Am I a Blabber Mouth?

Sometimes I think I may be too open with people. I think this blog may be a perfect example of this problem. Why I feel the need to say everything I'm thinking; or tell people I just met the entire truth of my past relationships I have no idea. A part of me is like, they should know everything so they don't think I'm a liar or secretive or something. But maybe they don't need to know everything all at once. Which is sort of my problem. I like everyone to know everything. I can't keep secrets about myself, though I'm really good at keeping other people's secrets.

And yet at the same time I feel that most people have absolutely no idea what I'm really doing with my day, with my dates, with my life. But that's okay because I have no idea what they're doing with their day, their dates, their lives. So. I guess this argument with myself is pointless.

Perhaps what's really going on is that I'm keeping secrets about myself from myself and this blog and me blabbing to everyone is a way for me to hide from myself about those secrets.

Inside I'm just a scared, guilty, sad little girl who never feels good enough, thin enough, smart enough, fun enough--no matter how many people tell me otherwise. No matter how much I tell myself otherwise. No matter how much I want to be an empowered feminist who loves her body and her mind and her soul, the truth is I got some issues. And I feel the more I talk, the more I write, the more I say, the sooner they will go away.

Though I've been writing and talking a lot lately and nothings really changed. . .

I wonder if the opposite would work better?

The Art of Being a Twat.

I feel like a twat.

I don't even know what a twat is, just that they say it a lot in Skins and I'm guessing it's like the British word for "cunt."

Am I spiraling out of control? It feels like I may be.

It's because I am in the middle of complete indecision. I can't figure out what I want. And so, I think I'm taking that out on everyone I know. Not everyone I know, but a lot of people. My intentions aren't evil I swear, the problem is, I'm not really thinking through my intentions.

I'm just sucking at life.

I try to be thoughtful and caring and considerate but I can't be those things all the time. I can't be anything all of the time.

I feel like I've wrapped myself in invisible bubble wrap so as to prevent any sort of feelings or love or hate from penetrating my heart.

I am Chuck Bass.

But even Bass found love with Blair (I know eventually they break up even though I haven't gotten that far in the series).

Even cold distant manipulative Chuck Bass opened his heart for at least one and a half seasons.

I on the other hand just want to hide under the bubble wrap.

It should be okay for me to do right? It's my protection during this heartbreak recovery.

Often though, I think what bothers me more than anything is that my heart doesn't really feel broken. Because I don't feel anything. And that's the scary part. I've been listening to all these breakup songs, trying to figure out how I'm actually supposed to feel this, to react to it, and I get it, I mean I understand how other people have felt, but for me really it's just numbness.

I've had several people ask me why I even bothered joining an online dating site if I wasn't going to take it seriously. I think they know the answer to this, but they just want to hear me say it. I obviously want to feel wanted. Even if I don't really want to want any one right now. And yeah, that's fucked up but I can't help it.

I know deep down that I'm smartbeautifulfun, whatever, but surface, I don't feel it right now. I have enough confidence to get through the day. But not enough to imagine my future.

Or really to even think of what I'm doing to other people.

I should probably hide for awhile. The problem is, if I hide I'm afraid I will never reemerge.

So instead I'm self destructing in public.

Enjoy the show, I suppose, because it's going to be awhile before I save myself.

(I've been crying to this song since 1997, here's to another year and another layer of meaning!)

I Did It All for A Cookie: A Rant on D-Bags At Bars.

Last night I was at this show at the Skylark and I swear to you one of those really bad OK Cupid profiles came to life. I was standing up front watching the band and these two doode-bros drunkenly came up right beside me, totally unaware of the space the were invading; my space. I was like, “I am not moving because of these assholes.” Then of course one of them bumps into me and does the whole, “uuhhhh yo saarreeee” thing. And continues to not move out of my way. It only got worse when this woman joined them and started swinging her hair all around. I could smell her shampoo. I was afraid pieces of her hair were going to fall into my beer. Or like her dandruff or something. (I don’t know how clean these people are.) Anyway. The one doode who ran into me looked like a skinny wiener version of Fred Durst circa 1999. And then. This is what sold it. He lifted up his shirt. Just like they all do in those photos in front of the mirror. Yeah, he lifted up his shirt to expose his skinny muscled abs to the girl whipping her hair back and forth. I guess this must be some sort of new mating ritual I don’t quite understand. Did this start with Jersey Shore and “The Situation?” I don’t know because I only have seen that crew on talk shows and all he ever does is objectify himself. Was this Durst character objectifying himself in an attempt to get laid by the hair-whipper?

It didn’t work.

She disappeared. Then this other woman came to take her place. And Dirty Durst was on top of his game. She took the bait, even as he sloppily spilled beer all over his face and shirt (that was no longer pulled up). I could no longer watch the scene because what I wanted to do was punch the guy in the face. Something about him just rubbed me the wrong way. I think it was probably the realization that guys on OKC that do the shirt/ab/mirror thing actually exist in real life. And they can easily be in the same room with me without me being able to do anything about it, except leave of course. And why should I have to leave because some wangsta-wanna-be-loved-hated-at-the-same-time doode can’t function in a socially appropriate way in front of me?

Yes, there is socially appropriate behavior at shows. Being a sloppy drunk, taking up too much space, and generally splaying about isn’t appropriate. We’re all used to it, be we don’t like it.

I mean, are there people out there that like getting bumped into and beer spilled on them?

I guess it could be someone's fetish. There's a fetish for everything.

Limp dickscuit ab pics are not mine.

Which Way is Which Way?

I did not punch anyone in the face last night. I didn't punch anyone anywhere except with my brain power.

Okay, not really my brain power, but our trivia-table's collective brain power. For only three of us, we did pretty freakin good. My contributing efforts consisted of motivating my friends to dig deep within their minds to come up with the answers, and then when they did, I happily "chugged" the beer that came with winning. It was really important because I was not the designated driver and it was what I happen to excel in--though I never actually "chugged" it, I sipped it and took it back to my table to have through the next round (b/c I'm smart and cheap).

But who cares.

The point is I didn't punch anyone.

And I think I really should have, because this morning I'm slightly depressed. No, I won't blame it on the depressants that I have been over-consuming. I know where it's coming from and I find it irritating, but there is nothing I can do right now except let it pass through.

I guess it's nice knowing it's going to pass as opposed to thinking I could feel like this forever, that would only make it more depressing.

I just need comfort food and direction.

I seriously would be okay with someone else taking charge of my life, even if it's just for a day. Any takers?

What's So Great About a Routine?

As many of you may recall I quit birth control cold tofurkey back in late September.

I've been waiting for the day when I could get on here and say Aunt Flo is in the hizzy; but still, she has not came to visit.

I'm wondering if I should be freaking out? I am not freaking out. But I'm curious to find out when my body will get back on track, back into a pattern, perhaps when that happens I will too?

Routine would be nice. But also, my life doesn't really bend well to routine. Schedules are actually making me anxious. For example, roller-derby, twice a week, at very specific times; it's not the fact that I am putting my 150# body on 8 wheels and circling around on a cement floor as fast as I can, but that I have to do it at a designated time. That makes me nervous. Isn't that weird?

I don't know what's wrong with me.

I'm sure there are plenty of things.

Maybe I already mentioned this, but I would really love events to be like Netflix movies; you can pick the time and day you want to go; instead of them being "pre-scheduled" on specific dates. But, alas, life doesn't work that way.

If I was a better life-designer I'd invite a way.

But for now, I'll just keep waiting, period.

(One of the many reasons why I'd never wanna be knocked up)

Shift It All Into Place. A Better Place.

So, my morning has sucked so far. For different reasons that are boring and trite. What I'm trying to figure out is if it's possible to turn a day that started off so sucky into a day that's awesome?

Because you know that feeling, like, when it all starts adding up, and the mood seems stuck?

Stuck in a muddle of irritating buzzes; deep sighs, silent screams.

Re-centering is the only way.

Or perhaps it's just the alignment of the stars and I should hide for the day?

Maybe I'll just do some back bends... that could shift everything.

Or at least shift my perspective.

(Also have you checked out my new website Aimless Cupid?)

Okay, Seriously...Cupid?

I didn't realize that being single was actually going to be a full-time job. I understand now why long-term relationships happen--the game is ridiculous. I joined OK Cupid just for kicks and I got over 50 different dude messages in 2 days. 50 guys in 2 days. I bet there's a porn with that title somewhere. . . anyway. It's exhausting. And I haven't even gone on a date with any of them yet. I have though learned how to narrow it down.

Here are 10 reasons why I won't date you.

1) You have "dick," "sex," "lonely," "desperate," "horny," "psycho," some sort of animal, or some sort of combination of those words as your screen name.

2) You have a picture of yourself shooting a gun. Why do you think women like this? They don't.

3) You don't have a picture at all. Or you just have one and it's like a black and white close up of half of your face.

4) You ask to see me on my webcam.

5) This isn't a complete deal-breaker but, if you have a picture of yourself on a mountain, or climbing a mountain, or out on a trail...this is Boulder and that has become cliche.

6) You write a sentence that reads something like, "hey hot stuff, what u up to..." or "feeling frisky tonight?" etc.

7) You send me an incredibly long (or short) erotic fiction story.

8) You make some lame comment about some part of my body like, "I like the shape of your boobs."

9) You write sentences that just don't make sense.

10) You're ugly. (Oh yeah, I know that sounds really mean, but I know not every one thinks I'm attractive and I don't feel the need to act like physical attraction doesn't play a role in all of this.)

All of these things have happened AND more! Oh the single life, I still don't get how people do it.

(Here's an example...if you can read it)

My Boobs Do Not Need to Rest.

Has anyone else tried to buy a bra lately?

It's ridiculous out there.

All I wanted was a basic black bra lightly padded/lined so my nipples wouldn't stick out of my sweaters like they like to do.

What were my options?

Pillows for my breasts.

That's right. All of the bras were so padded it would have been like a bed for my boobs.

I mean really?

This is fucked up in multiple ways--mainly the illusion of bigger breasts for no one's gain except maybe some creepo at a bar, cause once you take it off the real size will shine through. And what's the point really if every woman is wearing a bra that makes their boobs 2x larger, everyone would still have the same size, the only difference is we'd all seem so much bigger--the small boobs would still be smaller (even if they appeared larger).

Also, shirts. If you buy a bra that makes your boobs two to three times larger than they typically are, your shirts aren't going to fit like they used to.

What's wrong with breasts of all sizes? It would be really boring and unsexy if women all had 36Cs (that's me in case you want to buy me a non-pillow bra), and boobs probably wouldn't be as fascinating as they are in our society.

It just weirded me out.

Eventually I found one hidden amongst the inflated masses. So, at least some regular bras still exist. For now. No telling what they'll invent for our boobs' futures.

(Maybe we can invent a society that likes boobs... just as they are)

Another Day Wasted By Germs.

When I said nothing, I didn't literally mean "nothing." But that is exactly what's been happening the last two days. I've been in my woman-cave (aka woca) watching Netflix movies, drinking apple juice, and coughing. Lots of coughing. Which led to shots of Nyquil, which led to me sleeping like 14 hours in a row.

Now I'm freaking bored out of my skull, but way too tired to leave the woca and actually do something. I wouldn't know what to do anyway. The things that I'd want to do require so much energy, Occupy, Zombie Crawl, Drinking, Dancing, yeah. I can barely even type without almost falling asleep. I don't think I could ever handle getting really sick, a basic cold makes me completely over-dramatic.

Maybe if I take another nap, then get up and drink some espresso I'll be good to go.

Or perhaps the cold is just my body's way of telling me to stop. think. figure my freaking life out.

Ain't goin happen overnight. especially if that overnight includes sleeping pills.

Eventually though, eventually.

One of Those Really Boring Blog Updates That No One Really Cares About.

I feel like I've been blogging more than I have, but I haven't. Nope, I have not been blogging at my usual pace of almost daily. What have I been doing you ask? Well, that's a really good question. One that deserves a really good answer.

I haven't been doing anything. Really. I've just been fucking around. I've barely been thinking, and I certainly haven't been spelling words correctly (this is a rare case).

And I want to let you all in on a little secret. I don't feel bad about it at all. That's right. You can take your plans, your goals, your to-do lists and shove them wherever you want to shove them because I'm over it.

I've been running, running, running trying to be "successful" and now instead I'm just going to be. Take it all buddhist-y if you want, that's fine, but don't read into that too much. I'm going to do one day at a time (not the AA way) and enjoy the experience of just living.

WHHHHHAAAAAATTT???

Crazy time.

(I've also considered helping these Occupy people get their shit together, but that would be like a goal....so, yeah.)

Here's a little throw-back tune for your pure enjoyment.

Occupy Your Life. Or Just the Sidewalk for a Few Hours.

Occupy.

That is what people are doing these days.

But also, some people aren't.

Do they have something better to do? I mean, you can record Gossip Girl for another day right? I'm just saying, finally, people are getting off of their fat asses and complaining loudly about the state of the country. Sure, complaining doesn't really do much, I know because I'm an experienced complainer, but it does do something. Which is better than nothing.

We're all talking about it aren't we? Okay, so protesting isn't the best solution. But I don't think a protest is about solutions, it's about speaking out that we need new ones, better ones, and we need them now. And we need people, many many people, to step up, provide them and carry them through.

Why not?

What could it hurt? I mean, besides the potential for a civil war or another red scare? It's time for change. And not just like nickels and dimes, real fucking paradigm shifting change.

Right?

If you've missed it; here's what they're talking about:

As we gather together in solidarity to express a feeling of mass injustice, we must not lose sight of what brought us together. We write so that all people who feel wronged by the corporate forces of the world can know that we are your allies.

As one people, united, we acknowledge the reality: that the future of the human race requires the cooperation of its members; that our system must protect our rights, and upon corruption of that system, it is up to the individuals to protect their own rights, and those of their neighbors; that a democratic government derives its just power from the people, but corporations do not seek consent to extract wealth from the people and the Earth; and that no true democracy is attainable when the process is determined by economic power. We come to you at a time when corporations, which place profit over people, self-interest over justice, and oppression over equality, run our governments. We have peaceably assembled here, as is our right, to let these facts be known.

They have taken our houses through an illegal foreclosure process, despite not having the original mortgage.

They have taken bailouts from taxpayers with impunity, and continue to give Executives exorbitant bonuses.

They have perpetuated inequality and discrimination in the workplace based on age, the color of one’s skin, sex, gender identity and sexual orientation.

They have poisoned the food supply through negligence, and undermined the farming system through monopolization.

They have profited off of the torture, confinement, and cruel treatment of countless animals, and actively hide these practices.

They have continuously sought to strip employees of the right to negotiate for better pay and safer working conditions.

They have held students hostage with tens of thousands of dollars of debt on education, which is itself a human right.

They have consistently outsourced labor and used that outsourcing as leverage to cut workers’ healthcare and pay.

They have influenced the courts to achieve the same rights as people, with none of the culpability or responsibility.

They have spent millions of dollars on legal teams that look for ways to get them out of contracts in regards to health insurance.

They have sold our privacy as a commodity.

They have used the military and police force to prevent freedom of the press. They have deliberately declined to recall faulty products endangering lives in pursuit of profit.

They determine economic policy, despite the catastrophic failures their policies have produced and continue to produce.

They have donated large sums of money to politicians, who are responsible for regulating them.

They continue to block alternate forms of energy to keep us dependent on oil.

They continue to block generic forms of medicine that could save people’s lives or provide relief in order to protect investments that have already turned a substantial profit.

They have purposely covered up oil spills, accidents, faulty bookkeeping, and inactive ingredients in pursuit of profit.

They purposefully keep people misinformed and fearful through their control of the media.

They have accepted private contracts to murder prisoners even when presented with serious doubts about their guilt.

They have perpetuated colonialism at home and abroad. They have participated in the torture and murder of innocent civilians overseas.

They continue to create weapons of mass destruction in order to receive government contracts. *

To the people of the world,

We, the New York City General Assembly occupying Wall Street in Liberty Square, urge you to assert your power.

Exercise your right to peaceably assemble; occupy public space; create a process to address the problems we face, and generate solutions accessible to everyone.

To all communities that take action and form groups in the spirit of direct democracy, we offer support, documentation, and all of the resources at our disposal.

Join us and make your voices heard!

Word!

Oh, Good Grief And an Open Field.

I'm sure most of you are or have followed the Amanda Knox story. On the news before the decision came out they kept repeating that if she were free the first thing she'd want to do is go sit in a big green field. Now of course, pundits are often insensitive assholes and will say things like, "isn't that a bit poetic? I mean, does she have a grip on reality here?" Etc.

But, I don't know, the idea seemed pretty nice to me. So off I went yesterday to find a field.

Luckily there is one like 3 blocks from my house, which is actually really amazing in Boulder since most large areas of land are just dried up dirt with the occasional weed poking through--it is a desert after all. I found a good one though, rolling green grass, a view of the mountains and wide open sky.

I always hope but never expect some profound idea to enter my brain when I do things like that. It didn't work yesterday but it was really good to go outside. It's the small steps.

See, those five stages of grief, I have a feeling I am going to go through them all and it scares me. I can handle being sad and I can really handle being angry, I mean I thrive in anger but being depressed is no good. I don't want to go there because I'm afraid I'll get stuck. And of course, I don't think that someone else should have that much control on how I am feeling. That's where the anger comes in. That's where sitting in a large open field and connecting with the outside world comes in. I may not have any profound ideas but knowing that I exist outside of my living space is important. At least to me. I'm sure getting a bit of sun helps too.

I promise to leave the house every day, even if it's just for a walk around the block.

Greif will not take me under.

The One Thing That Would Complete My Break-Up Recovery.

While lounging on the couch watching the Soap Opera channel I discovered what would make this experience complete. And I really don't think I can get over this break-up without them.

Pajama Jeans.

It's like the illusion of being dressed, but not really. And I could sleep in them. Or not move around much in them. Oh, plus I wouldn't get that button imprint on my stomach (umm, if that is happening to you, you need bigger pants).

The advertisers claim that these "jeans" are sexy. I'm not really looking for sexy as much as I'm looking for functioning. Like, it looks like I'm functioning. Many people seem to not believe I am functioning well when I don't have pants on. But with pajama jeans I can trick them into it.

The best of both worlds. For everybody.

Oh, infomercials.

Having a Chat With My High School Self.

Sometimes I wonder if I was intuitively smarter or more honest with myself, and life in general, when I was younger. Or if I just didn’t get it.

For example, while packing up my stuff I came across this picture of me back in high school. I was wearing a shirt that on the front said, “Boy Troubles?” and on the back said, “Just Dump Him.” Now, that seems easy enough right? It seems like a smart solution.

Trouble. Solved.

But I’m pretty sure I bought that shirt before “love” entered the picture. And love just completely fucks things up now doesn’t it?

Not that it’s bad—all the time—just that it changes one’s perceptions of reality.

I woke up this morning, not too long ago, and realized that last night was the last time I’d sleep in my bed in this apartment. (And the last time I’d sleep in my own bed for a few months too).

I realized how much work lay ahead of me—not just the general packing up of all my shit (and there is a lot of shit), but emotional work. The working of “getting over it.”

And it is rather annoying—all of it.

I’m tired of being nice about it. I’m tired of being P.C. I’m tired of doing all the work.

But, I guess that’s just the way it will be. Soon I won’t be tired anymore because it will all be over. Yay!

A part of me does wish for those youthful simple solutions. Non-complications. But I wouldn't have really grown much as a human if that's how I approached life (and men); and acting like a 16 year old when I'm 26 doesn't seem fair to anyone including myself.

Sandra Cisneros says something like, when you're five you're still four, you're still three, two, one. You are all of those experiences. So maybe having a little bit of my 16-year-old self shine through occasionally isn't so bad--as long as it's the carefree, strong-headed part.

(I'll throw in a bit of my 5-year-old self too cause dancing in costume is always fun)

To troubles solved and new beginnings.

Baby Got Back Falling Out and Shit.

(I really enjoy how this model is holding kale next to her butt... It makes sense, I'm sure, somewhere,)

This other incident happened yesterday while I was attempting to hike. Again it was super hot out and I had just biked all the way there, which I guess it's that far but it's an uphill angle the entire time. I hopped off my bike, sweaty, trying to pull myself together; right when I did these dudes in this big SUV drove by and one dude so graciously yelled out the window at me, "your butt is falling out."

Yes. From the road, and for only like 5 seconds it took to pass, the dude was able to notice that my butt cheeks were not entire covered by my shorts. And he felt the need to comment on it.

Guess what dude? My arms were falling out of my tank top. My neck was falling out of my collar. My legs were falling out of my short holes. Or maybe it was hot out and nothing was falling out of anything. I was just wearing whatever the fuck I wanted to wear regardless of anyone else's approval.

And, does a little bit of butt really bother people that much? Obviously he was just making an observation. But it seemed like he wanted to make me feel embarrassed, instead I am slightly pissed and annoyed that our culture is so puritanical and yet obsessed with sex.

We can't have both ways. Having it both ways causes confusion and lots of stupid shit to happen.

So I pick the sex positive way, and that includes accepting, loving and being at peace with our own bodies.

I bike and hike up mountains. I have a nice ass. And if it "falls" out occasionally... well, good, it fucking should. Why should it have to hide just because other people are scared?

Oh, Sweet Country of Mine, Why? Why?

I'm at the airport. Waiting for take-off. I can't believe I had no time to blog pretty much the entire time I was home. I guess there is more to do in Kansas than people think! Lots of people to see anyway.

I've been kind of tense lately. I'm not sure why. Maybe I've just been drinking too much caffeine.

What I really think it is though, is television. There is something to netflix and commerical-freedom.

I've watched a lot of crap while I was home mostly in pure amazement that they even exist to begin with. But I think that what drives me the craziest is the news.

Maybe it's because it's another mega-political season, but the stuff going on is just plain moronic. I cannot believe these are the people we've all selected as representative of the United States. It's disturbing.

The HPV thing just exemplifies it perfectly.

Besides the politicians saying ignorant things, news sources just shouldn't give them this type of attention. These people really should never have made it where they have and it's not entirely their fault.

AHH. I have more but I gots to go get on a plane.

More later.

Peace.

I Hope You're Not Here to Traffick Us.

I'm not really sure how I ended up outside a bar last night, but there I was, with other people who were unlocking their bikes; we were all heading home. But then, these two Romanian guys came up to us and started saying how one of us looked too Eastern European, the other too American, and me, well I was perfect (HAHAHA I know, they seriously said that)-- I looked French.

French.

WTF?

Anyway, the whole thing was really freaking weird, but then it got weirder. I am about 87% sure that those dudes were human traffickers. And that they were wanting to abduct me and take me back to Romania to be a "dancer."

Why do I think this? Because they literally asked me if I wanted to go back to Romania with them and be a "dancer."

I truly hope they were just drunk and fucking around because if that was their true intent then that is really creepy and scary. And if it is true and they keep it up I hope other women here in Boulder (or anywhere) don't find the offer alluring, because that could end up being the most frightening journey of any American Girl's life. Prostitution and slavery in Romania.

Well, being a part of that anywhere (including women from all over the world who end up doing that here) would be frightening, being somewhere unfamiliar with no one familiar having to fuck men so other people get paid. Yikes.

Yikes. Yikes.

Please Stick to the Rivers and the Lakes That You're Used To.

You know, people ruin a lot of things, but there is one thing they ruin more than anything--Waterfalls. That's right.

Yesterday I was at the car wash vacuuming out my car because the fishbowl that was holding all the Sir Richards condoms at the After Party decided to shatter into a million pieces all over my backseat. Great, I know. The car wash that I was at is located on the very edge of town and I knew if I kept going on that road I'd get to Boulder Falls.

I thought, shit, I live in f-ing Colorado, I'll just go sit at a waterfall and gather my thoughts, relax, find some peace and quiet. Bahaha. Bahahaha. Bah. That. Did. Not. Happen.

It was a Wednesday, the middle of the afternoon, during the school year--don't people have jobs? Aren't they in school? Why were they there? And I know-- I was there so why am I being such a freaking hypocrite. Here's why. I was there, sitting calmly, taking in the scenery. They were there yelling and being overtly obnoxious.

Their actual presence has gotten me to question why people are so fascinated with waterfalls to begin with. I mean, it's just a stream splashing down a cliff. The sound must subconsciously remind us of being in the womb or something. I mean, yes, it's beautiful and the mist feels really good, but they seem to have all turned into major tourist traps..."trap" may not be the right word. All I know is it did nothing to ease my mind.

Not to mention the fact that some tourists were being a-holes when I was trying to leave my parking spot--they literally turned in right behind me because they saw I was backing out but then gave me no space to move out of their way so they could have it. Yeah. Really. Smart.

I feel like I may have complained about this before... hmm. Well, my suggestion to the general public (though I know the general public would never read this blog) would be when attending a waterfall please keep your mouth shut. Pretend you're at a library, but like a nature library, and you have to be quiet so not to disturb your surroundings.

Just an idea.

Your Poor Poor Car and it's Sad Sad Stickers.

I've decided that I hate bumper stickers. All--bumper stickers. I find them obnoxious, distracting, and rather pointless.

In fact, I think bumper stickers are worse than tattoos. That's right. Why? Because people are often careless with what they're sticking on their cars, but they usually think it over a bit more when it comes to their body4life.

I mean, seriously Boulder--I don't need you to tell me to "co-exist," I really just need you to use your freakin blinkers.

I don't need to know your kid is smart or your dog is your god or that you love drinking Avery or Boulder Beer or that you might be behind the wheel angry mad crazy sad.

Want to individualize your car with bumper stickers? May I ask why? Are you so insistent on people knowing your identity without them ever meeting you personally that you need to plaster it all over your car?

I've seen some really dedicated bumper-sticker-cars out there--and that I can almost accept more than those vehicles, those sad sad vehicles that have just one. One measly bumper sticker that seems to really have nothing to do with anything. Like some business went out and got the car while the driver wasn't looking. Those are the ones I don't get at all.

I'm probably just really bitter right now about all the bad drivers moving around in the same city I'm trying to get around in, perhaps I'll get over my bumper sticker hatred soon... like when people here learn how to drive. So, I guess what I'm saying is, don't count on it.

Yeah...don't you love it when someone else's car tells you what to do! Wohoo.

Don't Have Any Fun on my Watch.

I have to admit I'm a bit sad today.

Last night I put on the PrideFest After Party and it would have been really nice to see more familiar faces.

Of course I met a lot of new awesome folks--but I could have really used the support. I guess I'm just having a hard time understanding why it's so difficult for people to show up to stuff.

I think I might have like a masochistic personality or something. I put on events all the time and every time people act really excited about it prior and then...nothing.... and the worst part for me is that I KEEP DOING IT. I don't get it.

It's a lot of stress, a lot of energy, a lot of time. And then I get disappointed.

Again, I am really grateful for everyone who did come out and especially grateful for all the help I got--particularly from Ryan who ran Sound all night, amongst other things.

I guess I'm just trying to figure out if I should bother with it anymore. Not just the organizing of my own events but the attending of other events as well. It's like a real immature mental reaction--they don't come to mine, I don't go to theres'. It's lame.

Bitter. Would be a good word. But I don't want to be bitter. I just want everyone I know to come out and have a fun time.

What's wrong with me?

I woke up with three new bruises, one new bleeding cut, covered in glitter, hungry, with a headache and other people don't want that... why?