May 28th, 2005

(no subject)

Why I Hate Dirtbags.

Assholes will be assholes, no matter whether your relation to them is social or sexual. An asshole won't stop being an asshole just because he fucked you. A liar won't stop lying just because he kissed you. And the biggest douchebag in the world won't stop being the biggest douchebag in the world just because he held you.

I'm crazy about assholes. I love being pushed and shoved around by there egos and being pinned down beneath their tendencies. And that is why I have a problem. My problem is that I love assholes, and that assholes will always be assholes.

I made a mistake. In fact, I've made quite a few mistakes recently. I'm obsessed with my reputation but I've done a great job butchering it by putting myself in situations where I could be misjudged. I managed to hook myself the king of assholes, and I went crazy for him. I fawn over neglect, and he was the master of it. Because of that, the more he neglected me, the more I was doomed to want him, and neglect me was all he was ever going to do from the moment I left his side. I knew I could catch him at his nice moments, maybe snag him for another night or two when his guard was down, but I was too sidetracked by how attractive his mean actions were, and I wasn't paying attention to what the hell I was doing while I tripped over my cool and face-planted right in the lap of his damage. Unfortunately, I mean that literally.

And what happens when a bitch with feelings hooks up with an asshole without is what should be expected every time. You wake up with dirt in your mouth and as much as you want to believe it was worth it, actions to follow will prove that it wasn't. He'll continue to push you around as if he never used those hands gently. He'll continue to spit on your shoes as if he never used that mouth romantically. He'll continue to be an asshole, as if he never used that cruelty to his advantage. Three days later, what's done is done, and I can't take it back no matter how badly I wish I could: I got Dave Joyaled.

(no subject)

To a Dictionary...

I make out in front of people. I make out with strangers at massive parties where I'm surrounded by people that know me too well to like the sight of me going at it. I make out with people I've just met, and sometimes I go home with them. And then sometimes I wake up with them and I only wish I was someone who could forget what they'd done when they were drunk. Sometimes I go through the next day wondering if I'll ever calm down or if I'll always be swept by the charm of attractive boys that I barely know. To me, I'm not a slut. But to a dictionary...

I've always been sly about that sort of thing. I'll go about my wicked ways and remain my same, untied self at the end of it, just with one extra piece of writing about my latest endeavor. I try to make things interesting; to get myself into fucked up situations just so that I'll have something to write about. I may have a long list of men, but I always considered myself to be rather classy about my ways; somewhat sophisticated in my sluttiness. But I have not been that way lately. Lately, I have been downright bad. I've gone too far in a bedroom with people I only meant to make out with. I've tallied up too many marks on my wall to feel good about my cleanliness. I never have sex, but I've had to learn that you don't have to have sex with people to be perceived as a whore.

Another night goes by and I'm drinking coffee at the diner with Audra, telling her about who I went home with the night before. And usually we're both okay with that, because what needed to be said has already been written, and another work of written intellect can already be found in the pages of my book. I'm usually okay with how busy my sex life is, because I had never gone overboard, and I had never let a man go down on me without knowing it'd be stellar enough to write about. But coffee at the diner with Audra was different today. I held my head in my hands and regretted everything I had done the night before. I told her I hated myself for how bad I'd become, and I couldn't get that hate out of my head. I knew I'd gone too far when I'd hooked up with a stranger and all I had to write about it was this entry about how to a dictionary, I'm a slut.