I went home, and looked at the name woven into the soles of my favourite, nicest coloured socks which I only wear when it's really cold beacuse they're knee high ones. They were from a very small, independent shop in Southwold, which I can't remember the name of. They are striped, but in very tasteful colours which I would wear on other parts of my body, near my face etc.

The name on them was Gallo, which, it turns out, is an Italian sock manufacturer. They don't appear to have a website to allow people to buy their socks online. There were several forums in which people were desperately trying to find out information about them. I searched for 'Gallo socks' and then went to Google translate and found out the Italian for socks ['calze'] and searched for that too. I found some on Italian eBay. I even attempted to Compralo Subito, but apparently L’oggetto potrebbe non esserti spedito! Which is rather irritating.

Gallo do have a lovely sales thing, which is a striped vending machine that sells their socks. I wish there was one outside M&S in York. But there isn't. If there was, drunk people would probably set fire to it or something.

Anyway, the synopsis is that I have fallen dangerously in love with a brand of obscure Italian socks which is choosing to remain elusive. I have no idea what to do about this infatuation. It reminds me of being a teenager. Except with socks, rather than unattainable youth orchestra soloists etc.

He is so cruel for making me love him so much.

Sometimes I feel like a big slut. And in a manner of speaking, some people would say I am pretty easy. I have not had sex with that many people, but my number is a bit higher than I care to admit. I have lied in shame about my number (not to anyone I have anything longstanding or serious with, I swear). But honestly, I am torn. Part of me wants to fuck every attractive human (penis desired but certainly not required) that I see, but the other part of me wants that monogamous relationship. I spend a good deal of time wondering how many more men I will have to sleep with before I find the one I want to be with indefinitely...err, I mean forever.

But quantifying my sexual escapades isn't the real reason I feel like a slut. It's more about the degree to which my emotions for a person sway me to give it up, and give it up fast (well sometimes I take it slow....) All jokes aside though, I try to stand my ground and demand respect, but at the end of the day my feelings take all. The last guy I fell for (note: by "fell for," I mean got infatuated with, not fell in love with; there is a big difference) certainly wasn’t the monogamy material he tried to present himself as. He spouted about wanting a relationship every time he came back into my life, and I believed him because I wanted to. The last time I saw him he refused to come inside my house to meet my friends; he instead convinced me to have sex with him in the back of his car in the parking lot outside my house - after I cried with my back against his driver's side door for an hour. The thing is, I don’t think this is a bad thing. I loved having sex with him, I wanted to do it. But I just feel so easy! I don’t find people that I can fall for often, but once I do, I fall for them so easily and lose all my dignity for them. If that makes sense. I have only ever been in unhealthy relationships, and this latest “relationship” has been going on for over six months. I should be woman enough to say that he can’t give me what I need and move on, but I just know that when he stops ignoring me this time his dick will be inside me faster than I can say “fuck me please.” I relish having him inside me, breathing on my neck, wrapping my arms around him and laying on his shoulder after we’re done. But sometimes I wonder just how fast he wants to get out of there.

What am I trying to say? I don’t know. Maybe that I'm not really a slut, I just want a person unconditionally. After  bruises on my heart and ego heal, after my anger subsides, I realize I do care about people with more than my hormones. And if sex is supposed to be between people who care about each other, then I illogically conclude that caring for him overrides any lack of feelings on his part.

So is it okay for us to be sluts? Baby, I’ll be a slut for someone I care about any day. And maybe someone will come along to be a slut for me the same way.

Photo Credits

Actually irony is that even if its infatuation, and if its got them into a relationship and that relationship is surviving somehow they will start calling it love and the moment it breaks its infatuation. Even though one can derive true love even from infatuation, yet for that to occur it takes quite a lot of time and acceptances which people are hardly able to find this day. The term "I Love You" has been used so lightly that people really need to start appreciating what it means.

C, my ex and best friend, appears to be pursuing me again. My most recent crush has taken me on my first double date in over a year, on here I call him D. I think I know what will make me happiest but I have a horrible tendency of changing my mind.

I really have no one to talk over the situation with. No one will ever see the world through your eyes. I have a room-mate but she doesn't understand my situation. You can never tell if someone has felt as you have once felt, but the laws of nature train you to believe that no one is like you that you are a snowflake. I don't believe we are all completely different, and unique.

Should I follow my heart even though it may lead me back down a path I have already travel, or should I encourage my heart to look else where? You may not be able to choose who you love but maybe I could aim my affections to either say inside to go else where.

I think D is different because I feel like there is something on the line to gain or to loose.

During the day C gets upset so easily but he has a way of seducing me when the sun goes down. I want just to lye with him. I miss cuddling; I have never thought myself much for cuddling but I still want to.

I have such horrible nightmares that visit me regularly. I now don't dread the nightmare, I expect them. They have almost become a measure of how deeply I slept. Company I know I should not depend on but slowly realizing how comforting another can be if you let them.

I love my independent personality. I don't want to lose it. I'm happy, but lonely.

Why so young am I tired of getting hurt by the way others drop me?

Cinderella said to Snow White
How does love get so off course
All I wanted was a white knight
With a good heart, soft touch, fast horse

Ride me off into the sunset
Baby, I’m forever yours ~Faith Hill/"This Kiss"

Does anyone who complains of having never met the right person,

 let someone come into your life who you don't think you'd ever love or even be attracted to?

The answer is usually no.

There's thousands of us.  Men and women alike who see our loved one in our mind. 

 He's the right one.  The one without a name yet. 

 The one who cups your face in his hands when he kisses you... Did you know touching someone's face with your hand gently is the ultimate form of compassion according to body language experts? 

The one who can't get through a movie at home together without making love.

  The man in my thoughts, whoa!  tender.  He unzips a dress longingly, and slowly as if he's enjoying the first course to a meal he loves.  He rarely uses the word horny.

  He let's me lie in the crook of his shoulder with my face on his bare chest, tracing his muscles, kissing him well into dawn.

  Does your man do that?  Does your woman want that? 

She is no Barbie doll.  She's possibly the farthest thing away from Barbie.

  She's Barbie's older, cooler, more level headed sister. 

The man, has been raised a true gentleman that respects women and gets upset when a woman cries.It fuels the protector in him.   Let him make it clear.  He's the commander of his bed.  He owns it, and when you're in it,  well, he owns you too, but I like that...

  He responds to the tell tale tensing in my back, the sigh of contentment I give him.   He will love deeply, hold me from seemingly all over, not in any kind of hurry, touching me there,  and, and, and .....

 He could care less if had to work early in the morning, if he's genuinely in love...  and this thing the two of you have, you know it instantly when you meet.  Instinct.  Neither one of you ever has to give up being you.

Note to You:  crushes suck. Especially when you don't know you are the crushee.

you were seductive, yet still sweet.

A sensual lure drawing from a passionate soul.

As a blond with light and rolling curls,

you seemed to add a new vitality,

a playfulness, a vibrant flirtatiousness.

Now, with fiery auburn flaring,

you wield a scorching, provocative magnetism.

Tempting and enticing,

utterly captivating, wholly irresistible.

One: she is beautiful! Not just plain beautiful, but rather, stunningly and naturally gorgeous. She is beautiful yet humble about it. She has these great, big, kind, brown eyes that melt your heart out every time she looks at you. She has a smile that is a total killer too. When she is not in deep thought, she is always smiling. She smiles and you get this fuzzy peach feeling in your stomach—it is a bizarre feeling yet so pleasant all at once.

Two: she is a good writer. She articulates herself well and quite expressive in her writing. I very much like getting emails from her.

Three: she is funny. The few times I’ve hung out with her, she has these funny stories about her friends and the silly, fun times they have. She seems to have a good sense of humour too. I very much like that.

Four: she is pensive. To me, meditative people are enigmas and the more they are deep in thought, the more they fascinate me. And she fascinates me, alright. Even though she had shared a lot about herself to me, she continues to intrigue me and stir my curiosity about her.

Five: she is a gentle soul. She is all around lovely and a true romantic. She is like an immaculate flower you do not want taint. She seems so delicate and precious; it adds more to her loveliness.

Like I’ve said, I have not known her for that long, but the few things I have listed, she possess, but that and much more. With much adulation towards her, I make myself sound like a girl in love, which I am not going to confirm or deny; but she is the closest being to what my dream girl would be. All I know is: to me, she is almost perfect; and an almost perfect girl is untouchable.

Oh, to be a Gayelle is so tragic sometimes.

Posted by anonymous.

Believe me when I say that the pain I experienced for 4 1/2 hours on Sunday was absolute agony. There was no position in which I could sit, stand, or lie to feel better. No relief whatsoever until the nurse brought pain meds at noon. Women who've had kidney stones say it's a toss-up between which is more painful: kidney stones or child birth.

But enough about me. There is some serious shit I have to show you.

One of my Facebook friends is engaged. No big deal there, right? Well, check this shit out.

Figure 1: The New Relationship. The pink paint-over signifies the girl in question, and the blue signifies the guy. Black signifies unrelated bystanders and other non-essential info. Notice that she entered this relationship on July 28, 2008. Good for her.

And now let's move on...

Figure 2: The Acknowledgment. A couple of weeks later in August, she strikes up a conversation with a friend on Facebook. Red denotes the girl in question. You can see part of the conversation (sorry, the screenshot is cut off). Basically, her friend asks what will happen with her new boyfriend when she moves. She replies that they will go their separate ways and clarifies that it's what they both want; they get to enjoy the euphoric stage of a new relationship when everything is fresh, hot, and conflict-free. According to her, it's meant to be a casual fling. I admire her maturity in acknowledging the stages of a relationship and the unrealistic nature of long-distance love.

But wait!

Figure 3: Holy Shit. The girl in question is now engaged. Notice the relationship status change, as well as her most recent personal status update: "[girl] says yes." Today = August 13, 2008, two days after acknowledging the imminent breakup.

Maybe there's more to this?

Figure 4: Further Investigation. Now, I realized that it was possible that this guy only recently added Facebook and that they had been together for a long time before that. However, his mini-feed goes back to at least a month before they became "officially" a couple. This, in combination with the wall posts in Figure 2, pretty much tell me that they've been together for 16 days and are now engaged to be married.

She demonstrated an understanding of the infatuation stage of all relationships, and then completely fell victim to it in the worst way.

Please tell me this is a joke.

(*Disclaimer: I normally refrain from this level of Facebook stalking, but come on; this is fucked up.)

It has come to my reluctant attention that I am infatuated with you in an unhealthy way. As it dawns on me that you neither exhibit the signs of romantic intrigue, nor the respect of friendship I feel the shadow of shame creep over my psyche. This is so embarrassing. It surpasses my understanding. How, when I am so young and beautiful and you so old and vile, do you fail to see what a rare opportunity falls before you? When you, object of my desire, do not reciprocate as so desired but intentionally use me as convenient for some amount of physical satisfaction - it wounds my ego critically. Yet, as you know and have stated, it makes me want you even more. You play the game as a winner, and I as pathetic loser. Now is a solemn moment, where in order to take back even an ounce of lost dignity, it is required that I crush this infatuation.

I begin by apologizing. First, I am sorry to have thrust myself on you, when all the signs indicated your disinterest. How terrible it must have been to have a brilliant, sexy, caring and enigmatic creature clamoring day and night for your affections. How selfish I have been. Second, I apologize to myself - to my higher self - which is far too genuine to be wasted in this manner. Self, you are divine and questing for exquisite soul love. You deserve so much more than to be squandered on a petty crush. Third, I apologize to my friends, who have had to listen to this nonsense, and have done so with great reserve and understanding.

Now back to you Mr. Man X. I am not angry, but only determined, that for both our sakes, I will not be returning your flirtatious text messages. I will not be coming to your house late in the night so that you may use my soft feminine form for your indifferent sexual justification. I will treat you with kindness as our paths invariably cross, but expect no more glint in my eye at your appearance. For all things have a time and place. Now is time to abort this unholy coupling, which was never destined for greatness.

Sincerely,
Zebra Princess

The skies could part. Angels could descend. The Heavens could boom. I'd still have a hard time believing. To believe that he's calling me and wanting to talk to me. When he could call and talk to anybody. Me, he picks me. I think of him all the time, but to try and fathom that he is also thinking of me. Unbelievable, yet I believe him. He called earlier, and now I'm filled with warm fuzzies. He made my day. I'm on Cloud 9. I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel. Is that such a bad thing? You're a little late, I'm already torn. Is that Okay?

I can not wait until Wednesday. I wish i had something special planned, but I don't. I tried, believe me I tried. Just seeing him, being with him, touching him, holding him, kissing him...ahhhh. Yumbo. I am counting down the days.

I can't help it!  I just work better under pressure!! :(:( I SOOO NEED TO ACE THIS THOO!!! ><

Oh right, my topic is now Special Interest Groups in Canadian Politics - EW.  I know, it was supposed to be about Parliamentary reform but I just couldn't drum up anything interesting nor bold to say about it and my prof did say my writing isn't "gutsy" enough.  Fuck that.  This is evidence based politics and thus, postive.  I'm also not gonna get all crazy passionate about a 2000 word paper on a subject I could care less about.

Btw, I promise my next post will not be about school as my posts have been recently.  I promise some juicy gossip! Including updates on my Ayden and some guy who's infatuation with me seems to stretch all the 1000s of km between him and I...although I have to admit, I'm more creeped out than flattered and kind of suspect his mom - YES! HIS MOM! - who adores me is trying to set us up.  Creeeepy.

I'm ready on so many levels.

I'm ready to fight. I'm ready to relax. I'm ready to cry. I'm ready to laugh. I'm ready to scream. I'm ready to be quiet. I'm ready... I'm ready...

I'm ready to drive into the shadows and go where noone else goes because I can't help but try and answer the proverbial question: "Is it worth it?"

I'm insatiable. We're insatiable. It's part of being human.

The reality of knowing myself well is that I've got to be truthful. Being truthful forces me to acknowledge that I have a certain proclivity to choose complicated persons who claim to not be so complicated as both friends and lovers.

It's a sketchy place to find myself sometimes, but in the end, it's always been worth it.

once upon a time my younger brother was in a clarinet section with a boy named oliver. i was introduced to this kid when he was in middle school and i was in high school, and i attended the middle school's orchestra recital.

oliver is tallish, skinny. not terribly bad-looking. but a fob. not a very fresh fob, but still a fob. he hung out with fobs. he spoke with a slight fob accent. he was nice, and i tried to be nice to him because he was my brother's friend and because i felt sorry for him.

oliver and i were on the swim team together. we were in the same lane for a while when i was swimming backstroke as my event. we used to sit and wait for our events together, and cheer each other on at tournaments. before every meet he would down the contents of a small jar of fluid, which said in chinese "essence of chicken."

one day, he was wearing headphones and listening to his CD player (oh, the primitive days of my youth, before mp3 players. how distant they seem.) i asked him idly what he was listening to, and he silently gave me one earbud. it was taiwanese pop. i have exactly zero interest in asian pop, but when he asked me if i liked it i smiled and nodded. we stood next to each other for a minute or so, and just as i was coming up with some reason to run away, he said he needed to go warm up but that i should keep listening since i liked it. he handed me the other earbud, despite my protests that it was okay, and that i'd run out the batteries (lol. batteries. remember that? AA batteries?? in your listening devices??) so i was left with his CD player, his CD of taiwanese pop, and irritation.

this was sophomore year. for the next two years, he continued to shyly offer me things (candy, soda, water, jackets, towels, chicken essence...), and i succeeded, sometimes, in refusing to take them. i was with T1 at the time, and i made sure that oliver knew this. not like he couldn't have known anyway - T1 would run over from the tennis courts during meets, kiss me violently for a few seconds, then run off. when i got with T2, i made sure oliver knew about that too. yet he persisted.

at some point he found out my screen name. he would tell me that his life was very difficult, that he was often sad. when i asked why, he would say "no... i don't want to bother you." one day he asked me if he could call me "jie-jie," or big sister. in asian culture it's not uncommon to call random older kids with whom you are close brother or sister. and the fobs think it's just the cutest thing ever. so i said yes, because what else could i do? then he said, "then i can say i love you, because you are my sister." after that, he always said "jie" when he talked to me.

senior year, i took studio pics. just normal ones, not like the crazy ones i did recently. against my better judgment i gave two poses to oliver, saying it'd be something to remember me by after i'd graduated.

about a week later, i was eating lunch with carf when oliver appeared at my elbow with a white binder. oliver, as i said before, ate with the fobs, so i never saw him at lunch. he said he had something to show me. then he opened the binder.

it was an 8.5x11 pencil drawing of me, a shaded replica of that tiny wallet photo i'd given him. it was actually very well done - i think i looked better in the drawing than in real life. i choked on my lunch. i was speechless. carf had the presence of mind to hug oliver and say, "wow, did you draw that? it's so great!" eventually i recovered enough to say thanks, and it was so beautiful, could i have a photocopy?

a couple of days afterward he gave me the drawing in a sheet protector. on the back was a grammatically atrocious handwritten inscription saying that i had always supported him when he needed it most. that i had always been a great friend. that i was his guardian "angle." and that i was as beautiful as an "angle."

i showed it to T2, and he said, "wow. are those wings?" that's when i noticed that oliver had added wings to me in the drawing. there was even a detailed feather in the foreground. dear gods, how do you react to that? a hand-drawn portrait in which someone has given you angel wings??

i thought that after i moved across the country for college that oliver would give up. no such luck. he continued to IM me whenever he saw me on, with the customary "jie," and the customary lines about how his life was so hard, but that he didn't want to bother me with the details. one time i had to explain to him what a time difference was. i don't think he understood exactly how far i'd gone away. he'd ask me when i'd be home, if i'd look him up when i was on vacation.

that first christmas he sent me, via my brother, a little cutesy angel that was mounted on a spring and had a bell hanging from it. it was completely useless. he told me elatedly over IM how it was an angel. GET IT? i'm an angel. the thing is an angel.

the second christmas, when he was in college too, he sent me another thing out of the same line of accessories with this little cute angel character on it. the angel, which was attached to a cloud with a chain, was magnetic and stuck to a magnetic spot in the middle of the cloud. all of this was mounted on a vertical metal wire. T2 and i played with it for a long time before figuring out that it was meant to hold pictures.

T2, by the way, thought that this was just the most hilarious thing on earth. he loved rubbing it in. he'd ask me how oliver was doing, and why i was so cruel to oliver, anyone could see that the boy just needed some love.

two years ago as i was walking out of a cafe i saw him just as i sailed out the door on T2's arm. he was looking straight at me. i'd told him two days beforehand that i was 3,000 miles away. oops.

sigh. he still occasionally writes on my facebook wall asking how i'm doing. i think he's at a state school now. or... something. last i heard his life was still 'very hard,' and he was still 'really sad.'

i think he'd be sad to know that his 'guardian angle' doesn't really feel bad about abandoning him.

I saw her today and really took note of her. More so than I had previously. She's got a bright twinkle in her smiling amber eyes. Her light red hair frames a very pretty face, accented with soft freckles. Her lips are full and inviting. And she's got a great sense of humor.

I don't know why I've stalled here. Hesitation is a killer. So I guess it will be the highlight or lowlight of the day tomorrow as I make my play.

In other aspects of today, that drug dealing, white trash, short-armed bastard finally got in town today a day and a half late. But I couldn't hook up with him, so that too makes for a more full Sunday with potential.

My song for this afternoon and hopefully tomorrow,

A Beautiful Day(link)

No matter how far I run
There's nothing in me, just an empty gun
Pull the trigger, let it fly
But no bullet can help this die

Take a knife and cut me deep
Through this wound no blood would seep
Push it in and turn the blade
But no knife can help this fade

You can't kill it
There's nothing to decide
Can't you feel it
My immortal homicide
Can't you make it
There is nothing left to fear
Can't you take it
The pain inside you'll hear

Hold me down, don't let me go
Take my breath and hold me close
Wait to feel the heart slow down
But you'll never beat this down

Take the rope and make a noose
Hang it tight, don't hang it loose
Pull me up and kick the stool
Assist my fall, but it's no fool

It's my immortal homicide
My own immortal homicide
This thing, it cannot die
My immortal homicide

© Gracie Madison 2008

The scoundrel experiences his actions and deeds with an emotion. It's almost spiritual in level and the sometimes ugly aftermath is never with out it's pain and even sorrow. Where as the common slimeball usually is merely following his most base, cockroach like, instincts.

With our sometimes charming, sometimes stormy Scoundrel, often it is in quest of a perpetual infatuated high. A deep longing and need for the surging wash of an emotional and sexual flooding when the dam first breaks. There is content behind his thoughts, words, and exaggerated feelings. Often our Scoundrel is a very sensitive person who experiences all of life's and love's stimulation to a heightened degree, more so than normal. He is a man who can be very loyal and devout at times and never intends the coincidental harm he ushers in. Unless that harm is to a rival, then watch out.

The lowly scumbag slimeball on the other hand is usually a chauvinistic swine who enjoys bringing pain to the women he intentional manipulates and emotionally harms, because he secretly hates all women. He is a vile character with little or no feeling or compassion. But where he lacks in humanity he makes up for with inflated ego and boasting. Mr. Slimeball's moral code looks much like a backed up and over flowing highway rest stop toilet, spewing god knows what onto a sticky and stinking grime smeared floor. He's a real piece of work. Mean, arrogant and usually somewhat stupid but clever. And man does he think he's it.

Our highly emotional Scoundrel is actually a decent person, below the faults. He is not in the same low caliber as gutter slime. Our Scoundrel has the ability to be very sensitive and fulfilling to others, even if sometimes only briefly. But no matter how long or fast the fire burns, he always gives from the soul and draws it out as well. One might say he is like the brightly flashing blast on the tip of the striking match.

I feel my head spinning around at the most random times. School starts up soon, that just makes me freak. His voice comforts me, even his words I read from emails...but he still doesn't like me. What am I looking for? Do I even like him? All I know is that, I'm interested in him, and that's how it is at the moment. I think I'm just interested with many guys right now. Whoever I meet that catches my eye interests me. I guess that's how it's meant to be. It really is how it's meant to be. To be free from ropes. Ropes of constant obsession, infatuation..."love". I surprisingly like it.

Sondre Lerche - Modern Nature

Sweet song.

Obviously, the lull is over. On both fronts. At home, the volcano burst. Again spewing molten words that scorched and burned all they touched. Very stressful, very hostile. Damaging.  She's sleeping now, and it's quiet, but I highly doubt this is over. I'll see in the morning.

It had the potential for a shitty weekend, and it looked like it would be a total wash. But then I went for a walk and along came "P." What seemed like a complete downer finished with a fabulous brown haired twist.