still in its wrapper) and sticks it in his mouth and everyone is horrified until Samantha quips "oh don't worry I have those things in my mouth all the time" and everyone laughs because its funny. Except for me because I'm always horrified, because if you've ever had a trojan in your mouth you know that its not all good, those things have the worse taste known to man. And the smell the smell is awful.
So they should know better. And you should know better. There are better condoms out there than trojans. Much much better. And just like you spent some time and some money searching for something better than bud light you should do the same with condoms. That is all. Go forth and multiply, or something.
* The title is from justin timberlakes "sexyback", dont think that I'm trying to tell you I'm into s&m.
k now the links:
* Okay so first I read this. And then I read the article. Actually no, I started reading the article and then I proceeded to throw up a little in my mouth, because when someone says shit like this with a straight face I just can't keep my food down:
The female orgasm is the natural mechanism by which men assert dominion over women: a man who appreciates this can negotiate whatever difficulties arise in his relationships with them.
Last Christmas, my wife threw me out after discovering I'd been cheating on her. On the night we got back together, I made strong, passionate love to her. Unfaithful as I'd been, I was not going to let her have me over a barrel for the rest of our marriage. I needed to keep a sense of self and not allow her to mire me in guilt and a desperate quest of forgiveness.
I needed to let her know what she would be missing if we broke up for ever. I gave her a manful bravura performance that night, and at the height of her passion, I asked her: 'Who's the boss?'
The question threw her. Initially she wouldn't give me a reply, but I enticed it from her. 'You are,' she finally gasped. 'You are!' I am a very difficult man to be with. I know I have caused my wife great pain and anxiety. But she is an adult, and ultimately it is wholly her choice whether she wants to be with me or not - I cannot be anyone other than myself. Originally when I read this I was going to do a whole post on this thing. And then I realized that I didn't need a whole post, just a few sentences. A good female orgasm, brings a man down to his knees. Its not the thing that a man holds over a woman, like "look how manly I am, I gave you the greatest pleasure you have ever known," its the thing that makes even the strongest manliest men, into idiots. A good moan, an arch of the back, and men turn into putty. In s&m the partner who is actually in control is not the dominant, but the submissive who sets the pace and can at any time say the word and end the "play." Things are not always what they seem, is what I'm saying. By telling you that "you're the boss" she's choosing to give you what you want. All power is relative.
* My favorite blog has always been "girl with a one track mind" but I don't link to it often because the subject manner is beyond pg-13 Long story short it was an awesome anonymous blog, which got turned into a book, and then ended up in having the bloggers identity discovered. All very sad, very tragic, because I'm sure my favorite blog will never be the same.
and how this post end up being all about sex?
agosto 13, 2006
dont say
So last night I was going to do a post on crazy bitches in general and one specifically crazy one. It was going to be good because I was really upset about it all last night. But then this morning I woke up, and there was a cute boy in my bed and the sunlight was coming in and I didn't care anymore. So what if they're crazy. It has nothing to do with me and I'm not going to put myself into it by talking about it. Just know crazy bitches are out there and they really don't like me and I think its stupid because I have better things to do than try to steal away the dumbfucks that date them. If they had any sense they'd know that, but alas being crazy they have no sense.
The real news though is that I have a car. Its still sinking in that I now have a car and its in my name, and that it really is mine. But yea I bought it yesterday in the span of like 3 hours. Of course this being me, I didn't do a lick of research cause I could care less what type of car I drive. But my car is still super cute, its redish, ford focus, with four doors. I'd prefer that it only had 2 doors, but whatever its only for the now and I'll be done paying for it in two years.
And yea that's my news. I have a car. Its all mine. And its cute. The end. All thats left now is finding a permanent place to live in and you know furniture and stuff... but its all coming together and its awesome.
ahhh I almost forgot the very best part about my new car is that within having it for like 30 minutes my car had been blessed with holy water, which is fairly amusing, to say the least.
The real news though is that I have a car. Its still sinking in that I now have a car and its in my name, and that it really is mine. But yea I bought it yesterday in the span of like 3 hours. Of course this being me, I didn't do a lick of research cause I could care less what type of car I drive. But my car is still super cute, its redish, ford focus, with four doors. I'd prefer that it only had 2 doors, but whatever its only for the now and I'll be done paying for it in two years.
And yea that's my news. I have a car. Its all mine. And its cute. The end. All thats left now is finding a permanent place to live in and you know furniture and stuff... but its all coming together and its awesome.
ahhh I almost forgot the very best part about my new car is that within having it for like 30 minutes my car had been blessed with holy water, which is fairly amusing, to say the least.
agosto 12, 2006
I'd like to paint this picture for you
Last night marked the longest period of time that I have spent alone in my apartment. And there was definitely a point somewhere in hour 5 where I wanted to go out just so the walls would feel a little bigger when I got back in. Its not like I don't like being alone. On the contrary I love being alone. I barely like people at all. Well I like people in the plural sense of the world, its just individuals that I have a problem with. So being alone is one of my favorite states of being.
Until Erie that is, where I'd spent weeks by myself, with the only other person I came into any real contact with being Andres. Clearly I'm scarred because last Sunday I woke up early and ran errands, spent half my day at a coffee shop, and then went over to my dad's because the thought of spending all day in my little studio was soul crushing. And honestly I don't need my soul crushed anymore.
But last night I wanted to stay in. I decided I wasn't going to go out before 10am, it didn't matter that it was a Friday and awesome whomever was going to be wherever doing whatnot. I had stuff to do and I wanted to sleep and I had absolutely no interest in standing in a club having a mindless conversation about whatnot. I wanted to do laundry and watch tv and sleep.
Somewhere in there after finally sitting down and writing something substantial for the first time in months, I decided that I wanted to paint, well sketch some stuff in oils (part 1 of the long and complicated painting process). So I went to open my painting box that had been sitting in my closet for a week. It was like Christmas, and when I pulled out one of my favorite paintings I was deliriously happy knowing that it was now with me and not sitting in some apartment in the middle of nowhere PA. But then as I started pulling stuff out I started getting angry. He'd rolled up some of my paintings and placed packing tape on them to hold them together. Not a big deal until you attempt to pull off the tape and the backing of your favorite painting that took you weeks of work to paint and still isn't finished starts coming off.
Still though, I was happy the paintings were back with me. So I started getting deeper into the box and I realized that there were no paints in there. The 30+ different tubes of artist grade oil paints? Not in the box. My large box of oil pastels? Not in the box. My large sketching pad, that contains everything I've been working on for the last 2 years? Nope, not there. My charcoals? Not there. Even though I'd specifically asked that they all be mailed to me.
If we weren't talking about my entire collection of art supplies that I've been collecting and amassing for years now, I wouldn't have wanted to run someone over with a car. Yea, there are some blank canvases in the box I got, but irony of ironies I have nothing to paint on them with. Oh yea my brushes? All of them? Not in the box.
So I wanted to start throwing stuff. Obviously, because really he should know better than this. He knows how much that stuff means to me. If he had mailed absolutely nothing else it should have been that box. Its hard because I want to vent and at the same time I don't want to say an eight of the things that are rushing through my head right now, because things were really good for a long time and I want to respect that. But, I want my shit back. And of course he's not in Erie anymore, so my stuff if it hasn't been mailed is just going to sit there until December at some point.
Yup. I get the distinct feeling that instead of buying my easel I'm going to have to rebuild my collection. Awesome.
k links:
* My favorite place in Houston is the River Oaks Theatre. And because this is Houston, and we love new things over old things its probably going to be demolished to make a borders or a starbucks or another strip mall. Because lord knows we need another strip mall. Anyways the nytimes is talking about it and you should read about it.
* make any site work friendly. really, make it look like your working all the time.
* the future and whatnot.
Until Erie that is, where I'd spent weeks by myself, with the only other person I came into any real contact with being Andres. Clearly I'm scarred because last Sunday I woke up early and ran errands, spent half my day at a coffee shop, and then went over to my dad's because the thought of spending all day in my little studio was soul crushing. And honestly I don't need my soul crushed anymore.
But last night I wanted to stay in. I decided I wasn't going to go out before 10am, it didn't matter that it was a Friday and awesome whomever was going to be wherever doing whatnot. I had stuff to do and I wanted to sleep and I had absolutely no interest in standing in a club having a mindless conversation about whatnot. I wanted to do laundry and watch tv and sleep.
Somewhere in there after finally sitting down and writing something substantial for the first time in months, I decided that I wanted to paint, well sketch some stuff in oils (part 1 of the long and complicated painting process). So I went to open my painting box that had been sitting in my closet for a week. It was like Christmas, and when I pulled out one of my favorite paintings I was deliriously happy knowing that it was now with me and not sitting in some apartment in the middle of nowhere PA. But then as I started pulling stuff out I started getting angry. He'd rolled up some of my paintings and placed packing tape on them to hold them together. Not a big deal until you attempt to pull off the tape and the backing of your favorite painting that took you weeks of work to paint and still isn't finished starts coming off.
Still though, I was happy the paintings were back with me. So I started getting deeper into the box and I realized that there were no paints in there. The 30+ different tubes of artist grade oil paints? Not in the box. My large box of oil pastels? Not in the box. My large sketching pad, that contains everything I've been working on for the last 2 years? Nope, not there. My charcoals? Not there. Even though I'd specifically asked that they all be mailed to me.
If we weren't talking about my entire collection of art supplies that I've been collecting and amassing for years now, I wouldn't have wanted to run someone over with a car. Yea, there are some blank canvases in the box I got, but irony of ironies I have nothing to paint on them with. Oh yea my brushes? All of them? Not in the box.
So I wanted to start throwing stuff. Obviously, because really he should know better than this. He knows how much that stuff means to me. If he had mailed absolutely nothing else it should have been that box. Its hard because I want to vent and at the same time I don't want to say an eight of the things that are rushing through my head right now, because things were really good for a long time and I want to respect that. But, I want my shit back. And of course he's not in Erie anymore, so my stuff if it hasn't been mailed is just going to sit there until December at some point.
Yup. I get the distinct feeling that instead of buying my easel I'm going to have to rebuild my collection. Awesome.
k links:
* My favorite place in Houston is the River Oaks Theatre. And because this is Houston, and we love new things over old things its probably going to be demolished to make a borders or a starbucks or another strip mall. Because lord knows we need another strip mall. Anyways the nytimes is talking about it and you should read about it.
* make any site work friendly. really, make it look like your working all the time.
* the future and whatnot.
agosto 08, 2006
mas de mil formas de besar
Here's what I'm learning. I'm learning that I have got not a clue of what is good for me or who is right for me or what is and is not a good idea. I'm learning that its so impossibly good to be with someone who laughs at my midget jokes and makes them right along with me. I'm learning that having a man make me laugh uncontrollably from my gut is impossibly sexy. That being with someone who is as equally messed up as you in the very same ways is fun, and nice, and really comforting. I'm learning to just chill out and relax in a good thing and not think too much and just stop being so damn bossey.
I'm learning that someone making you uncomfortable isn't the sign that you need to run in the opposite direction. Its just a sign that I've finally met my match and its about damn time I stopped being in control all the time.
I'm learning that the word smitten does not come anywhere close to describing what I'm feeling right now. I'm learning that I am a fucking sap. And I love it. But will continue to mock it endlessly while secretly secretly loving it.
I'm learning that falling into something is terrifying but the terror lets you know you're really living. I'm learning that I have no idea what's around the corner. And that things come when your ready for them. I'm learning I can't stop smiling. And its about damn time.
I'm learning that someone making you uncomfortable isn't the sign that you need to run in the opposite direction. Its just a sign that I've finally met my match and its about damn time I stopped being in control all the time.
I'm learning that the word smitten does not come anywhere close to describing what I'm feeling right now. I'm learning that I am a fucking sap. And I love it. But will continue to mock it endlessly while secretly secretly loving it.
I'm learning that falling into something is terrifying but the terror lets you know you're really living. I'm learning that I have no idea what's around the corner. And that things come when your ready for them. I'm learning I can't stop smiling. And its about damn time.
agosto 06, 2006
baby baby baby
I still haven't unpacked. Its now August, and I've been in Houston since April and I'm still living out of a suitcase. Well suitcases. I'm entirely too much of a clothes whore to live out of one suitcase for any significant period of time.
More of my things arrived today. More clothes. My linens. But most importantly my painting stuff is finally here. I looked at easels today, since my brother in all his random awesomeness gave me a gift certificate to buy one, and I found myself contemplating how seriously I want to take painting. Its one of those things that I love and when its out of my life for large amounts of time I definately feel its absence. Like my arm is missing type of absence. But for some reason spending a chunk of money on a quality easel seems wrong. Like how much am I really going to paint to justify it. The whole thing is silly because I would just spend that same money on a cute pair of heels or yet another dress and in the long term the easel would make me happier.
So yea. Its totally amusing that the easel would be my first real piece of furniture. And in all honesty I'm probably just get a nice easel made out of oak and not one made of aluminum...but then again its me and I might just decide that the money would be better spend on a pair of black stilletos that have been calling my name.
And as for the boy. I like him enough to know I'm in trouble.
More of my things arrived today. More clothes. My linens. But most importantly my painting stuff is finally here. I looked at easels today, since my brother in all his random awesomeness gave me a gift certificate to buy one, and I found myself contemplating how seriously I want to take painting. Its one of those things that I love and when its out of my life for large amounts of time I definately feel its absence. Like my arm is missing type of absence. But for some reason spending a chunk of money on a quality easel seems wrong. Like how much am I really going to paint to justify it. The whole thing is silly because I would just spend that same money on a cute pair of heels or yet another dress and in the long term the easel would make me happier.
So yea. Its totally amusing that the easel would be my first real piece of furniture. And in all honesty I'm probably just get a nice easel made out of oak and not one made of aluminum...but then again its me and I might just decide that the money would be better spend on a pair of black stilletos that have been calling my name.
And as for the boy. I like him enough to know I'm in trouble.
agosto 05, 2006
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