Capslock? Cockslap! (I'm inspired by the strangest things)

So, I'm sitting in my new watercolor class watching the instructor give a 20 minute demonstration on how to apply masking tape to paper. It is STULTIFYINGLY BORING. No one in the class is allowed to do anything but watch this useless activity. When the teacher is done, she passes around the tape so we could do the same. But there is only one roll and so now I must wait another 20 minutes before the tape appears to me.

What would you do in this situation?

You would teach your phone how to spell "cockslap" right?

What?? It makes perfect sense.

Motivated by the below autocorrect fail, I wondered how long does it actually take the phone to learn profanities? How else would it take a typo of "capslock" to be converted to "cockslap"?

A research experiment was in order.

So I text the following. (My friends rock for not minding this type of stream.)

After TWO TRIES it appeared to get it! I wanted to be sure though so I overdid it. I think I just like saying "cockslap."

The masking tape was still halfway around the room so I experimented with various tenses of the verb "cockslap."

I mean, wouldn't you?

Friend: You realize that actual cockslapping is not really a desired activity in a bedroom, right?

Me: Totally. I just like saying it.

Cockslap!

the artist

him: "wanna go skiing sometime? I love skiing, am going with a group."

me:  "well, I've only been a few times so I'm not very good at it, but maybe."

him:"come, join us, it'll be fun!"

me: "well, let me see. I'll be on the bunny slope the whole time probably." (I start laughing)

him: "well I will be too then because I want to ski with you."

me: "um, no, you'll want to go down whatever slopes you enjoy!"

him: "what's the point of going skiing WITH you then? I enjoy your company, you're fun. I could show you how to ski."

me: "I may only want to ski for 2 hours and then spend 2 hours drinking hot chocolate!" (laughing again)

him: "okay, cool! Whatever you like, I want to do the thing you like."

a walk on the wild side?

Apparently, if you want to whisk me away to a foreign country on a whim, draw on my hand and make me feel pretty.

I met an artist at a party Friday. We talked about art and I grew excited because, well, I just finished a drawing class where I learned how to immortalize a pear as an amorphous blob of shadowy grays. So, see, with my new art skillz, I can haz art appreciation?

He told me about lines and patterns and color and just for a moment the walls rippled, the world breathed and fiery souls flashed by. It was exciting just being in his presence because I borrowed his eyes for the briefest of moments and fantasized about a time when I would be able to see without the glasses of restraint and conformity.

He looked at me like I was sculpted out of the hands of some great maestro and told me, "Your eyes are as deep as oceans."

The benefit to not really having dated in 17 years (aside from aqua-eyed boy) is that I don't really know about all the modern "lines" guys use. Which is good, because then I can enjoy it. Heh.

So, I felt appreciated.

A girl can at least tell that and damn it is NICE.

the werewolves were all right

So, last night I had this dream where I was in a forest heading to a campground when I saw this snarling, raging pack of werewolves running at me. I saw I wasn't the *target* but was in the way of their stampede. First I was all FUCK! I'm gonna die! And then something in my brain realized that these werewolves were only after actual wolves, not humans. And if I stood very still, they would pass. And they did. There was a huge frenzy around me and dust kicked up and I thought I'd get knocked down and trampled but didn't.

I woke up and was like oh hey, an allegory for life. Don't be afraid of the demons on the horizon, they won't kill you afterall. Stand your ground.

Thankyou, brain. :)

I'm letting it go. Can I call myself a Buddhist now?

So I was thinking about things that stress me out. Like, when I thought the guy I liked wanted distance from ME not just because he was going overseas.

Well, so okay, let me play with this a little.

What's the worst case scenario?

That he's not that into me.

Even worse: he's thinking about someone else instead of me.

Like, this picture pokes fun but he's totally the most charming
and adorable guy, women are always all over him.

Maybe even worse than that: not someone abstract but that girl he seemed drawn to.

(it was this photo or some corny green-eyed monster
thing, and well, I just couldn't go there.)

(I can't know for sure because we can't talk about it, but we're supposing the worst here for argument's sake.)

Well, okay, so what?

That is where my old nemesis, my suck, came in.

Like, seriously.What is that about?

YOU SUCK!!!
Suck... that's what you do.

The shitty part of my brain that said "well, she was thinner than you," can take a hike.

Either he likes me or doesn't. It's not like I can DO anything about it. Why anguish over something I have no control over?

Early on, when we first explored a relationship, he told me, "You are my favorite!" Alarmed, I asked, "Out of how many others???" I told him I wasn't competitive and if he wanted the other girls, that was okay. It was not okay to have me AND the others at the same time (I mean, if we were on course to deepen our bond) but that's alright. He could have the others. And that's when he told me that was why he wanted me: because I was willing to give it up.

But somewhere along the way, feelings grew complex. And I didn't want to give it up anymore.

This is the kind of thing I wrote about earlier: how a sense of hope can act as a tether to the skittish. I don't want that. I don't want it for me and I don't want to do it to someone else. I had hoped the feelings were mutual. See? Hope. Which is unfair, because I wasn't just acknowledging my own feelings but now I had stakes on his too.

So I'm letting go. Whatever the outcome, it's okay.

And so I've been sitting with this for a few days and it feels kinda nice.

There is a type of peace this brings.

"If my hands are fully occupied in holding onto something, I can neither give nor receive."  ~Dorothy Solle

I still ache but we built a bridge and will ferry our friendship back and forth.

We're friends, see?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In other news, the divorce papers will be able to be filed soon.

The pain in that ending is resurfacing. I'm feeling raw and protective of my heart. I don't feel like dating anymore. I don't feel that sense of "seeking" anymore.

I signed up for an art class and a dance class though and those things are enough.

I'mma find me a red door and paint it black.

(Okay, pick yourself off the floor, you can stop laughing now! I verified that the dance class IS indeed for clumsy adults who've never bent a limb gracefully in their lives. Go me. I blame you, Black Swan.)

I do believe you have my stapler (and other search terms I used)

So today I found my web search history going back to 2008. Apparently there were some very important things that I needed to learn more about:

• fucktard
• fuck fucking fuckers
• Dupont circle escalator of doom
• x rays of things people got stuck inside them
• the raging spleen drink
• fat bottomed girls lyrics
• list of horrible careers
• adipiscing definition
• Master of Arts in Writing program JHU
• sea cucumber defense
• abs
• anthocyanins
• look at these fucking artichokes
• tarantula dishes
• backfat
• angry chicken
• my humps alannis
• penis-shaped tree
• i kiss you mahir
• hirsute
• acromegalic cat
• blue whales singing in a lower key
• mr. bob dobalina
• x-linked ichthyosis
• lady gaga is a man
• christopher moore bloodsucking
• xoloitzcuintli
• boll weevil
• elephant seals fighting
• gross stuff in our food rat hair facts
• worst analogies ever
• what are darl lumps
• histrionic personality disorder
• Abraham Lincoln did not have type 5 spinocerebellar ataxia
• 100,000 characters and their standard deviants
• law and neuroscience
• history of the federal reserve
• i do believe you have my stapler
• hate raking leaves
• i'm rich biatch

I still don't know what darl lumps are (because I've forgotten and didn't re-click on the link). Anyone know? Bueller? ;)

Want to vote for a favorite?

THIS IS NOT HAPPENING.

So, I have the strangest trains of thought. Saturday morning I was lying in bed looking at photos on my phone when suddenly an entire scene involving a bathrobe, a dildo, a shredded tissue wad and my landlord's cold blue bare feet played out in a completely unsolicited thread of events in my head.

Yes, I have an overactive imagination. Let me explain.

I was in Philly recently with my old college buddies; we were heading down South Street when we noticed "CONDOM KINGDOM" and burst out laughing. "Ha ha! Let's check it out."

Not being the type to VISIT kingdoms of condomnem regularly, we were cracking up at everything. I found myself in the porn section picking up a video and waving it to my friends.

What does it say about me that the first thing I noticed was the grammatically-incorrect heading?

Me: This should say 'BARELY-LEGAL Latina She Males.' What's wrong with these people?! Don't they proof-read?? I mean, they're selling this. Have some PRIDE in your work.

I added the smiley face since this is such a family-oriented blog

Friends: Um, THAT'S what you notice? The title? Grammar? Not the myriad display of genitals? We don't understand you.

Me: But seriously! How many venues did this go through and no one corrected it? They couldn't hire a translator?

Friends: You're weird but we love you anyway.

Me: EVERYONE SAYS THAT! [throws hands up, exasperated]

Anyway, so when I woke up and scrolled sleepily through the photos on my phone, I came across that photo  and remembered the visit.

And since this is the next logical thing, this is what my brain did next:

Brain: They had dildos in that store.

Me: So?

Brain: hehehehehehe [Beavis laugh]

Me: You can't own a dildo. What would you do with it?

Brain: Duh.

Me: Mmmkay, nevermind. Plus where would you PUT it?

Brain: Hmm, that's an interesting logistical problem.
[immediately kicks into problem-solving mode]

Me: I rent a room from a retired woman who is home all day long when I'm not. She has complete access to my room. It's like living with my mom. She could totally snoop through everything. Right now there's not much to find. But a dildo? No. We are not having one.

Brain: . . .

Me: Wait, why are we discussing this?

Brain: Some people have them.

Me: Look. It's not terribly sexy to wake up and hear your landlord-mom cutting potatoes 3 inches outside your bedroom door.

Brain: But you nixed the FWB idea. And you KNOW you can't have casual sex. You're a train wreck right now so a relationship is out. Maybe this is the next best thing.

Me: Are you actually mulling this over??

Brain: But you know how you are about cleanliness. So you'd have to WASH it so it'd be ready.You'd have to have a way to transport it in front of your mom, I mean landlord, and then a place to keep it.

Me: You're PLANNING this? You're acting like this is going to happen.

Brain: So you don't really have a nighttable, and you can't just throw it, a big old dildo, in the wicker basket on the storage cube next to your mattress on the floor. SHE would see it when she snooped.

Me: She probably doesn't snoop.

Brain: She would if you had a dildo lying next to your bed.

Me: You can stop imagining this now.

Brain: Wait, I know! You could store it in the pocket of your bathrobe. You'd wash it, and wrap it in paper towels and put it in the pocket. Then she wouldn't see you carrying a giant plastic cock through the house.

Me: Aren't they made of silicon?

Brain: Whatever.

Me: WE ARE NOT BUYING A DILDO.

Brain: Uh oh. I just thought of a problem.

Me: We are NOT CONSIDERING THIS.

Brain: You know how you sometimes put your retainer in your pocket, wrapped in napkins and then end up washing the whole thing by accident and then you find a mess of plastic teeth and shredded napkins? That's what would happen but with the dildo.

Me: THAT WOULD NOT HAPPEN.

Brain: No, it would be worse. The dildo would fall OUT of the pocket and end up at the bottom of the washer surrounded by shredded tissues and then? SHE would find it.

Me: Aaaaahhhh!! [cringing]

Brain: And then how would she get it back to you? She would have to leave it in your mail bin I guess.

Me: LALALALALALA I AM NOT LISTENING!!

Brain: A dildo in your mail bin. Ha ha! That's hilarious. I wonder if you would get the veiny kind and the tissues would stick to it even harder.

Me: [facepalm]

Brain: Ha! I said "harder." [collapses in giggles]

Me: We are still talking about this?

Brain: And it would be Book Club night and all the the little old ladies she invites would see it when they passed by to the bathroom.

Me: . . .

Brain: Or maybe it would be the kind with weird protuberences and they would handle it out of curiosity when you weren't there and then when you came home you would have to wash it all over again, plus because it was touching the mail it would be dirty. And then after you walked out of the bathroom, what if it fell as you were rushing past your landlord? It would totally bounce on the hard floor. Probably end up next to her feet. Yep, her bare feet because she never wears socks even if it's 55 degrees in the house.

Me: WE ARE NOT BUYING A DILDO.

Brain: That's disgusting, a dildo on the floor next to her feet. She needs to trim her toenails.

Me: [facepalm]

And that, folks, was my Saturday morning in bed. Welcome to this edition of my Overactive Imagination.

If landlord HAD a dog, this would be the other outcome.

I suck!

This has been a particularly shitty week.

Month.

Okay, year.

Yesterday I sat in my counselor's office in tears, my house of cards fallen around me.

"It just hurts so bad and I don't know what to do with the pain. I want to run from it, anything but feel it. But I can't."

I saw in everyone's eyes a kindness for my struggle.

"Some of this is just being human, asplenia," my counselor said, warmly.

I thought about the conversation in the shower this morning.

What if the worst case scenario was true? What if I was more into him than he was to me? Why does that hurt so bad? Because I wonder what shitty qualities of mine drove him away. Or made me unworthy. (I can't even write that without tearing up but bear with me because this doesn't just descend into self-pity, it does get better.)

What hurts is that rejection feels like proof of my worst qualities. Like I am nothing but a big giant bag of suck.

The biggest proof of all? That I didn't listen to my gut.

My brain is full of self-berating missives. "How could you be such an idiot! The signs were there. Not only do you SUCK but you suck so bad that you ignored the suck and now you DESERVE the suck. Go lie in your bed of suck and SUCK. That is all."

Wow. That's some judgmental shit. That, my friends, is what we call baggage.

So let's grab an axe and hack away at the pile of suck.

Is it true? Do I suck? Sure, sometimes. ALL the time? No, not always. Not even usually. Sometimes I'm pretty awesome.

Is my flavor of suck enough to have driven him away? Well, maybe, but that doesn't really matter, does it? We can't be awesome to everyone all the time. He's entitled to run screaming in the night away from my pile of suck. It's also likely that the reality is somewhere in between the suck; stuck more in the vagaries of human frailty.

The important thing to realize is how I internalize rejection. Apparently, my suck is a big trigger for me.

So what can I do to feel better?

Let's take the things that I hate about myself. My giant ass, for example.

If you know me and are saying "OMG you are so thin" I will just tell you YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ME NAKED. But look: an attainable goal! Work. The. Fuck. Out. That's MUCH more concrete then "love thyself," right? I can do that.

About the other things, I continue to learn from all these experiences. Friends have been reminding me that I'm loved. I'm still experimenting with drawing. Getting good at something is a great way to escape the suck because look, I haz skillz! Skillz come with practice. One of my best skills is that of appreciation for others. I can love other people pretty well. I'm so much more forgiving of other's frailties than my own. If I keep practicing, maybe I can be a good friend to myself too.

Go me, I am awesome because I keep trying.