Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.

9.23.2005

Fuck.

Fucking fuckety fuck, even.

Y'know what guys? I don't fucking get you. I don't. Seriously. And when I say "guys" I mean those of you out there with penises. Not the general "you guys" that would include those of us with internal plumbing. Dudes, as it were.

I consider myself to be reasonably intelligent, or at the least, besting a labrador on a pretty good day, and I just can't fucking get it. I try. I really do. Shit. I started watching football so I would have something to talk about with a guy I had a crush on. Ended up loving the damn game. Bonus. I try to be approachable. I am no Kate Moss, but I'm at least on the lighterer side of Rosie O'Donnell, I think.

I like beer. From a bottle. I eschew little froofy girlie drinks. I have boobs. I know how to use them. I can cook and sew, and do lots of girly things, but I will watch sports, and talk smack, and laugh at dick jokes (because c'mon, who doesn't love a good "vein hoagie" crack?) I care about what I look like, but am pretty fucking low maintenance. And someday? I'm going to make someone a fucking AWESOME wife. But that day? Isn't going to be tomorrow, and I don't have my man-trappin' boots on. I want to go out. On a date. Where there's a modicum of effort. (I wore socks tonight people. And not only did they go with my shoes, but they coordinated with my shirt. And I wore mascara. I did not, apparently, merit a collared shirt, or even one without pictures on it.)

Fuck. I mean. What do you guys WANT? Honestly. Fill me in. Because short of turning into a double-jointed 19 year old trapeze artist... I'm all ears. It's not even like I want to trap all of you into some big fucking commitment, but a goodnight hug wouldn't be awful, or a "How you doin'?" , or to be viewed as someone other than a sibling, or "one of the guys". I'm really damned perplexed, and I just don't get it. And right now it's really, really pissing me off. Christ on a pogo stick, what is wrong with me?

And yes, I'm sure I'll regret this post in the morning, but what the fuck. It's my damn blog.

1 Comments:

Blogger Special Sauce said...

Thanks Stephee. It wasn't just last night- it was a culmination of things. You're probably right though, it was more of a hang-out, not a datey-mcdate. Which is fine.

I'm just frustrated because... well, I'll explain that in an email, yo.

5:50 AM  

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home