Thursday, August 30, 2007
I cannot even remember the feelings anymore. How it is like to cum with the other person when my pussy contracts and he’s astonished… How he likes me to move my little finger on his thigh when we’re watching TV on his couch, how it is to lick both his balls a little bit painfully but also passionately… how it feels for him to just take me with close to no foreplay and just rock me all over as if that’s okay… I can’t even remember… Ugh… sex…
And if you know what’s the most insulting question to a woman that’s almost going insane for celibacy, lemme tell ya: it’s what that dude in Home Depot today said to me when I was looking for an at least 25 ft light duty extension cord for my apartment for portable AC, mini-fridge and microwave: “Do you have a boyfriend?” And the dude outside of the liquor store on 5th Street? “Oh man, you look fantaaastic… Do you have a boyfriend?”
Okay can you guys just stop that, please? I’m fucking heart-broken and exhausted. Do you have any idea how I went nuts at all? You guys are stinging me… Just stop that, please… I’ll give each of you a dollar bill if you just shut the fuck up man…
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
He was the owner of the wine shop I worked for after school. I was doing my graduate degree and he hired me and broke my cherry.
So he never told me he’s married. We dated for a few months and I found out. So you know what I did?
He was oh so fucking rich. He had a fantastic luxury suite on the hill, antiques, a maid, a pure bred dog, a few beautiful children, a restaurant, a private school and a wine shop. He also owned a bar in a very busy district making so much money which was his major income. So I started writing letters to the government complaining about the noise and drunk fights non-stopped with all my elaborated and fabulous literary skills just like how I demonstrate them here in this crazy woman’s blog when I had nothing to do. Later on he was only allowerd to sell beer after 10PM but no hard liquor. Of course, if you’re ever in any bar business, you know how bars make money. No hard liquor means no income. Soon afterwards the bar went out of business. Coincidentally his accountant also stole money from his corporation and trapped him so soon he was sued and declared bankruptcy. He was in jail for a few months then he got out of it and moved overseas with his wife who also lost all her career and money for him. 8 years later, he wrote from overseas to me saying I meant a lot to him and he’s been looking for me all over the Internet and was disappointed I no longer loved him. Fuck him. What does he expect? Right now, he’s working as a janitor in his son’s grade school and close to the age of 50. Thank God, he lost his fucking everything.
Hehe, I can’t say I made him bankrupt and go to jail but I certainly contributed to some major headaches he’s had. That’s just like a hobby. I love doing that when I missed the guy’s touch and kisses for me. I just love the idea of causing nuisances, troubles and catastrophes for him. I’m sipping some beer writing about him here in my lovely downtown apartment in L.A. by my big window in some nice breezes after I happily walked around Broadway Street for some grocery in Big Lots after work and the cute young guys whistled to me. Does anybody know what “karma” mean? This’s what it means. I’m a psycho ex. Catch me if you can. I won’t even show up at your door late at night in sexy lingerie for some mercy fuck, key your car or hack your email. Those’re bullshit. I actually happen to enjoy completely ruining a guy’s life more. That’s just so very satisfying… haha…
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Well, to reveal the intersection of downtown and insanity in me, let me tell you, actually I used to be in my right mind. I had a downtown love before. He’s very handsome and he ate grass - not marijuana, cuz if so, I’d say “smoked grass”, not “ate grass” - I met him in Famina; he loved Famima. For some reason, I was just so turned on by healthy guys that ate grass (again, it’s “eat”, not “smoke”, I don’t date podheads). I was so in love with the health freak eating grass in a hybrid car when I was sane. Then one day, he was no longer into me, so I started looking for tall buildings to live in just in case one night I feel like looking down from my window on the 11th floor and jump out… I thought about how to avoid being scared when I fly out… I think if I close my eyes, hold my knees and just roll down off the window, I won’t see the scary flashing of life on the way to the ground and my pain will stop in a few seconds. So I moved into this building more for that purpose than co-incidentally I could see Grass-eater’s building right through these big windows here as well… Well, yeah, of course, if I don’t stalk, how can I call myself dysfunctional? Just like any other psycho chicks in L.A., of course I’m creepy.
But this old building actually has all the interesting and good people. Bella, my melancholic neighbor on wheelchair, always sits right in front of my door scaring the shit out of me when I’m about to spy on my old love with binoculars in hand. She likes looking out from the big windows in the hallway too. I had some girly talk with Bella about which side of the floor had a cleaner trash room. I wanted to ask her about her stalkee too. You know, every crazy downtown woman has a stalkee in her heart. One life one stalkee. I thought about that and it seems too personal to discuss with a neighbor so I refrained myself. You might be surprised, crazy women can fry an egg and be sensitive to others’ feelings too.
My security guard Eddy likes calling me “beautiful face”. What he means is I don’t have a brain. Typical male observation. Whenever I wear short skirts or shorts and carry a laptop to Lost Souls for some writing sessions after work in a peaceful evening, there’ll be some good-looking guys smiling at me with shining eyes. They are usually the artistic type. Artists, photographers, designers, etc. I don’t know what they want. Mom said when guys smile at me, I should look away because if I don’t, they will ask if they can buy me drinks, fuck me then hurt me like Grass-eater. Even Eddy, the 70-years-old security guard with only a few teeth left after his three heart surgeries, who is not in the art industry but rather in security, offered me a soda today when he asked me why the sad face. How did mom know so much about men? I have no idea what men’re thinking at all…
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
[none_of_your_damn_biz] Hey me. How’re you doing tonight dear?
[dtw90013] Aw, okay, just got this Adium working.
[none_of_your_damn_biz] Oh yeah? What’d you use to chat before?
[dtw90013] I used ichat. But tonight I’m doing an experiment so I need 2 chat clients to test something.
[none_of_your_damn_biz] Oh yeah? What’re you doing?
[dtw90013] Well I scared the shit out of myself. A while ago, I dated a guy. He told me he didn’t chat online. I didn’t believe him, so I added him and saw if he went online. He never did. So I forgot about it. Tonight, I suddenly saw he was online 10 days ago. We already stopped talking. So I wondered if he saw me on his list then blocked me and started freaking out. Damn if he really did, I’d feel like a complete psycho… which I’m sure you know I’m not. But then I was wondering if ichat’s different from other clients like MSN that maybe the other person couldn’t see who added them? So I downloaded Adium, opened a new account and started chatting with myself tonight… I was right, I didn’t see myself on Adium when I added myself on ichat indeed…
[none_of_your_damn_biz] LOL… This’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard… You’re crazy man… Why’re all girls so nuts? You know now, if you don’t send me a message, I in a million years won’t know I’m on your list on ichat… So, sweetie, he didn’t see you, don’t be paranoid.
[dtw90013] No, thank God, he didn’t see me. Poof.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
So he make a left turn to Los Angeles Street in his white mini-van with some pullet holes on it, slowly at the speed of 5 miles an hour, gave me a kiss and said, “I love you baby…”
Fuck you ugly cowboy! Who told you you could kiss me, even through the air?
What really pissed me off is that he was in his damn ghetto car and I was walking on my Christian Leboutin, so there’s really no way I could avoid the sight of his thick lips in heart shape like he’s sucking something out of me from 7 feet away on the sidewalk in time… I fucking saw his face man! Ugh it made me wanted to vomit. I need to work on this with my psychologist in the following 10 sessions… Maybe it’s from my childhood trauma… Who knows… Maybe the dirty old Korean man in the convenience store around the corner where we lived when I was a child had a bull dog that had just as thick of lips and it affected my personal development… I don’t know… But I was seriously very disturbed from what I experienced in Fashion District today… I think I was mentally assaulted… Oh wait, so how much is that for the 10 sessions? Let me calculate… Shit… this couple month’s tight again…
Look, cowboy, if you want to show some love, let me change lane on those narrow one way streets around the old bank buildings so I don’t have to drive in circles just cuz I missed that hidden little Pho place, or take $1 less when I buy your $1 household items in Toy District, or even give me just more chili over my #6 Carne Verde combination plate… But don’t kiss me okay? You know I care for you too but this interracial relationship is just haunting me. I have a hot date tonight but I don’t think I can kiss anybody in a long time just because of the trauma of your kiss man! Your lips… ugh… were killing me…