Ramble to yourself, ramble about lovers

Tonight, there’s no star outside. Just me in my dark room sitting on the floor. I could meditate and do a pose or two. I could stare at the wall in the dark. Or have some pomegranate and cry like I had done nine years ago. That was awesome… actually, it was sort of fun. To cry while eating pomegranate. I’m telling you, make that one of your goals in life.

I guess it’s not bad to do weird things once in a while. Go ahead; don’t sleep. Sit on the floor in the dark and just ramble. Just do it at 3 am. Just you and the stars that are far away and that can’t be seen on cloudy nights. Ramble to yourself; ramble about lovers. His eyes, his lack of words, his honest answer. That’s the most attractive thing I guess; someone who’s so honest with their feelings. If they like your hair, they’ll say they like your hair. If they care about your love life, they’ll ask about your love life. They’re attentive to what you wear and they’ll comment on it. It’s that type of honesty that’s lovely. Not sweet words dubbed in euphemisms. Get to the heart of the issue, dig to the core. By saying nothing else, and just that one thing that you wanna hear that triggers something from something like, ‘you look great tonight.’ Just words that mean everything; like a vision of cascading fresh spring waterfall drenched on an unearthly high spirited maiden from dreams.
That’s what point blank words mixed with a lack of words do. Only real things. Body, flesh, love, hands, saliva, spank, hold, taste. Go out and walk in nature during the day. Talk about nothing. Absolutely nothing. And when you do talk, say just the things that are honest
the only things that matter
you turn me on.



Sharing hugs with Mike

“So…” this begins by saying that I was somewhat intimidated by him. For possibly being too dumb for him. He was mathematically smart and he only said things that…
connected. And he was aware of everything. I mean, he was a nice guy. Too nice that it was intimidating.
With his flaming red hair that was going blond, his large body, and freckles all over his imperfect skin
I had a thing for him. I know for a fact that our personalities would have totally clicked
but I shied away because
of all that intimidation
mostly ’cause I felt too stupid around him
although I know he would’ve liked for me to have opened up more.

One night during happy hour with other colleagues, he caught my attention during the pool game. I pretended to play but I was concentrating on him the whole time. That night I thought about him, and lets just say that it was a very sad and vehemently lonely night. Not because I wanted him in particular; I wanted that something– that substance, soul, core, love, fun type of deal that makes you alive. I thought about him as a substitute that night, and it was the most intense night ever.

Years go by, blah blah blah, and he’s leaving. I finally got to speak to him without reservations and said that he would be missed. In the most professional of ways. He said something about ‘many years together,’ and because I’m a very touchy-feely person, I reached out for a goodbye hug. He rushed in to give it

And it was the biggest, tightest, longest, warmest, the most comfortable, reassuring, crushing, and deepest hug ever. After he let go of squeezing my small body in comparison to his big one; I felt like I had just come out of a spa; rejuvenated, flushed, and all. Or released after some deep intimacy with somebody.

That could have been it. We had hugged in front of people when saying goodbye, and people could have seen it, understood it, and moved on. But no. This other girl came over and reached for a goodbye hug too after seeing us. He gave her a big hug as well. God damn it. Way to steal my thunder.

Being called a doll in London

I was so ecstatic, and apparently, I still am. Had never been called a Doll before. They just hardly say it in the part of the US that I’m in. Maybe they say it in the south?

I remember when I was called Honey as a kid. I remember thinking, ‘I am?’ and reading more into it than probably intended. I remember feeling like a spoon full of warm brown liquid syrup. I thought Americans were so nice; calling people Honey and sweet things. I wonder if being called a doughnut would give the same feels. “Hey there, doughnut” Hmm, maybe not.

In our culture, they never said Honey or Doll. The cute words they had for girls were something along the lines of, “silly girl” or “youngest daughter.”

Being called a Doll just makes you smile. Being called Honey sort of calms you down. Other names just don’t cut it.


An a$$ kind of love

Your wannabe interest and my wannabe interest in going out, partying hard, and getting laid was strong enough to bring us together. It’s a bit weird having this type of a mindset for someone who’s commonly seen as a pretty oddly-reserved-for-no-apparent-reason type of person. You were everything that I objectified; dark haired and creamy skinned. And I was everything you objectified; dark haired and petite… as you say. It was love when I saw you by the swimming pool with trunks clung about your behind, and by the window at night; I saw you from another building window
your body fit and statuesque like that of a Greek god
as you took your shirt off near a fan amid hot weather
that memory is forever imprinted in my mind like some rom com. I probably looked like shit that day with my old shirt on,
but you always stood out like arm candy. If you’d known what I thought, you’d probably say I’m being too hard on myself, but it’s tough being with a guy that you believe looks better than you.

I mean, you’re always smiling, even when you’re annoyed; you got this curve about your lips and chicks come running at your feet… I mean, I did. Maybe I was just a number one fan. But anyway, it was the best thing ever
having nothing else in common but our interest for making out and grabbing each other. I think the deepest conversation we ever had was on the beach that night when I asked you what you were thinking, and you gave the most ‘umm… like are we supposed to be thinking?’ type of pause and said something pretty cute and mediocre like, “It’s a nice night… I’m with a nice girl…” Inside I thought, ‘that’s it?’ but looking back, welp, that was it indeed… and hey, it was honest.

Good times, nice ass, and a lot of funny situations. We had the most amount of smiles and never really talked.

He said I was the best girlfriend he ever had, and likewise, he was the nicest piece of a$$ I ever got. Man it was so fun. I love him forever and deeply, just because of that.


Mini life goal sort of complete

A mini life goal is sort of complete; I finally had an awkward face to face small talk with an older man who was somewhat into me. Maybe small talks aren’t a big deal if you’re a regular chick who’s aware of the big picture. But for people like me who grew up with big biases and assumptions around how the opposite sex may be, small talks, especially around men… actually, small talks with ANYBODY, is difficult.

Frankly, it’s because I find it boring. I’m not an introvert and I think that I’m pretty fun, active, and outgoing… ten percent of the time. It’s just that there’s nothing interesting about how their day was (unless it was unique) or how the weather is. I tune out pretty easily. Unless you want to get deep, weird, or goofy, then I might either get weirded out or super interested in you. There’s no winning here. I used to put up with it, but small talks are getting harder and harder to make.

Yes it was still awkward, but I finally managed to have a small talk with an older man. The key point here is an older man, and not the small talk. First of all, I’ve always been into older guys. I used to think that I was older than my age in my mind when I was younger (although it turns out I’m actually quite immature and I love it now that I myself am older. Yeah!).

Anyway, I’ve been rejected by older guys for being too young for most of my life. I mean, so what if I was fourteen and you were… wow never mind.

As I was saying, the time it hit hard was when I was nineteen and got rejected by a thirty-two year old true love that I met within an hour. You can read about it here.
I fake rejected him, hoping he’d turn around, but he never came back.

After college, I was desperate for a job and was having a hard time getting employed. I just wanted a sugar daddy at that time. I just wanted to look good, be somebody’s arm candy, and lead an easy life where I could buy face creams, maybe be somebody’s secretary, and only worry about wrinkles when I get old.

That failed; I ended up having a successful career and pretty much became a self-made independent woman. I myself can be a sugar mama now if I wanted to, and there’s really no need for a wealthy older man.

The weird thing is; as I got older, the older men that I liked started getting older too. Soon enough, I was into slightly out-of-shape balding guys. That hit me in my early career; I was freaking out because the town where I was living in at the time had no college-aged guys around, and then it dawned on me that my demographics of interest were now aging family men that were standing outside cleaning up their yards.

Now that I’ve finally realized that I’m officially deep in my thirties, I can no longer keep saying “that middle aged guy over there” as if they were some comical alien breed. It’s hitting me again; middle aged guys are actually not older guys anymore…. they are within the legit socially acceptable sphere.

Back to talking about this specific older man. I’ll keep it short…;

I’ve seen him for years and we have nodded hellos to eachother. However this time, we finally talked while he was working at the counter. I casually said something along the lines of something about him working there, and he said something along the defensive lines of, “Working here? I own this place!” He insisted that I have a free protein shake and sat me down. We had a small talk; it was really boring. He was really keen on asking me questions about my relationship and my romantic life, while I tried to just answer questions about politics and to keep it sort of “normal.” It sort of didn’t make sense. I kept trying to gauge how much older he was to me; turned out it wasn’t bad at all. Twenty two years. Yesss, less than thirty. What am I cheering about? Anyway! It was awesome to have an older man flirt with me, like legit flirt, albeit underneath the small talk. It’s what I’d always wanted. I thought maybe it’d never happen, because as I age, I’m getting right in their sphere. It’s what I’ve always wanted minus that long stream of awkward talk… I mean, what do you talk to an older man about? Like, there was nothing to talk about; first of all, because I’m bad at small talks, but also because what does a liberal environmentalist like me have in common with a capitalistic, conservative, Republican, married old man? Like nada. So I just listened to him complain about how this one woman that used to work for him won’t stop calling him because he was so awesome, and secretly wished that he kept talking so that I wouldn’t have to. But he stopped talking, and often, and I couldn’t fill that silence with words so then I’d begin with another boring jolted topic like FOX news versus CNN.

Anyway, the key point is, at least we finally talked. Using boredom and loneliness as a premise, that one rainy cold night when he had no customers… I’ll see him again, and maybe we’ll have some sporadic small talk here and there, but I’m pretty sure mentally, we both went there. By there, I mean like, “With a red… garment on, slowly crawling on top of the counter towards him” there. Anyway, I hope he’s excited, because I was, and am, thinking about the fact that it finally happened; that I had an awkward flirty encounter with an older powerful man who became really interested in me and made me feel like an arm candy.

By the way how funny that his name is Terry, the same name of the guy that rejected me over a decade ago. Nothing really significant about this though; I actually had a crush on That one.

The end.

Convo about caterpillars

I don’t even remember his name, but we participated in a really boring field research job in college. I worked with him quietly for a couple of sporadic days, and one day, I just decided to randomly ask him:

“So if a caterpillar falls from an airplane, is it gonna die or will it bounce off because of all its bristles? ‘Cause you know, they’re so fuzzy and all.”

“Uhhh… it’ll die for sure” he said adamantly while he thought. “I mean, there’s no way it’d survive it” he said.

He was an easy going guy. I normally didn’t talk to guys, and I had no attraction for him, but looking back; I could have.

That was the end of our conversation.



Ageism runs deep

Ageism runs deep.

It runs (ran) through my veins bitterly.

There I was, twelve years old, just walking around the park barefoot pretending that I was in a Disney cartoon. Running through freshly cut grass (hindsight, not the best thing to do), singing to trees, pretending to be an Olympic ice skater on my roller blades in the basketball court. The occasional stuff that I did.

Those were good times. I walked on the open grass; the wind was blowing and singing sweetly to my ears. The park was empty and the sky was gray blue I think. I found a spot in the middle of the empty basketball court and laid there. Weird things happened when I wished hard, so I didn’t wish if I didn’t mean it. I just laid there… feeling; floating in the gentle flow of the wind. I imagined the man I would love one day; a prince on a horse who follows me. Who always finds me. With my hair spread out on the ground, I looked at the sky with a smile on my face. Thinking about my future, thinking about my handsome, manly, wise prince. I closed my eyes and stayed in this state of bliss; I could feel him, he was so close to me in my thoughts, he was whispering through the air to me. I sighed and gently opened my eyes.

I shrieked and abruptly got up after I saw a smiling little face pop over me and block the blue skies above. It was an obnoxious little boy; someone completely different than who I had imagined. I was so angry at that little boy afterwards. I was completely irritated that my privacy and tranquility had been ruined by some annoying little kid. I treated everyone younger than me with no real respect in my head, especially younger boys. They automatically turned into little brothers and they were seen as annoying little roadblocks along the way.

Granted he was nine and I was twelve; in my eyes I was decades older. After he caught me, he became completely smitten by me. With the basketball in his hands, he giggled at everything I had to say, like, “Get out of here!” at him. It was already annoying to be caught by a little kid during vulnerable times, but it was even worse to have earned his undivided attention and whole heart. I felt disgusted and wanted to wash him off like dirt. But no matter what I said or did, he kept wanting to be near me. It was a vile situation. I felt like a sicko thinking that a kid three years younger than me was completely in love with me. Feeling mentally nauseated and humiliated, I ran away. But then, that annoying kid started running after me. We were running down that park amid cut grass, me genuinely running away, him, giggling with a basketball in his hands chasing after me; as if I was playing hard to get. I wasn’t playing. I hid behind a building like fearing for my life, however, that obnoxious kid found me. I then ran away again and he ran after me again, laughing. I was mortified that someone could have seen this fiasco; me being chased by a nine year old. Gross, I could have been his baby sitter.

Damn, it’s weird to think that if I was a hundred, he’d have been ninety-seven. Grosssssss.