I have nothing to say and so much to say. I keep thinking my phone is vibrating when the cars go by on northern parkway. I keep having moments of doubt. I am exploding with pasta. The night is cold and dark and today was full of grumpalump but I love and I am loved and though love solves nothing, it makes everything more bearable.

je t’aime.

I worry that I don’t say “I love you” enough, not in a serious way, not in a way that communicates what I mean to each person when I say it. I worry about the people I love not feeling loved because I can’t get the proper words out in the proper way at the proper time. But also “I love you” doesn’t seem to be enough. How do I communicate “I really honestly think I will love you until the apocalypse, in this more-than-chocolate-milk kind of way”? How do I communicate “I love you no matter what and I’m angry because I care”? These words don’t do the feelings justice, and plain “I love you” doesn’t do it either. I don’t mind it except that I am afraid something terrible might happen and they won’t understand how I love them.

with jigsaw pieces of your past…

This is the shit.

It’s long but worth thinking about.
“…while men with high sex drives report an even more polarized pattern of attraction than most males (to women for heterosexuals and to men for homosexuals), in women the opposite is generally true: the higher the drive, the greater the attraction to both sexes, though this may not be so for lesbians.” Essentially, bisexual women may indeed be sluttier. This is, however, not because they are bisexual, but vice versa: they are bisexual because they have a higher sex drive/are sluttier. This is weird to me because it’s all the things bisexuals fight against having said to them, like “you’re only into girls so you can have more sex,” theorized by science. It’s also weird because it does make a lot of sense.

“…women are prone to lubricate, if only protectively, to hints of sex in their surroundings…” This, I have to say, probably explains a lot.

‘“Women want to be thrown up against a wall but not truly endangered. Women want a caveman and caring…’” I think the way that this is true for many women is that it is true to different extents. I want to be thrown up against a wall but not endangered (if you know me, you know that), but my definition of not endangered might involve trusting someone with a knife on my throat. Someone else’s definition of not endangered might involve trusting someone not to give her bruises.

I am too lazy and braindead to create a full discussion of this but maybe will at a later date.

analogizing.

I think pain and sex are like peanut butter and jelly. Best together. I mean, take pain, take peanut butter (this one really holds true only for me and people like me…). I am not really big on peanut butter. It’s good with bananas, sometimes apples, occasionally chocolate, even occasionally by itself. And take pain. Pain when inflicted for the fun of it by a friend or a “lover” or someone in between is excellent. Pain when you’re giggling with endorphins and adrenaline is really, honest-to-god fun. Sometimes pain is a comfort. On the other hand, some kinds of pain just HURT. Like toe-stubbing. Or papercuts. It’s very hard to relish a stubbed toe or a paper cut.
Now take jelly. It’s good. It’s good mixed into yogurt, it’s good on toast, it’s good and sweet when you stick your finger in it and lick it. Jelly is sweet and fruity and delicious. Sex is not sweet and fruity and delicious, exactly, but it is kind of awesome. [note: by sex I mean all kinds of sex, not just The Sex.]
Now take peanut butter and jelly. Think about it. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a heavenly experience. It’s savory and salty, while also being sweet. It’s soft and crunchy. It has protein and fiber (if you use whole grain bread, which really is the best way to make a pb&j) and sugar and some fat. It’s pretty much the best thing ever. They enhance each other, complement one another, bring out all the best in one another. And so it is with pain and sex!

Thus ends my metaphor.
I would really like sex.
I guess I’ll just have to eat a pb&j instead…

i don’t say amen, but today is that kind of day.

so:
…to aretha franklin and her hat
…to rev. joseph e. lowery’s benediction
…to civic poetry
…to malia getting bored and taking pictures during the invocation
…to michelle obama and her OUTFIT (what was that?)
…to obama’s nod to the nonbelievers
…to the frozen reflecting pool and the people sliding on it
…to the people who climbed the statues to be able to see
…to the beautiful clear-and-clouds sky
…to “na na na na, hey hey, goodbye”
…to even some of the things rick warren said
…to the praise song for this day
…to every hope we hold for barack hussein obama.

mildly frustrated would be putting it gently.

I woke up at 4:54 this morning. Why? Because my parents were having loud sex. While at first I was just PISSED THE FUCK OFF BECAUSE I WAS ASLEEP, DAMMIT! I then asked the world some interesting questions.
1. Why are they having sex at 4:54 a.m.? Normal people are asleep at 4:54 a.m….like ME!
2. after 18 years of having kids, how has she not learned to be QUIET?
3. how do you tell your parents “you woke me up at 5 this morning and I hate it when you have loud sex.”????
4. it would be amusing if I weren’t so angry and sleepy that my mom makes the same sounds as I do. but that’s kind of weird and creepy to think about. are sex noises encoded in the DNA?

I also have not SEEN said parents all morning. Gee, I wonder why. They are probably lying in bed, exhausted, because they were up till 5 a.m. having sex!

Also it’s snowing. Or it was. but now it’s stopped. Which also pisses me off.

I hate mondays.