M Thinks About Tennesee

I met a boy from Tennessee during the two week dating binge I took in order to distract myself from Mr. X. We hung out maybe six or seven times, played pool and hung out at dive bars. He's twenty-four, recently moved to the city and broke. Negative, negative, negative.

Yet all these negatives somehow end up in one huge, gigantic and rare quality that is impossible to find in New York men: He is unpretentious. POSITIVE! I name drop and he has no idea who I am talking about. I mention that I hung out at the hottest, hardest to get into red-rope club and he could not care less. He might actually like me for me, minus all the things i have added on to my superficial life. The things, in short, that most men I meet care about and judge my value by.

It's been strange hanging out with him; a throwback to my former Ohio self and it's damn refreshing. Yet when Mr. X came back into the picture I stopped hanging out with him. Until, tonight that is.

The weather here is disgusting. It is snowing ice bullets and the ground is pure slush. Mr. Tennessee lives two blocks away so I took advantage of the fact that it is Friday night and full of convenience. He called and I went over.

Most of the night was spent watching TV and just talking. It seemed innocent enough until flipping through the channels we came upon porn and jokingly began to watch it. Before I knew it it was late and I was incredibly horny, so I gave an excuse that I was tired and needed to go home. He walked me out and we began to kiss.

Nota sweet innocent goodnight kiss, but a full on I have been watching porn for two hours and could fuck you right here right now in your hallway like you've never been fucked before kind of kiss. It was good and has caused me to now, at three in the morning, question myself and my feelings for Mr. X who happens to be out of town this weekend.

What the hell am I doing?

M Can't Deny Mr. X, Calls Off Dating Binge

So a whole two posts ago, which in real time equals about two weeks, I decided that I was forever done with Mr. X and the on-again-off-again nature of our sometimes-"relationship." But, somewhat predictably (notice the "on again" in the previous statement) we are on again, but of course not quite.

Instead we are going to continue what we have been doing since November and for the past two years; November being the last time when we first got back together from a more official break in which we didn't speak for three whole months. What happened to lure me back into this sticky trap of ambiguous emotional status and ego-crushing, question-inducing state of relationship ambiguity?

Simply-I love him. I love the way he laughs, touches me, makes me mad at myself in a way that pushed me towards personal growth and yet feel beautiful in my present state.

So, While I would like to report that I am out on the town, living the wild life of a single Manhattanite, I am instead merely pining in the way that mid-century French poets pined or adolescent high school girls with a deep crushes on the highschool jock and a notebook full of bubble letters and hearts.

M’s Thoughts on Discovering her High School Sweetheart is Married

Found out tonight in my 26th year what I have known since 17. That the first love of my life, the one who took my virginity, and I would not get married. We would not live out the stereotypical clichéd story of high school sweethearts, together until a ripe old age when one of us dies only to be followed by the other, killed by heartbreak, two weeks later.

Why is this bothering me? I have always known you will not belong to me. I didn’t want you to. In fact, the brutal truth is that I haven’t even thought of you since sometime around 2000 when I saw a picture of you in an old yearbook. Sure we remained friends, peripherally. Geographically serperated with you in Colorado and me in New York, mountains and skyscrapers, was little reason for the verge. We were for a moment and that was all that we were meant for.

So why is this bothering me? Is it because you knew her for four weeks, just one month, a mere 28 days and then just jumped the gun shotgun style and married her in a hurry? Is it because I am worried about your future happiness with a woman you barely know?

More than likely it is because, in the true un-altruistic nature of my personality I have inverted it into a definition of how alone I am. Your marrage is a magnification of my place in life. My singular, solo place, in which I date, I latch on to a three year-and-going love-affair and give my heart to someone I know in the back of my mind will never ever belong to me. Is it because I see myself as I waste away into spinste hood carrying my status of ‘alone’ like an albatross around my neck weighing me down.

Your marriage makes me want to go out and buy orthopedic shoes. Big, chunky, ugly brown shoes which my 101 (for good luck) cats will fight over, devouring the leather in hunger as my rotting corpse decays in the corner to be found only months later when the smell becomes overbearing. My last thought will be of the children I never had.

Or worse I will marry out of anticipation and fear of being alone. I wil marry because the pressure of age becomes to great and I will have to fight the sadness everyday of my life knowing that I made the wrong choice, regretting what my life could have been. My husband will be fat and cruel and lazy just because I was too afraid to be alone. I will live everyday a dual life: what exists and what I wish was reality. I will go mad with angry remorse and kill myself, to be found bya fat, cruel, lazy someone who doesn’t care.

Found alone or found without emotion. They hover in balanced equilibrium. The weight of each representing my grand failures which your marriage has placed upon the scales..

Do you remember the first time we had sex? That was one cliché we brought to fruition. A twilight lit summer night, the drive in movies, me sixteen and unaware of my own flesh. In the backseat of your car,my shirt pulled up and pants pulled down, three quick pumps and it was over as if it never happened. I remember thinking “It should hurt.” When it didn’t I didn’t blame the quickness or size of your endowment, instead I answered with the idealism of innocence “It is because it is right.”

Do you remember how I kept looking in the mirror on the way home. You thought it was vanity or maybe just nerves. I wanted to know if I looked different, if sex had changed me. Would my parents know, was sex written on my face?

They didn’t know. That was the only time. Shortly after we broke up. You ave me the first experience of heartbreak. The first in a long line. It tastes bitter in my mouth. Like metal and limes. I remember when you told me I thought “your voice sounds too sad, like chicken soup,” and I hated you for that.

For a year after we barely spoke. You graduated and began to stalk me. You pulled a gun on me, stole my car and house keys, wuld leave little gifts in the vackseat, filled the entire interior compartement with roses. I cried constantly.

Then I left for college and you were no longer near enough to matter. But your father died and I came back. We hugged and somehow everything was okay. We still, to this point, talk occasionally. But this is most likely the final chapter.

Maybe that is why I am sad. It shows time, it shows my age, your age. It excacerabtes the flow of time and my inability to hold on to my youth. I no longer know you and you no longer know me.

You called my dad second. You two always got along and after your father passed you held him in high regard. He became your second father. He was the second call after you mother, before even your brother or sister. I wonder, when will you call me? What should my reaction be?

I know this answer. Ths one is clear and obvious. I will be happy and congratulate you. I will wish you a happy future, together with someone, not alone, passing time until one day you will be found by her and she will be distraught. Your children will be distraught and a million prayers will go to you and all of the happy. You will have lived a happy life. And me. Always un-altruistic me-I wil cry with my cats and trudge to the garden in my orthopedic shoes to plant you a flower that blooms annualy.

M Backs Up Two Weeks, Starts Dating Binge

The reason my posts these past few weeks have been so sporadic is because my social life has taken a sudden upturn. It started two weeks ago when I had just spent an hour standing in the corner of the Knitting Factory during a concert for Under the Influence of Giants. Mr. X, who works for a magazine, was late and when he did arrive, was less than apologetic. He had gotten word of a tape, which mysteriously fell off the back of a truck (isn't it funny how often these things happen?) of Anna Nicole Smith drunk while pregnant.

"I just waited for an hour by myself and your not even going to apologize?" I questioned trying to retain some sort of respect. I didn't care if he was late. It was a good excuse, but I still needed to know he felt bad about leaving me alone.
"Dude, this is huge. It's being shopped around so people have seen it, which means it'll hit tomorrow if not sometime tonight. Drunk while pregnant!"
"Don't you feel bad I was left here by myself?"
"Yeah, but dude, Anna Fucking Nicole Smith."

I could have gone on, but knew it would be pointless so I let it slide. He took my hand and we moved our way into the center of the undulating crowd and I lost my anger for about twenty minutes while bouncing up and down to the rhythm of music.

After the show we were both hungry and decided to stop at a diner near by and grab some late- night breakfast. In between bites of his oozy ham and cheese omelet Mr. X talked about nothing but work. This somehow always end up being the bulk of our conversations. I am glad that he likes his job, but I don't need to hear about it all the time and especially not while trying to enjoy a stack of buttery pancakes at midnight on a Saturday. I love my job too, but leave work when I leave the office.

But feeling the need to counter I began to tell him about the new intern; a fat, semi-slovenly girl who doesn't ever listen to me. He cut me off mid-way into my impersonation of the blank, half-retarded expression she gives me when I ask if she has any questions, to explain why he hates his intern. She doesn't respect him, doesn't listen to him and thinks that he wants her. Oh, and on top of that, doesn't wear a bra.

"Mmmmkkkay. Why?"
"Oh, some guy backed out of a Knicks game at the last minute and so I went with her and now she thinks there is something going on between us."

This is where my head begins to spin out of control. He went to a Knicks game? With the twenty-one year old intern whom most likely has large wild breasts and perky nipples? I imagine her leaning over his computer, her massive and free cleavage inches away from his face and I realized right then that I have no idea what his life is like during those moments when he is not with me. Our current status of dating-but not dating, not asking each other questions and generally just seeing each other once a week with no conversation in between was not surprisingly, not working and driving me insane with jealousy.

To add insult to serious injury he proceeded to go on and on for ten minutes about how much he hates this girl, which can only be a clear sign that he is deeply into her. Again the far flung vision of this young nubile slut permeated my thoughts. There she was naked on his desk, her massive chest fit for a Playboy cover shoot heaving as she asks for a promotion, questions him how to create an excel spread sheet and rubs her cunt on his keyboard.

"Did you kiss her?" I asked with an air of what I hoped to appear as nonchalant, not really wanting to know an answer.
"Dude, you can't even ask me that. After all the trust issues I've had with you, how could you even accuse me. Your the one who cheated on me, not the other way around."
"If I'm sleeping with you now, I can ask you. You want to fuck me, I deserve to know who else is in your bed," I said as my anger boiled over and the lump in my throat that had been growing since the onset of the conversation ballooned to what I was sure was a giant goiter-sized bulge verging on explosion. I could not quite believing we were having this conversation.
"That's not how it works," he replied.

We volleyed like this for about ten minutes and the lump eventually exploded up through my eyes in a manifestation of tears and sobs. The check came and we left each other fighting on the street, me so defeated that I could no longer even scream, just mumble my disgust between the taste of salty tears.

I decided right then and there while walking away from him: I was done with it. Three years in an off-and-on relationship, dating each other while maybe dating other people and not allowed to ask, fighting over insecurities and ripping new wounds into each other. I needed to be done. I was already wounded enough. I had permanent bruises, I had scars on every inch of my soul, I had no ideals left when it came to love and the fragility of my ego was the substance of porcelain.

To counteract my heartbreak I decided to go on a dating binge. So stay tuned.

M Questions Both Madison Avenue and Terrorists

Of my last two posts, one focused on the reprehensible and sometimes ambiguously racist strategies of ad executives and the other focused on terrorist squirrels (which, by the way nonexistent readers, I do not by any circumstances think terrorism is funny. I do however think that squirrels are hilarious). Now a new hybrid of commercialism and terrorism, commerterrorism, is being flouted throughout Buffalo, New York in a way that could only be defined as irresponsible fear mongering.


The new campaign for the Red Cross is meant to shock people into preparing for a terrorist attack. While I, being aware of the boy scout motto of always being prepared, think that this is all fine and dandy, what is not is the level of alarm this could cause. Someone like my mother, who ingest mass media and marketing like a juicy Big Mac, is sure to find this downright terrifying. Upon seeing this Billboard and realizing that she has only a few more years to live, my mother would most likely take immediate and drastic action by quitting her job and beginning to work exclusively on a bomb shelter. This would all be while calling me every five seconds to make sure I wasn't dead.

What's more terrifying is that they don't the oncoming doom somewhat ambiguos in that "You know you should prepare,because anything could happen-people get ran over by buses everyday" kind of way but give a specific date "November 9, 2009."

Why November 9, 2009? So that people can have a few years to get their survival kit in order? To let the fear build up and overflow into mass public riots? To give my mother time to harrass me while building her bomb shelter? Or perhaps, simply, to give the terrorist time to create a plan?

Is it just me or does this seem a tad bit irresponsible?

Photo courtesy of: www.BoingBoing,net

M Unveils Despotic Squirrel Terrorists

I haven't written in a while. Why my nonexistent readers ask? It's a complex mixture of several things. Take one part lazy and add that to two parts lazy and a dash of uninspired and that pretty much sums it up.

To get the ball rolling again, I've decided to turn to the news.

Squirrels the New Terrorists?

Taken from the AP
An American Airlines flight made an unscheduled landing in Honolulu after pilots heard something skittering about in the wire-laden space over the cockpit. The airline blamed the emergency landing of the Tokyo-Dallas flight with 202 passengers on a stowaway squirrel.

"You do not want a varmint up in the wiring areas and what-have-you on an airplane. You don't want anything up there," said John Hotard, spokesman for the Ft. Worth, Texas-based airline. Texas-based airline. He said pilots feared the animal would chewed through wiring or cause other problems.

"So, as a precaution, we diverted," Hotard said.

While the U.S. has been focusing its attention on obvious targets like Al Queda and Hezbollah, the Squirrel Nation has been furthering its despotic plan to overthrow the capitalist government in an attempt to weaken the human race as a whole. The eventual goal being world domination.

Historically known throughout the animal kingdom as communist extremists, the woodland creatures have been filtering propaganda into main stream U.S. culture for years in order to stay under the radar and operate without suspicion. Images positioning them as cute have been posited in all areas of human society and famous actors like Chip, Dale, Rocky the Flying Squirrel, along with that squirell who water skis have managed to only enhance their percieved, furry lovableness. They have also been able to avoid suspicion by building upon human fear of disease and proclaiming that any member of theirs caught is actually an anomaly of society and suffering from the so-called, mythical "rabies."

Excessive chattering was heard in Central Park this morning as the squirrels ready themselves for the media onslaught and political sparring with the Bush White House. The plot, foiled by the skilled post-9/11 training of the pilot, has been viewed as a clear indicator of new agressive push from within the Squirel Nation to make progress in their maniacal anti-homosapien campaign.

The White House has been in meetings all morning. The temperment on Capitol Hill is tense and there is talk of a possible pre-emptive strike.

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