Life, Liberty & Pursuit Of Your Boyfriend

I’m feeling less than stellar this morning. I probably shouldn’t have watched “P.S. I Love You.” It left me feeling incredibly alone last night, as I slept another night on the sofa, since I still haven’t mapped the location of Huge Spider in Bedroom. And I cried twenty minutes into the movie — not at death, but at love. All-consuming, I-don’t-have-it love. I also got angry — punch-hole-in-the-wall-wishing-it-was-my-ex angry. Thankfully, I rescinded prior to having another fix-it project before the sale of my condo.

Here is some breakup advice from The Frisky for “Embracing the Grace Period.” I’m almost out of my Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese phase.

Also on The Frisky, how NOT to be a bad ex. Too late for me, regardless if I’m Dumpee (when it hurts from broken hearts) or Dumper (when it hurts from guilt). I have this here place in web-land to work through my anger, resentment, guilt and everyday male bashing. I’m seriously, like, three men away from becoming a lesbian.

My girls over at Ex-Boyfriend Jewelry began another site: Stuff That’s Left Behind. Perhaps I’m in angst knowing that I possess something (that I intend to return) from an ex with whom I will run into next week. It will be the first viewing since our breakup a couple months ago. Shit. I am not prepared. Not because I am upset (like sad, upset), but because I am angry. He should feel a bit of relief in that he is not the target of my punch-the-hole anger.

Looking for a clever (albeit harsh) way to dump your significant other? Try Keller’s Kards for breakups. I heart you. No, never mind, that was a typo. I meant: I hate you. Sorry.

My favorite of holidays is passed, and I’m left to ponder another year of suicidal thoughts as result of turkey and holly berries. Kill me now, Christmas.

There were a few awesome highlights of the past week. Thursday was the Halloween bash and cover band concert at The Beachland with Addicted to Vinyl and CB. I dressed as a flapper (no pictures, oh well)

Friday, the Bier Markt costume party. Which you may have read about here. Aside from those assholes mentioned, this was a hugely over-crowded party for Bier Markt. I like it better on a normal night. It felt too much like Liquid on Halloween. Just too crowded — and not really the “right” crowd. What is a “right” crowd, you ask? No fucking clue, but this wasn’t it. And for the record, WHO COMES TO A HALLOWEEN COSTUME PARTY WITH NO COSTUME? OK, I’m done. I bumped into Jose & Kelly here too, but lost them with the crowd.

I did meet a guy wearing a “retro basketball costume.” We chatted for a minute while I fixed my nylons (ugh!) in the corner. He was shady, McShadester. Somehow (damn shots!) I gave him my number anyway. I mean, he wouldn’t even tell me what city he lived in! Besides, I obviously am too fucking busy to date anyone. I need a doppleganger. And preferably one that remains consistent on finding a “nice guy.”

Then to the Kenilworth… for (too) many shots. I know I say that like it’s a bad thing, right? And dancing with bananas. BANANAS!

Yes, yes, it’s peanut butter, jelly time. And now, we sleep.

I woke up early Saturday feeling like a rickety old woman from all that dancing. Saturday night was the mandatory costume party at Silk. My mom was still working on it Saturday afternoon, and I had to high-tail it out to Ashtabula County to pick it up.

I was a paper doll. My mom made my awesome idea into a costume. She’s the best.

And yes, of course, I had wardrobe changes! (I also had a third change — a pair of shorts — to change my bottoms). The best is that I just had a vintage short slip on from the back. I loved this costume!

Everyone had really, really fun costumes this year. The first prize in the contest was a nearly naked chick dressed as Milla Jovovich’s character in that bad-ass movie that I cannot think of right now. Second was the “Deal or No Deal,” complete with suitcase model. My friends, robots from Flight of the Conchords, were third.

Sunday, after a homemade hungover veggie fritatta (heh, ta-tas), it was off to the Obama rally:

Obviously, we could not get into Mall B. The crowd around us, still, was AMAZING! No amount of rain would have prevented us from being a part of that night.

Afterward, we stuffed ourselves with pizza on West 6th.

Enough of being nice, right? Lucky for you, I have a few that I need to call out from my Halloween weekend. On with the hootchie Halloween pics and douchebags!

First, this night:

Bier Markt was quite fun. Until this random (undressed) douche came up and started talking to the three of us. I wandered away looking for my pumpkin from the other night (LINK). First, some bitch surrounded by a gaggle of ass munches (read: men) rolled her eyes at me because I said — wait for it… “Excuse me” — because the pumpkin was behind her.

My friend, awesomely in tune with awful behavior, retorts, “You’re already beautiful. There’s no reason for you to be a bitch too.” Again, I just wanted to show my friends my hilarious creation. Nobody — even the douchie male whores — was impressed. I am. Fuck off.

Fast track, back to conversation and drinks with my friends, the previous undressed douche that I was (not) talking to, came up close into my face, all “How Dare You” attitude because, well, HE WAS TALKING TO ME AND I WALKED AWAY. First off, I remember making fun of him because he looked like an ASS at a COSTUME party, being dressed, as well, a DOUCHE. Wait, maybe that was a good costume. Moving on…

And then he stuck around staring at our snarky, shocked faces, and said, “I thought you were nice… guess not.” What the fuck? I wouldn’t expect that kind of stern-talking-to coming out of a guy I dated for six years, let alone an un-costumed asshat whom I didn’t even feign interest. That guy had some serious control issues. Nooooo thank you.

Later on that evening, here:

I took this swell picture because it took me until walking home to finally find an “Adam.” While you see here that “Adam” Is nowhere near my age or type, I found it funny enough to take a snapshot.

Then I see “The Other Eve.”

Apparently, she was left with cab-picking duty, seeing as how she was half in the street, but she scowled at me something reminiscent of, “Fuck you, bitch.” I apologized to her, as my only intentions were hilarious and good. But now, FUCK YOU, BITCH. Here’s your douchebg-boyfriend-by-association.

In this city, on Halloween (dressed like a hootchie) you can no longer be nice, disinterested or apparently, take pictures of costumed folk. What-the-fuck ever, people. I got some chill pills for y’all.

long and rambly. bear with me.

Words really cannot express enough the amazing emotions that I feel at this moment.

I came into early election season as an undecided. Trying to figure who was the perfect candidate aligned with what was important to me. Or if anything was even truly important. Eight years ago I could have imagined voting for a candidate such as McCain.

I researched those on the ballot. I listened to friends. Watched a shit-ton of commercials that annoyed me to no end. But somewhere in that initial process… I actually registered to vote (I don’t remember voting since Perot - talk about irrational voting). Yet I was still both uninterested and uninvolved.

Then came Palin. Sure, she shook things up a bit. I have always had strong views opposing abortion. Always. Disturbingly similar to Palin. Unreasonably, unbudgingly similar to Palin. So much so that one day conversing with my sister, my own words scared something within me. I wondered if the same conservative views I held in my early 20s were even valid anymore.

It seemed as though I matured as both a person and a woman.

While I’m personally not someone that agrees with the decision to abort, I welcomed an open ear and heart to certain tragedies and traumas that beset women in these situations. Then I realized I had FRIENDS once horribly caught in these decisions. I also truly believed that comprehensive sex education - not the sick mindset of abstinence only teachings - was something extremely neccesary in today’s society. And in that, I found myself nothing like the potential first-woman vice-president.

Most importantly in all this mindless babbling, is that I found my own way. I did not get swayed by peer pressure or religious pressure or media pressure. I took the time to learn. Especially about myself.

I realize I still have a lot to learn (or remember) about politics. But I have come to a point in my life where a shift has shifted my priorities, and subsequently my life.

While I’m sure it all sounds corny, I had a life-changing moment.

When I heard Barack Obama speak at the Cleveland rally, something moved me. Something restored me. I felt a hope for ALL people FROM all people. A universal “people love” I have always felt, that I always wished more would embrace.

That day? It felt real.

I have volunteered consistently for personal causes. This election, I was calling voters at dinner hour, attending fake baby shower essential to women’s rights, and standing there with 80,000 others that had those exact chills from Obama’s words.

Most importantly, Tuesday, November 4, 2008, I walked into my polling location and filled in a circle for Barack Obama.

And my eyes teared up when I turned in my ballot. THAT is powerful.

When I saw CNN’s report at 11:15 naming Obama as our elected president, it was a mix of shock and serenity.

And satisfaction.

I helped make this happen.

And there has never been a greater emotion that I have felt in my lifetime thus far.

And Obama, you can thank me later.

From WKYC: Video here

(I wish I would have done my hair)

I’ll be interrupting your normal dating and single-something pleasure, by donating my web space to election results tonight.

I’ll be live blogging tonight at WKYC through twitter and our live chat courtesy of the station — on assignment as your Sex & Politics Correspondent from Political Science 216.

Follow my twitter updates.

*ed. note: the “live blogging” portion of things didn’t connect, but being able to obtain instant updates from news organizations via twitter and the web to post back through our live interactive feed and our personal twitter accounts was an amazing addition to the election night experience! Thanks WKYC — and to Twitter for not crashing on us that night!

Twitter run-down:

There are already enough penises in government. Please don’t vote for the biggest dick to run our country! Well, maybe that’s not the right way to put it. There is that whole “black guy” theory… So, in that case, yes. Vote for the biggest penis. Go Obama!

*wish I could take credit for that photo, but I ganked it off the internetz.

This is so awesome on so many levels. Adultmart, I’m looking at you to help a swinger-(state) out next year! For my NY or Seattle readers:

Get Out the Vote with Babeland!

Stop by a Babeland store in New York or Seattle 11/4-11/11 and bring your voter registration card, voting stub, or word of honor. If you voted, we’ll give you a Silver Bullet or a Maverick sleeve (get it?) for free! Yes, FREE. It’s because we value voting that much.

By the by, I will certainly take advantage of the free Starbucks coffee tomorrow morning (as I will be at the polls at 7 a.m.). Anyone know where I can find a Krispy Kreme for my free donut?

In the spirit of Halloween and conversation last night at The Beachland in regard to craziest actress (Anne Heche), today’s topic is CRAZY! We’re all a little crazy, but some of us, more so.

Happy Halloween!

Crazy Mary:

(thanks to both BUST blog and YouTube)

When to start acting CRAZY in relationships (thanks to The Frisky)

I’m sure every Britney fan remembers her crazy, thus inspiring my favorite word EVER: bat-shit crazy.

CrazyTalk!

For (crazy) French-speaking film lovers: C.R.A.Z.Y.:

If it’s not clear at this point, you can’t take me anywhere really, as I have an obvious maturity issue… or perhaps a seriously unhealthy obsession. As if penises were newly-created idols. Thanks to Bier Markt for helping me maintain my Obnoxious (Pumpkin Carving) Girl status and for a super-cool event.

Regardless, here’s how much fun I had after drinking three Dogfish Punkin Ales:

Pretty impressive, with only a steak knife as my tool, right?

Finished, with candle:

My friend’s pumpkin project with only a steak AND butter knife (Go Obama!):

It’s a pumpkin party! I really liked the skyline pumpkin:

Too much fun.

(after talking about tonight’s plans with a female friend)

BM: (said) have fun pumpkin carving tonight.

BM: (heard) have fun carpet munching tonight.

That’s too much (sexual) information. Courtesy of Dear Sugar - Weird Sex Statistics (and I’ll work through the quiz with you).

Question 1: How long does the average sex session last (foreplay not included)? Seven, 11 or 18 minutes?

This makes me feel very, very sad. Kind of like the time when I dated a guy that was ALWAYS about seven minutes. Good thing he was horny in the morning, and half of that wasted sex time was spent with me being asleep. But seriously.

Question 2: Once a man reaches orgasm, how many sperm are ejaculated? 40,000 or 40 million or 40 billion?

Thankfully, this scientific miracle does not cause that many babies.

Question 3: How many calories do you burn from 30 minutes of sex (foreplay included)? 38, 120 or 253?

Guessing that since I am frequently bored by the prowess of your sexual activities, I will lay there like a fish and burn only 38 calories. *yawn* OK, maybe that one time on the staircase I burned about 180. I call ‘em Naughty Calories. Which I obviously offset by eating massive amounts of Snickers bars.

Question 4: True/False: If a woman has an orgasm after a man ejaculates inside her, it increases her chance of becoming pregnant more so than if she has no orgasm.

What’s an orgasm?

Question 5: Which male sex problem is more common? Erectile dysfunction or premature ejaculation?

Unfortunately, I suffer from both. And by me, I mean you.

Question 6: What’s the average size of an erect male penis? 4-5, 6-7 or 8-9 inches?

Well before I go and brag about how I am apparently a lucky girl in the 8-9 category… oh, sorry, does that ruin the answer for your ego?

Question 7: When weighing yourself, how much weight do C-cup breasts add to the scale? 3/4 of a pound, two pounds or six pounds?

I guess six because that HAS to be a reason for my putting on ten pounds this year. I mean, they are double in size now and bounce when I walk. Six pounds, easy.

Question 8: What percentage of women have faked an orgasm at least once? 15 per cent, 29 per cent or 48 per cent?
d) 100% 99.7% (sorry, I forgot about that “first time I ever had one”) have been fake.

Oh. You mean total women?

Never mind…

I am trying my best to not let October suck the life out of me. I have practically ignored everything that has been thrown at me (yet playing into all those insomnia episodes anyway).

But then yesterday happened. October 28. Almost to the end of the month…

And Esteban decided he no longer wanted to be “touched there.” There was a half-inch row on my iPod Touch that, well, couldn’t be touched. The space where my settings icon was located, the row to forward/shuffle music, the line where I check my first two email accounts… foreign finger territory. After syncing, resetting…  crying (ok, maybe internally), I took Esteban to the Genius Bar at the new Apple store in Crocker Park after work.

*sigh*

He was… Replaced.

Completely swapped for the replacement player. Esteban went off to recycled iPod land. But not before the hottie Apple store Geeks scroll through my e-mails, contacts and photo albums Seriously, you can pass along any info to the hot Concierge with the fucking sweet forearm tattoo… please.

So, I got this newbie iPod Touch, hottie Hinske. I expect great things from this one.

And in the grand scheme of everything, it’s just another piece of fucking technology to add to the list of my problems this year: fucking Mac desktop doesn’t connect to the internet (even though it shows connected to internet) and will no longer pull songs from CDs to add to iTunes, my laptop burns through wifi cards for some reason and no longer works without a power cord and freezes up in the middle of trying to write anything, cell phones don’t cover where they’re supposed to be usable, ex-boyfriends hide laptops given to me, yet think that I would steal it when he broke up with me (I wouldn’t take it anyway, but what-the-fuck ever)…

Moving on, by the time I rushed home from the Apple store, I didn’t hear the update before driving to Matinee that the Pale Young Gentlemen show was fucking canceled. I guess their van broke down some hour-and-a-half away from Cleveland. Argh… the replacement band more than sucked. There was nobody there either, and this would have been an AWESOME show for them (or me). I left after two beers, and actually quite moody from it all. And it’s hailing. And SSD texted me.

But prior to the show (actually as I was exiting on West 25th), my mother calls to tell me that my little sister is in the hospital. It’s really nothing overly-serious (kidney stones), but with her being pregnant, there is a risk of premature labor if she needs surgery (which the doctors are deciding some time today). And she is not due until March. So, she’s freaked out, I’m freaked out. I called her on my way to work, and I just started crying after I hung up the phone. I want to crawl in a hole because I really can’t take much more.

Seriously. FUCK. ROCKtober isn’t working.

Wanted to remind everyone that Derek Hess & Kent Smith will be at Joseph Beth Booksellers at Legacy Village tonight to sign “Please God, Save Us.” Unfortunately, I will be on the wrong side of town today to say hello.

Go out and give some Cleveland love.

And pray for Esteban, for he has dead spots on his face and is annoyingly untouchable.

Mmmmm. Pumpkin Pie. Perfect time of year for penises.

You got your pumpkin-flavored lube too.

But did you know that the smell of pumpkin pie increases blood flow to the penis? Oh yes, as do the odors of licorice, chocolate and doughnuts.

Coincidently, all of which I enjoy rolling around in on a cool fall day.

And something you will be singing through the season:

FAIL.

My attempts to remember plans have failed (remember how I mentioned my brain has turned to mush by stress?). Good thing traffic didn’t hold me up after work on Friday, as I had to catch the limo in muther-truckin Brecksville at 7 (made it there by 7:20-ish). We started off at Boneyard, where I lusted after a Spiderman pinball machine and draft Bass. Then, back to the limo for “apple cider” (that tasted more like apple pie), Jack Daniels and a long musical journey to Akron. The haunted schoolhouse and laboratory, by the way are freaking sweet. Not too cheesy. Not overly gory. But a good time for a group of single people that wanted to drink and fuck around with mummies and monsters in dark corners and shady staircases.

Afterward, karaoke took over at some random C-town bar. I had zero clue where I was. And no, I did not kill anybody softly with her song.

Saturday morning has become something of a tradition with my shopping at the West Side Market. We changed things up a bit by heading to Gallucci’s first where I picked up a loaf of Sicilian bread, tomato-crusted turkey, a few apricot klotchkis, pecorino romano and a mozzarella braid. At the market, I scaled down a bit this week, as I have a lot of nights out planned this week, and I was kind of bored with hummus and my usual green veggies. I ended up with some eggs, a block of Hungarian feta, empire apples, carrots and more green onions (seemingly my new cooking obsession). I have no idea what I will make, but it will probably consist of omelets.

Saturday night, as seen from the post this weekend was my boss’ Halloween party. Good Lord, I haven’t partied until 5 a.m. in a very, very long time (and it will probably be a while longer). Thankfully I stuck with vodka-cranberries and Jell-O shots (thankfully? what the hell). That was only part one of Halloween costume parties, which for obvious reasons was a perfect selection to start the hallowed season. More to come.

This is my favorite week of the year!

Not a Halloween show, but Pale Young Gentlemen is at the Matinee Tuesday night.

Wednesday: Bier Markt is coordinating a Dogfish Punkin Ale draft night with do-it-yourself — hopefully soberly — pumpkin carving.

Thursday is Beachland Ballrooms’ Hallo Cleveland Cover Night concert, and I cannot wait to see Helper T-Cells play Flaming Lips. And it’s a costume party, people — play dress up again (still haven’t decided which costumes go with which night yet).

Friday: costume bash at Bier Markt.

Saturday: the grand finale of costume parties at Silk.

Hangovers are optional.
Ex-boyfriends deciding to text, call and e-mail is a given.
Pictures? Guaranteed.

10SB left another voice message today. Why he bothered is beyond my scope of understanding. Even in his message he sadly proclaimed, “I know you’re not going to return my call.” And again, he hopes I am well.

I forgot. Didn’t he say in his last message - OVER A MONTH AGO - that he wouldn’t bother me again? (etc., etc.)

Non-private message to 10SB: You’re not fucking bothering me; you’re amusing me. And I will NEVER return your call. Never ever, never.

Give up fucker. You fucked up by not communicating like an adult BEFORE you ended the relationship. Remember that always, when you cry like a pussy as you fall asleep - YOU ended it.

Have fun on Match.com.

And again: FUCK OFF!

Boss’ loft party. Loftworks is a cool fucking place. And I look hot, of course.

The Doctor is hot too, even with all that “blood” all over him. But I’m fairly certain he has a girlfriend. Why? Because some chick pulled him away just as our conversation warmed. And their costumes kind of matched. Then their group left abruptly.

It’s ok. I got the “turn back around one last time and look at her before I leave” look as he walked out the door.

Ew. Found an e-mail that I sent to a friend at the beginning Mr. Waffles:

Subject: You deserve it!

I think you deserve a big “thank you” from me today. Yeah, I know it’s early on with whatever status our relationship is and all that crap, but I feel as though meeting him means there are wonderful people out there just perfect for me. 

I about melted when he told me Saturday night how happy he felt with me… and how scared it made him (he may have given up a lot of himself when he was drunk — ha!). Wow! And I think his friends may have called me his “girl… friend.”

He is such an amazing person. Thanks for introducing us!

And… LIES!

Here’s what I think post-Waffles to my friend*:

Subject: Ew. Ew. Ew. I threw up in my mouth. And not because he shoved it too far down my throat.

I was reflecting a bit on my relationship with Mr. Waffles. It wasn’t recently (the reflection), as I have complete fits of ball-cutting rage every time I think about him now. Weeks ago, I was forcing myself to remember not to drunk text him… again. Today, my face winces in almost pain as to figure out why the fuck I was wasting my time with such a loser. Before. During. Or after. Did I really need to succumb to repeat temptations of “but I don’t want to end up alone” by means of settling for less than what I am worth?

Oh, he put on the blinders of kindness and promise of good sex, as they all do, but in the end, he could quite possibly be one of the most boring people in whom I have wasted my vagina. See? He makes me so blinded by red anger, I can’t even tell if that sentence is grammatically correct! I know why he was “scared” now too. He gave me a 45-minute rendition of all that not-really-pertaining-to-me stuff during his break-up speech. Uh, what about me?

Please. I beg of you — I’m a busy girl, with simple needs. Do not set me up with any more of your friends until you are certain they are truly mature man enough (yeah, I went there) for an adult relationship of sorts. I mean, even if that meaningless relationship is purely “with benefits” written at the end to it, at the very least let me know what my expectations should be. Or at least let me pretend I am a lesbian with your female friends. Because that’s about how close I would like that “girl…friend” word to be.

And for the record, he was most definitely not perfect (or wonderful or amazing). Beyond the red flags, I read DAMAGED stickers all over him. In fact, I’m fairly certain that was his myspace mood before I deleted him as a “friend.”

Although I may be a drunk (guilty as he charged), I am definitely not the crazy person in all this (I got your crazy).

*My friend, I love her. And I wanted to make her laugh because the situation is awkward, to say the least.

From Cleveland Magazine online:

Would you, or someone you know, like to be featured in our February issue? Submit a photo of yourself and tell us why we should name you one of our hot singles. We’re looking for eligible bachelors and bachelorettes of all ages.

Nominate here. Deadline is November 15.