The Internet is for Porn

The proverbial question in my mind today, is why do attached men that have perfectly willing partners need porn?

It's something that's never really made a lot of sense to me. So, you have a partner that's ready, willing and able pretty much 24/7, so why spend your time wanking at the computer screen? Seriously... her hands must feel better than your own. No?

Porn is something that's always sort of put me off. I know plenty of men and women that appreciate it, but it's never really done it for me. I've tried watching it on various occasions, but it always makes me laugh uncontrollably. The sounds, the positions, the people, etc.; porn just feels like I'm watching a comedy gone really, really bad. Same as hearing other people have sex. Mind you, I make plenty of my own stupid moans and whimpers during sex, but some people overdo it to the extreme.

I was in a hotel room once, and at about 1:00 am, I was awoken by the sounds of "Fuck me Jimmy!" My bed, being on the opposite wall of theirs, like something out of a bad sitcom began clinking against the wall as some woman on the other side of the wall was screaming at the top of her lungs. Seriously?! I've had some amazing sex in my life, but I think screaming at the top of your lungs is just overkill. I imagine it makes your partner feel like he's doing his job, but personally, if I were a man, I think I'd prefer the soft whimper when something actually does feel good. You never hear men going on like they're being stabbed in the gut repeatedly. Seriously, if I wasn't laughing so hard, knowing what was going on in the next room, I would've thought she was being murdered.

But yeah...my question is this. Why do men look at porn when they have a partner that can't keep her hands off of him? Maybe it's less pressure? Maybe it's less high maintenance? Maybe he'd rather concentrate on getting himself off and only himself? It's just a question. Anyone have the answer?

Fucking Weirdos...

OK. So awhile back, I got this note on my door from this little girl named Lily (age 7). It was a no smoking sign. Now, no smoking signs I can deal with. Big deal... Who says I smoke anyway? COFF!

Today, I went to the post office and was gone for maybe...hmm..20 minutes. If that, to be honest. There was no queue and I zipped in and out in no time. When I got home, I came to find a new note PINNED to my door. Now, the first thing that ran through my mind was Homer Simpson strangling little Bart, except it was my hands around little Lily's throat. But alas...nooo... On closer inspection, I realised it wasn't from Lily at all. It was poorly written and it looked a lot more like someone who was an adult tried a little too hard to make it look like it was from a child. This wasn't Lily... Nope.

The little piece of paper PINNED to my door with what looked like a little sewing pin, said "I see your knickers." Admittedly, last night I ran across the living room naked with the window open, BUT all of the lights were off and NO ONE could've POSSIBLY seen me. Also the spelling on it was terrible, which makes me worry if this is an adult. It said "I see you're nickers" Yes... I'd be embarrassed to post that on someone's front fucking door, wouldn't you?

I was going to let this go, but to be honest it's quite dodgy and quite disconcerting. I mean, who the hell is looking in my window often enough to see my knickers, anyway? And if they DID see me run across my flat at 4:00am with no clothes on, would they seriously pin a note to my door about it? I ended up phoning the police and reporting the note. So maybe that seems just a little anal, but the police found it a bit disconcerting as well. So now we wait. Hopefully no more notes will appear but the notes have been saved and I'm hoping it was just a prank by some stupid kids in the neighborhood.

Cheers!

SCG

YOU eat it!

Some people call themselves picky eaters. Some people will eat anything. I, on the other hand manage not to like anything until I play with it enough to be edible.

Examples of my pickyness. Is that even a word? Pickiness? Pickyness? Fuck it. I'm picky. Spell check doesn't like the word no matter which way I spell it. I went to lunch last week and ordered a chicken salad sandwich. Now, chicken salad is what? Chicken and mayo, right? So why do they feel the need to pile cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, sprouts, and what-ever-the-fuck else she put in there. I can't turn my head for a second without seeing a GIANT sandwich. I go to the bench to eat it and pick everything out. When I say everything, I mean I was left with nothing but a couple chunks of chicken and some mayo. Even the mayo was almost gone. So basically, I ate fucking bread for lunch.

I've gotten a little bit better over time. I used to have to have all of my food separated on the plate. If any of it was touching, I wouldn't eat it. I'd make giant food volcanoes and have them erupting mushy peas.

A list of disgusting foods.

-Mushrooms - Slimy disgusting FUNGI that taste like ass. Not that I've ever tasted ass... Or that I'll ever admit to it..

- Sprouts - This includes all brussel (spelling?!?) sprouts and bean sprouts.

- Any kind of meat that's rare, medium rare or raw. How the hell can anyone eat meat that isn't fully cooked?!? If it looks like it's bloody, keep it far away from me unless you want to see it come back up when I try to eat it.

- Leafy greens - I don't like lettuce that isn't iceberg. If it's too green, I won't touch it. I also hate broccoli, spinach and cooked green peppers but I can eat them raw.

- Fish - Just ANY kind of fish. If it looks like fish, smells like fish or tastes like fish, I won't touch it. Drown tuna in all the mayo you want. It's still fucking fish. This includes all shell fish or chicken prepared like fish. Not happening. And don't try to trick me either, because I always know.

- Any food that I haven't inspected before I eat it. That means taking it apart and putting it back together to my liking.

I do have a slightly promiscuous attitude toward food. I don't like everything, but if I DO like it, then expect to have it everyday until you find something else I like. I can live on overcooked chicken and fruit until the end of time. Oh, and snack food. Nothing beats a bag of crisps in the morning and a diet coke. Breakfast of champions.

This has been a lesson to all you parents out there. Don't let your children dictate what they will and won't eat. Force them to eat their veggies or they might just end up erupting out of Icelandic volcanoes made out of mashed potatoes and green beans.

-SCG

Fear itself....

I was sitting outside this morning, and a little guy walked by. No wait. Not a little guy. A REALLY little guy. I have never liked midgets. I don't know what scarred me to the point that if I see one, I start to sweat and have to cross the street but it's there. Call me evil, call me prejudice, I don't give a fuck! They SCARE me. Genuine fear, here.

Anyway, I just had to say that I finally looked up what the name of the phobia was clinically for someone afraid of midgets/dwarfs, and surprisingly... it was... achondroplasiaphobia . Jesus H. Christ. Achondroplasiaphobia is a really fucking long word for being afraid of something so damn small.

What are YOU afraid of?

My Preciousssss

So, those who know me might say I'm somewhat of a nerd. OK. Very much a nerd. I play a lot of video games, dress up at events for said video games, and watch shitloads of movies.

I've been known to quote movies often, painstakingly Lord of the rings. Example, while hanging with my best friend, I would quote it ALL the time. She'd say something to the effect of,"Be really careful with that, it's old." I'd get all creepy and say, "Don't worry, it's my preciousssss." Nods and laughs from her. But I realized that my friend didn't actually know what movie I've been quoting when I said, God, how crazy was Gollum, hey? Her response... "What's a Gollum?" Now what the fuck did you think I was doing when I would say things like, "It's tricksy ya hobbits"? Or someone wouldn't answer their phone and I'd say in the same creepy voice,"They is not our friennnnd." And more importantly, what the hell did you think I was doing when I walked into a room and said in a deep dark voice,"I am never late, nor am I early... I arrive precisely when I mean to" while stroking my long fake beard...

Do you just think I'm extremely fucking weird? Do you just laugh at ANY kind of weird shit that I do? Maybe I could just say something that isn't even a quote from a movie. "Oh, what a little crickily boxily, I won't break it." Would you just laugh and say I was so funny? You bitch.

And I stopped and thought, what the fuck have you all been laughing at these past few years? When I stood in doorways and said "You shall not pass!" And you'd all giggle. What were you all giggling at? When I let you borrow my necklace and you asked if I was sure, and I said,"I choose a mortal life" Why wouldn't you say something since it was such an obviously bizarre thing to say?? You fucking twat!

Anyway, sort of moving on, I thought of some quotes.

Let's see who can name these. Remember please I'm a nerd.

"I wrote you every day for a year!"
"MerMAN"
"I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse"
"I'm 16 years old and I don't need a governess"
"No one knows what it means, but it's provocative!"
"I coulda been a contender"
"I'm in a glass cage of emotion!"
"Look at this stuff, isn't it neat?"
"STELLA!"
"Say hello to my little friend"

I suppose there are some references some people wouldn't get. Like, Lord of the rings isn't a film everyone would've seen. Maybe I just need to stop quoting it or continue looking like an extremely dim and slightly insane girl...

Only sleep

I haven't slept since I got to England. Wait, correction. I sleep, just not much. I wonder how much the body can actually take before it just crashes, honestly. I get a few hours a night here and there. To fall asleep, it's green tea and a sleeping pill (or two). About 3 or 4am, I wake up and take another sleeping pill, but usually, I'm up again by about 6:00ish. I miss sleep. I used to be able to sleep until 2:00 in the afternoon if no one bugged me, but this morning I was up about 5:00am and just couldn't get back to sleep. So, I'm up.

Apparently, I suffer from something called akathisia. Which is basically like, a restless feeling that makes it hard to sit still and stay asleep through the night. I don't want to get on any medications, since my history with doctors giving me medications hasn't been the best. So, I wait. Like I said before, I know the body needs to adjust. We all change over time, and our bodies learn to get what they need. I just wish my body would catch up with my mind because I'm going slightly insane.

This song says a LOT.

I am SOOOOO......

....absolutely, positively, excruciatingly, BORED. I mean, think about it. You're home and sick... What is there to do? You have TV, but I'm sorry, daytime TV in the UK is quite SHIT. Then you have your laptop or desktop, whatever, a fucking computer, and even that doesn't seem to do the trick because you KNOW you have nothing else to do. How many times do we get wrapped up in soem stupid online game for HOURS when we have tons of stuff to do.

I'm a great procrastinator. I'm an awesome procrastinator. In fact, I did all of my packing in one day when I left NY. We're talking a whole Goddamn apartment. I don't think we can forgtet for a second that I'm female and have tons of CRAP everywhere. But try fitting all of your things from your home into two suitcases. Whatever, I'm off topic.

When I know I have something to do, I find other shit to do so that I can avoid the dreaded task at hand. But sitting here, home and sick, I can't find a damn thing to do. I've literally had to stop myself from just staring at the walls for hours at a time. I sat and watched a blue screen on tv today for about 20 minutes. And no...I'm not kidding. So if anyone still reads this fucking blog, HELP!!! Someone give me something other than something stupid like Farmville. I know some serious Farmville addicts. Oh! Plus, I'm also looking for new tunes. I need some new shit in my ipod. I listen to a little of everything so any suggestins would be great. But first thing's first... how to pass a sick day....week...month. Ech.

So, it's a new year, sorta, and I haven't blogged in God knows how long. But so much has been happening in my life that I just couldn't keep my little fingers from moving.

First off, I've made a huge move. For those of you that know this blog, if anyone is still reading it...You know I lived in NYC and I was going to school there. For those of you that have been following this blog for longer, know that I had a prescription pill issue that my doctor referred me to methadone for. I was emailed by numerous people telling me not to get on methadone, and I know now that it was probably the worst thing I've ever gotten myself into. I was still on it up until about a couple of weeks ago. I went to a clinic, spending over $10,000, to do a rapid detox. It's extremely hard to find information on this program, so I want to just let a little bit of info out. Basically, you're put under general anesthesia and completely detoxed. Then you're put in a room with a nurse under excruciating detox, for a few days. I hardly remember any of it. I was given a Naltrexone implant which is debatable. Apparently it's used to for alcoholics as well. it's supposed to block your receptors and not let your body feel any of the euphoric effects of either narcotics, or alcohol. It also blocks cigarettes I think. Or at least makes them taste like shit. So I have these 5 stitches in my abdomen which are a bitch, because of this implant. And since I've left the country, they can't even take them out for me. Yay! I get to practice being a doctor even before I've managed to reach rounds... I think it's giving me all kinds of side efffects but the doctors and nurses say that they're normal. So there's one update. Wish me luck because I still feel like shit, even if I am a little bit better day by day. Or so people keep telling me. I've also lost about 15 pounds getting off of this shit, which thank god, because I had gained so much weight and I couldn't understand why. Thanks Methadone. :)

So, back to why I initially started this post. I'm going to be in the UK for the next few months being taken care of by someone very special. Someone who has never let me down, and someone that I absolutely love dearly. He has been a good little nurse and taken care of all my pill times and writing everything down. They say in less than a month I'll be "myself" whatever myself is. I don't think I've ever been labeled as anything, nor have I felt "normal" for a pretty long time.... So, no one can blame me or say that I haven't reached out and told people what's going on in Curious World. Of course the fun part comes when I'm better, and I go exploring my surroundings. That should be fun. In this neighborhood, I have a feeling I'll have plenty to share. :)

Hi...

Hi!

Bump that, BEOTCH!

Courtesy of my favorite Polack. It couldnt have been said a better way.
Jus FIST-BUMPski!

Look Ma! I'm famous!

This evening, after not checking my blog for quite some time (sorry!), I noticed I had, literally, thousands of hits the last couple of days. Wondering why the hell so many people recently took an interest in the Curious Girl's blog, I checked my IP tracker, which I also hadn't done for QUITE some time... Anyway, long story short, I thought it was the the coolest thing that I managed to be voted one of the top 10 in the bloggers choice awards. Last time I checked, I wasn't even on the map anymore, so I want to thank any and everyone that voted for me, even though I've been an AB-SO-FUCKING-LUTELY terrible blogger lately, and for this I apologize. Since so many people showed their appreciation for my annoying, rants, raves, pathetic attempts at humor, and silly sex starved notions, I promise, I will try to be a better blogger. Between work and school, I just haven't found the time to keep up like I used to. But again, thanks everyone for making me feel special, and I shall return with the quickness!


Part two, which will be semi-quick; I had a fairly icky day today. I'm managing a bakery in Brooklyn. That's my new, crazy job now. Today, I managed to trip, fall, dropping a bottle of Snapple, and slamming down on my hands and knees cutting them both (hands and knees), up a fair amount. So, I plead the ouchies and ask for at least one more week's stay... I'm posting proof of my ouchie for anyone that thinks I'm full of shit. :( Be back soon!!!

A new Adventure in Curious Land....

"I can't believe it!" my mom was screaming. SCREAMING, I tell you. "That's so awesome! First you move away on your own, get into school, and now this! My God, S, who would've thought a year ago, I'd be hearing news like this?!?"
"I know, right?" I was BEAMING. "Ma, I'll get to buy new cute clothes and everything!"
"You know... this is huge, S...," my mother added. "It's gonna change your whole life..."
"I know!" I spouted out happily. "But you know, Ma, I think it's time. That clock was just ticking away and it felt like the time to do something about it."
"Well, you're entirely sure this is what you want, right?" she asked. "Ha ha... it's a little late to turn back now, no?" I laughed. "I took the test, even got a little pee on my hand, and, well, everything says I'm good to go."
"I can't wait to tell all of my friends, and just, oh... oh my God!" she was absolutely gushing.
"I dunno if that's such a great idea, Ma... At least not yet," I suggested. "I think we should make sure it, um, you know. Let's make sure it sticks before we tell anyone not immediate. But I guess you can tell Gab, and gramma.
"God.. They're gonna be so, so happy... To find out that you, my special little girl are gonna have,----" she paused, probably to wipe a tear of elation from her cheek---"a job!!!"

I mean hell, I couldn't believe it either. I even successfully passed the drug screening test, after spilling half of it and clumsily sopping it up off the bathroom floor. Yes, I washed my hands. It was a hell of a relief really. Because the last time I held a steady job was like, ages ago, and I had this stupid fucking boss, who would utter things like, "Make that more better," "irregardless" and my favorite, "for all intensive purposes" which for an average boss would've been fine, but this guy was an attorney, and it was a bit unsettling.

So, I'm going to try to take a little bit of time this evening to write a little bit about this new experience I'm embarking on, but for now, as usual, I'm fucking late. Great way to start the day.

-SCG

Ready or not, here I cum.

Good morning. Salutations, and all that good shit. I have to get this off of my chest while it's still somewhat fresh on my mind, because I think of blog ideas all the fucking time and I manage to either forget about them or lose the 'umph' to write about them once I get home or finally get time to sit at my computer.

Last night, I went on this bizarre cleaning kick at about 1:00am (which is WAY past my bedtime since I get up at 5:30-6:00 every morning to make sure I get to class on time). I must've been delirious or something, because I cleaned my apartment, top to bottom, inside out. I ended up collapsing about about 2:00 (which goes to show you how big my apartment is, as well as how well I clean) and I was seriously, out. I don't think I've ever melted into bed the way I did last night. This isn't what I wanted to write about. See what happens when you try to blog at 6:00am? SO, after my cleaning kick and passing out into a heavenly slumber, I had some of the most a-fucking-mazing sex dreams Ive has since I was 14. Remember pre-teen and early teen year sex dreams? The ones where you actually woke up with your hand between your legs and that nervous feeling that you were going to sit up and your mother would be walking through the door? "Maaaaaaaaaaaa!" Yeah... So I had those last night. Lots of them. Over and over and over again... I was wrenching and twisting and turning and fighting with my sheets all night long. I sleep with about 5 stuffed animals, and by the end of the evening, I only had 2 left on the bed. Even Eyyore jumped ship and I've been molesting Eeyore in my sleep since I was just a wee one. Hot, dirty, unadulterated, (and monogomous believe it or not) fun. (You would think that I'd actually cheat in a dream, but nope.)

Anyway, when I woke up this morning... no... wait... I'm getting ahead of myself here. The final dream I had was extremely vivid. Im sure if I see my neighbors or the woman upstairs, this morning, I'm gonna get some pretty strange looks... It was hot. I was tossed and slammed and flipped and poked and prodded... and, oh my... Where was I? Ah yes... In the dream, I was in a hotel with my "long distance boyfriend". (I'll be amazed if I don't get slammed by the blog of unnecesary quotation marks after this post) And you know how it is. You don't see each other for months, so when you finally do, before you can even have a decent conversation, you have to rip each other's clothes off and at least manage a quickie, or you can't even concentrate on what you're going to do during your visit. So, in the dream, we managed a quickie, that didn't end up being quite so quick, and afterwards, (still dreaming) I got up, walked to the kitchen, (in the dream it was actually my kitchen), drank down a glass of water, walked past the bed, leaned over, clad in nothing but a tee shirt, and kissed him on his sleeping forehead, and walked to the bathroom. I know that some of you're wondering what the hell I'm going on about, but be patient, I'm getting there! I pulled up my tee shirt, sat on the toilet to pee, closed my eyes, and started to fall asleep in my dream. Is that even possible? I have a feeling some of you know where this is going... I'm falling asleep and in the dream, I begin to pee. A warm, relaxing pee, that was both calming and, wait... Huh? Waiiit! Fuck!! Im awake!!! AHHH! I'm peeing!!!! I'm peeing!!! No, no, no, no, no!! I jump up, still peeing, dripping and slipping across the bedroom floor and stumbling to the bathroom, pulling off my little red boyshorts and still half alseep, manage to get them off, (almost... they were dangling from my left foot) trailing pee all over my freshly cleaned apartment floor. I sat on the toilet, dropped my now soaked panties to the floor and peeled my sock off. One wet, sloppy heap on the bathroom floor. Lovely. I shook my head and got up. Washed my hands and arms up to my elbows, walked back to my bed, and felt the sheets, and they were dry. I guess I'd managed to jump up and pee across the bedroom floor insead of on my new matress. I pulled the sheets off anway, dropped them on the floor, and hopped in the shower. I have to say... After such a long crazy night of sex, I am so, so, so tired today. I wonder how I'm going to manage to stay awake in class. I've nodded off twice during this last paragraph, and I know I'm gonna be just a little late for Physics. No more late night snacks before bed.

The City So nice, They Named it Twice!

It's been so long since I've posted... What's happening to me?

I've finally settled after my crazy move to New York, and I should be up and running (not with those tits) soon. I miss you guys!

~~Simply Curious Girl~~

Not a Fucking Chance in Hell

Ever watch late night tv? I end up watching the shit, all the time. Well, not all the time, but often enough. I'm one of those people fortunate enough to be plagued with insomnia if I don't get sex before bed. Since I haven't had sex before bed in AGES, and I probably won't have sex before bed for quite awhile, I have this strange feeling I'm going to remain an insomniac. This isn't going to some whiny post about how tired I am, getting u at 5:30 every morning when I don't get to sleep until close to 3:00. Shutup. It's also not going to be a post about not taking Ambien anymore, because it's been proven to cause memory loss and I'm too young to start looking for my long lost dead dog from childhood. In the woods. In the middle of the night. In my underwear... Uch. Shake it off.... This post is going to be about the shit, yes, shit, that they put on late night tv, last night. Last night, I was watching tv, at about 2:00 am when I was almost asleep. Almost... And then I saw it. This invention... This stupid. *blink* Silent invention.

So, don't ask me why I was watching it to begin with... But... Uh... I was. I don't particularly remember what the show I was watching initially was about, but there came a point in the show where they began to discuss the advances of bathroom commodities. I swear I wanted to switch this shit of immediately, just being tortured by the idea! Not only that, I also had to take a few deep breaths and vowed, “I will never let this happen to my bathroom!” What was it you wonder? It was the advent of a silent bathroom ventilation fan. I mean, what the flying fuck? Why would anyone in their right state of mind want to do that? OK, I understand some fans are way too loud, but for the most part they aren’t. However, the pivotal question is why do I like them?

Though there are many reasons, but the first and foremost of them all is that the vent fan gives you that aural veil of privacy. It may not be required as much at your own place, but when you are visiting someone else’s house it's surely a weapon of choice. Before you go “Ewwwww! Why is fuck is this crazy bitch mentioning all this?” Let me clarify that I am not really concerned with what you have to do once you close the door, rather what someone on the other side of the door might try to do. I am not just talking about those shit head little kids, but adults too!
Some... Hmph... more like A LOT! - people love to find out what you were doing in the privacy of that little 4-by-6 room. You know, when you come out they invariably ask:

“Oh, you had to go pee, eh?”
“That milk not settling well with you...?”
“Took you a long enough time to brush. Sure that's all you were doing?”
"Use enough water?”
"I hope you used the air freshener, girl... ”

Assuming that you went (ahem), even though the real reason may be that you just wanted to find some reprieve from this demonic idiot that you're regretting spending your time with to begin with!

I mean, don’t these people have ‘better’ things to do than to find out what a person went to the fucking bathroom for? On top of that, some of these furtado people will go as far as ‘casually’ eavesdropping on you while you go about doing your business in there. OK. So that hasn't happened more than once, but still, people can be fucking weird!

Well, while you can’t really stop these dingos from asking all those questions (albeit there are a bajillion comebacks that one can practice on them - Heee yaa!), their eavesdropping portion can surely be neutralized by turning on none other than TA-DA! ‘The (not fucking silent) Ventilation Fan!’ Ah Ha! I bet it’s annoying as hell to these intrusive druids when they sneak up next to the door only to hear –

A Burrrrrrrrrrr here
And a Burrrrrrrrrrr Burrrrrrrrrrr there
Here a Burrrrrrrrrrr
There a Burrrrrrrrrrr
Everywhere a Burrrrrrrrrrr Burrrrrrrrrrr

With the friendly neighborhood ventilation fan, you can rest assured that you have freedom of expression. Not only that, you can hone your all important singing capabilities in the hot hot shower for your all important soon-to-be-unleashed Best-Rock-Star-of-All-Time career, American Idol tryouts, singing to Paula, Randy and Simon, without any dumb nut singing along on the other side of the fucking partition. After all, who needs a back up singer when you ‘magically’ acquire the capability to sing for both in the shower?


And of course, how in the WORLD can I forget the synchronized dance number you have been practicing for the video of your number 1 single? Yep, the one that’ll remain on top of the VH1, MTV AND 'Top of the Pops' charts for 20 consecutive weeks? I mean, you don’t want the audial-tom to giggle his/her butt off when you accidentally slip in the bathtub while pulling those unbelievable moves, do you? Ummmm... No!

So faithful readers and others that I don't know but still should benefit from this important piece of information, I suggest that we boycott this new totally worthless invention known to every day dreamers as the ‘noiseless ventilation fan’ and continue to ignore it (it’s expensive as shit anyway) to keep the boat of the loud-ass, audible ventilation fan afloat!

Miss Independent

OK. Let me start this post off by saying over the past few months (the ones that I actually posted), my blog went from fun/funny, posts, to a little bit more personal and sappy. Sometimes I need the outlet to vent and get some feedback on my complicated and sometimes extremely overwhelming life. This is the last 'personal' post I think I'm going to write for some time. Not at all because it's not what does or does not sell, but because I actually have my drive to write back, and while I was on my Saturday morning jog this morning, my mind was racing with things to write about. I really missed the flowing words that used to come so naturally to me.

I've always considered myself a "Miss Independent". If you don't understand what I mean, exactly by that, I'll explain. In my humble opinion, Miss Independent is the type of woman that feels like she can get by just fine on her own. I've never really needed a best friend or a man to complete me, or make me feel like my opinions meant something. I don't need backup when I believe in something and I don't need reassurance that I'm making the right decision. I do often struggle with being a more independent-type-woman, because it means staying pretty busy. Very busy, actually.

Human nature is wanting some kind of companionship. Human nature is calling someone when you're excited about something or proud of an achievement or accomplishment. This is no way saying that I have no friends, at all. I do have plenty of friends, but the amount of close, personal friends are extremely few and far between. I have a feeling that this stems from my childhood. This is a subject I've touched on before, so it doesn't need much explaining. If you haven't been reading this blog for a long time, or you have, but you overlooked this post, you should read it to get an idea. It explains a hell of a lot about the person that is, Simply Curious Girl.

It's obvious that I don't often open my heart and let someone in. When I do though, I do it wholeheartedly. Its not easy to do, and it leaves me vulnerable to all kinds of pain and heartache. The last three, (and only three) times that I've done it, I've made it very clear before I did, that I'm a very sensitive person. I'm the type of person that needs defending because I can't fight. I'm the type of person that would rather cower and cry than get in someone's face or scream and fight. So this time has been no different. The day I realized I was open and my heart was exposed, I made it advertently clear what kind of woman I am because I didn't want to get hurt. I don't want to hurt... Who wants to hurt?!?!

I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this post, because I can't really explain to myself, let alone anyone else, what's going on in my situation, right now. But I do want to say that my heart has taken a bit of a strike and I just need a little bit of comfort. Last night, I curled up in the fetal position, in bed and cried like I haven't cried in quite some time. My stuffed Eeyore comforted me like he used to when I was a little girl, and I just sobbed until I could sob no more. This morning my eyes are nice and puffy and I'm still dragging a little. OK. A lot... Why do I feel like my world is crashing down around me, and will it go away?

Before I end this post on a sad, shitty note, I really wanted to thank the people that have stood by this blog and stood by me, even through all that time that I was gone. The emails and IMs that I've gotten mean a lot more to me than I let on. So, thank you, everyone. I do accept checks and money orders if you're feeling generous. Oh, and of course PayPal.

Weary, so underrate my jury
fear me, I push pencil fury
standing over you like a mirage
hazard warning
safe sabotage

I underrated my rating
left the court debating
oh sorry baby, were you waiting?
in the clear but still fading

love is real man
so what if the ocean's rocks miss you
and in the beginning, it was actually pretty easy to resist you
but I had to eat the bug that bit you

I'm sitting under you
like a fascade
safe sabotage

tired of not running
ice cream sundaes
with you I actually love Mondays
and face a lot of mundane days
like a crossroad thats only one-way

Safe sabotage...


I generally post once or twice a week when I'm regularly posting, so next week back my regularly scheduled programing. I didn't realize how much I missed my blog until I started typing. I'm most definitely back!!

Come out, come out, wherever you are...

Hey, guess what?

I'm back.

I'm going out of town for a couple of days, in which time I PROMISE I'll work on a post and get my blog up and running again.

I'm pretty sure you've all gone away, but just in case anyone is still checking this page, I'm not dead, and the big bad California fires didn't get me, although they were pretty fucking close. Another story for another time. Yeah, so, um, I have to do a short little recap post to let people know where I've been hiding... or not. In any case, I am actually, truly, promise, that I'm back!

Infinite X's and O's,

SCG

I'm going Insane...

So, I have a twitchy eye.. Ever had one of those? It's like, you feel it. You know the thing is fucking twitching, but no one else notices it? Fuck.

So anyway, it went away, but now it's back. It's back and it's mad. It wants to be heard. It wants to be seen. It used to be that other people wouldn't be able to see it if I forced them to stare at my head, but now you can see it. At least, I can see it. I can really notice it. It looks like my eye wants to leave my face, or something! Needless to say, a few cups of coffee in me and my twitch, I've turned into South Park's Tweek.

It's my right eye. The twitch is in the upper eyelid, and it appears the twitch will go away only when I'm talking about, worrying about, addressing or thinking about the twitch. I searched the Internet and found a range of solutions. Ones that started with "It's perfectly normal," to "...Unless it's a brain tumor." Blink. Blink. A brain tumor.
The Web doctors seem to all agree that it's caused by caffeine, lack of sleep or stress. God, you've just gotta love the internet.

Well, I guess I'm just living with a twitchy right eye for the rest of my life, as I don't see how I'm going to get rid of one of those three things. I mean, come on people, I gave up smoking. I'm sure as hell not giving up my couple cups of coffee a day. I don't even drink soda that often. I drink like, a liter and a half of water a day. I exercise. I try to sleep six to seven hours a night. I try. In high school and my first year of college, I only slept four hours a night (if that). Hell, a few months ago, I was only sleeping about five a night (if that). I'm sleeping more than I've ever slept before.

Check it: I nap. Nap like I'm fifty. Nap like, "Shit, grocery shopping was so exhausting. Where's my pillow?"

I keep rubbing my eye, hoping that a little pressure or a tiny massage will help. I tried not drinking coffee, drinking more coffee, sleeping until eleven in the morning, and a mask. I'm still twitchy.

Then I worried that I was really sick, and that the headaches I get on my left side aren't from stress or some shit, but from the tumor I have in my head. I worry that I caused this by letting that stylist pluck my eyebrows for the past 3 years. I worry that it's because I'm worried about money, about traveling, about moving, about paying all of my bills. I worry that it's because I'm behind in my work, wishing I could just sit still and read a good novel.

(Sidenote: all I want to do is sit and read this novel I have, by the way. It's by one of my favorite authors and I think it's terrible I haven't been able to read it yet. But, to be honest, I bought it over three weeks ago. Then I read what it was about, and I'm so scared by the concept of the book, combined with my lingering feelings and shivers I got from the last one, that I talked myself out of reading it for the time being. I got too scared to read the book. How sad is that? I had to read a breezy book, to work up my nerve.)

Then I worry that I'm worrying too much and then my eye starts to twitch. Again. Actually, it was only twitching when I left the house. When I met with someone. Now it's just twitching all the time. Today I think it twitched more than it didn't twitch. I hate this. I hate having to feel it twitch all day. Nobody sees it, at all. Nobody notices it, at all. But the fact of the matter is, that I know that it's there. I know I'm twitching. It makes me feel all full of anxiety, the soles of my feet twitch, I can see dark circles under my eyes (and I've never, ever had those before), and I start to worry that every single thing that happens to me is another sign that I'm sick and dying. OK. That's exaggerating just a tad...but STILL!

Trying to avoid anxiety gives me more anxiety than anything else. Now the twitch is winning, you see? It's taking control, I tell you! It's telling me to think about it all the time. It's making me think that something's wrong with me, which only makes me feel worse, which only encourages the twitch to keep on dancing. ....breathe....

'Kay. I guess that's all I have to say, tonight. I'll pop back in, soon with a more, um, conventional, Simply Curious, post.

I'm considering the big move to Word Press. I bought myself the domain name, sometime ago, and I'm slowly trying to figure it out. What do people think? Blogger is starting to really piss me off, and it's sure as hell not helping my fucking twitchy eye!

Another year older, another year wider? Or wait. Wiser, I think...

Once upon a time, long, long ago, in the far away land of California, this woman met this man and got married. So then they decided (hopefully after getting married) to have a few kids! Hey, guess what! I happened to be one of them! Not the first one though... The first kid is sorta like the first pancake, anyway. It never quite comes out right...

Yeah, yeah. Sure enough, a birthday doth approach. On the wonderful day.. of the first of May.. I was born.. on a pile of hay. OK. That's bullshit. I was born in Kaiser hospital sometime in the middle of the night, I think. I asked my Mom and she doesn't remember. Must've been one special night, huh? Or day? Guess I'll never know. I'd like to think it was in the middle of the night and the hospital drugged her up so much that she couldn't possibly remember the time. It would also explain a hell of a lot of my problems (if you know what I mean...).

Alright. Thanks Mom for birthing me. Thanks world, for putting up with me. I'm shamelessly asking for people to wish me lots and lots of happy birthdays and to please just make my fucking day, because I absolutely LOVE birthdays. I'm not one of the people that hates them because I'm a year older. I really just love my birthday.

So, I would rather not mention how old I'm gonna be, but I'm old enough to drink, so that's all that matters. Oh, and if you paid attention to the little bogus hay poem, you'd know that it's not tonight, but by the time some of you read this, it'll probably be Thursday the 1st, or even later, so I figured posting it tonight was a good plan.

P.S. For anyone that would like to send gifts, feel free to email me and I'll give you an address where you can send expensive gifts, cards with cash, balloons, flowers, etc. I absolutely love getting presents. Doesn't everyone?

P.P.S. Admit it. I was one CUTE little girl. And I don't care if you think I'm a bitch for cutting one of my sisters out of the picture. It's my damn birthday.

Girls just wanna be Mean

Women are weird.

There. I said it. Men are weird, too, but women are really fucking weird. That's been my big revelation over the past couple of months. First off, last month I went to a babyshower. So, the shower is over and as usual, I was the "odd girl out," what with being the only person there not married, getting married, or pregnant...I kept running into the other room, slamming the door and chanting:

I don't want babies yet. I don't want to get pregnant yet.

I don't want babies yet. I don't want to get pregnant yet.

Those women were trying to trick my fucking ovaries. I could feel them tugging with every baby picture or flash of diamond. There's something about showers that makes a single girl look like Pippi Longstocking. "Oh, she just doesn't understand, that poor, poor girl."

The conversation was about people I didn't know, things I hadn't experienced, and babies that weren't mine. Not that I wasn't interested, but I just didn't know how to react. Everyone would laugh at the secret girl joke. Damn, I never paid my dues to that club.

Then I'm in a restaurant the other night, and I walk into the bathroom to see one girl on her hands and knees talking to the other girl in the stall. They are talking to each other about how long it's taking the one girl to pee, while the other is screeching, "You saw my panties! You saw my panties!" Then the rest of their friends come into the bathroom and start talking about whether or not one should wear her shirt tucked in (prude) or out (slutty). They decide that the point is moot anyway, because she's spilled ketchup on herself and she's just gonna look like a fat slob no matter how she does it.

Then my new issue of a magazine that shall remain unnamed came in the mail. The "Girlfriends Issue." In it, they discuss the many reasons that no guy could ever take the place of a good woman in your life. I was groaning before I opened the page.

I've never kept a real girlfriend. Ever. They always leave. They stop calling, they accuse me of things I didn't do. They all break my heart.

I've moved around a lot growing up and I never had a solid group of friends. I never had "girlfriends" growing up for very long because I'd leave eventually, and we always lost touch. But the friends I've stayed in contact with over the years? All boys. The boys always seem to call me or write me or ask how my family is doing. The girls? Well, many of them went on to date whoever it was I was dating before I moved, or they thought that I was really trying to date their boyfriend, or they listened to some gossip that told them I was lying about something.

I've never had that kind of treatment from a boy. I've never had to say, "And you believed her?" after a three month cold shoulder. Because they ask me right away instead of it festering.

I've always marveled at how men relate to each other. A bunch of men who have never met before will get together on a basketball court and play full contact ball. They have no idea what the other person's history is or if they are fair or a good player, but they all play together, patting each other on the ass after a good play, arguing over fouls, but generally getting along pretty well.

Try putting a bunch of strange women together someplace. Take the doctor's office, the bus, a store. Do we instantly bond? No! We stay to ourselves! We don't want to bother anyone, and if someone starts talking to us, we wonder what this "crazy woman" wants or why the hell she's talking to us since we don't know her. We aren't open from the beginning. We let people in gradually, because we're concerned about getting hurt. I really do wish that women had that openness that men have, because then maybe I'd understand them more. I'd understand that need to share each other's thoughts in a bathroom stall. I'd know why women whisper at each other and stare at me if I'm talking to a "male" friend.

When I was a kid, my best friends were always boys and it was never a problem until I was eight, and my best friends D and R, used to come over after school to play with me or go swimming. I remember my neighbor freaking out that we were home alone in our swim suits. I never thought of D or R in any other way than just friends, (hell, I was invited to their weddings) and it had never occurred to me that he could be a boyfriend, because I wasn't thinking about boys in that way. But then we started getting teased by students and teachers and parents that we were boyfriends and girlfriends, and we got so mad at the label that we drifted apart when we were children. (confession: I drifted away. I was embarrassed. I just wanted my friends back and now I had all these rules and we weren't supposed to hang out together if no one was home and it was only because they were boys. Anyway, I'm sorry, D and R, wherever you are right now.

I've never considered myself a threat to other women, but I've often been treated as such. Being "one of the guys" my whole life has made things very interesting. I am always included in "guy talk," but for a while that made me "like a girl," but not quite. I could never get the object of my crush to stop looking at the cheerleader and see that the girl giving him so much advice was totally in love with him for who he was and was female to boot. I'm also a dork and a nerd, and extremely weird, but that's another post for another time...

As I got older, being "one of the guys" meant that women didn't trust me. Would I tell the guys what they talked about? Was I a spy? Or the very worst-- was I actually just trying to steal their men? All three, completely ridiculous notions, but things I have been told as I ask another woman who used to be my friend why she doesn't call anymore.

I've also noticed that being a "cool chick" to guys makes you a weak link in girl cliques. They have tighter bonds because they are united in trying to understand men, and since I hang out with men regularly, I was usually the last asked to tag along to shop or see a movie. I missed out on pining for men with women and consoling over Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookie ice cream. Don't think I don't miss the friendship of a woman, but I resent the fact that women seem to think that a man could never be the best friend in your life. My closest, closest friends my entire life have been men.

I once had a man tell me that every man that I think is my friend is just telling me what I want to hear to get me into bed. The whole "When Harry Met Sally" thing. I rolled my eyes to that (but inside become terribly paranoid that I'm fooling myself about everything, everything, everything) and told the guy that at the time no one had broken my hymen yet, and I wasn't doing anything to make them think that by watching MTV on the phone with me late at night was the best way to between my legs. It's been told to me numerous times since then, by numerous other men that were interested in me...

But I guess that's it, isn't it? Trust. Who do we trust to be our "Best Friend." The title passed around so often when we were younger, with some girls wearing three necklaces that said "Be Fri" or "Est Ends" and nineteen beaded safety pins on her shoelace. But as we get older, the name becomes more sacred, and we start looking at the Best Friend in a very Survival of the Fittest sort of way. We start testing each other. We start trying to figure out what she really meant when she said that thing about our hair. We get paranoid.

Because we are afraid of getting hurt. And with a male best friend, who may even be your boyfriend, those stakes are incredibly high. It's safer to have a girl as your best friend. But it sure is a blast to have a guy.

Sure, it's been harder having boys for best friends because inevitably they have guy friends who don't want a girl hanging around on some nights, and you get shuffled to the guys' girlfriends, who you don't know very well and have nothing in common with and you look like Wednesday Addams to them, but it's always been worth it. I don't have to wait six days to call a boy, and if he calls me on Thursday to see if I want to do something on Saturday, you bet your ass I'm going. Fuck the rules. I am my own girl...

But seriously, if someone could explain women to me, I'd really appreciate it. I'd just like to feel good about myself after a conversation with a bunch of women. Why do they like "America's Next Top Model?" What's the big deal about Matt Damon? Why do they want to know about my yeast infections? Why do they talk to me when I'm peeing? Why do they stare? Why do they stare? Why do they stare?

I know.

ok. On top of this very long, probably extremely boring post. I'm sad. I'm really, very sad. If anyone can say something to me to brighten my night, day, week, month....I'd really appreciate it. I'm having a very hard time today, that's seeping into tonight, and I'll probably wake up even more upset tomorrow because I'm about to go crawl into bed, mad, sad, angry, hurt, scared, and probably all kinds of other emotions; even though they say you should never go to bed like this...I am. I'd just rather be sleeping right now.