FEARFUL THOUGHT OF THE MORNING: IS LOVE A FARCE?

I went to the chiropractor once and he explained to me the phenomenon of tickling. Being tickled is actually an extremely uncomfortable experience that raises anxiety in a human being, but the brain doesn't quite know how to classify the signals it creates. It recognizes that the signals it receives don't exactly fit into the "pain," category so it assigns a very ambivalent "pleasure" even though instinctually, when a person is tickled, her instinctual body responses are to get away from the stimuli.

I wonder if being in love is a similar phenomenon. Because, as I've realized, to truly love is to be selfless. You have no control when you're in love. You're just completely open and you'll give the other person anything. But is anyone really happy that way? Because that's what love is, and if you truly know what it means to love, then you will know what it means to give without necessarily receiving back. I think the people who are actually happy are those who love half-assed. They think they love, but really, they maintain some control and are monitoring what they receive back. They don't completely give of themselves, and therefore, they have everything to gain and not much to lose. I think we've all been led to believe that love is bliss, but love is actually somewhat uncomfortable. But we strive for it, and want it so badly when in truth, I don't think anyone who gives 100% is truly happy. They're just saints.

So in truth, maybe love is like being tickled. We attach it to feelings of joy when in fact, it doesn't exactly make us very comfortable or happy. Maybe we should all stick with infatuation and pretend love. It's a lot safer and a happier experience.

Love is weird. Do we truly love anything or anyone? What is the difference between infatuation and love? Love is selfless. Infatuation is selfish. That's a great definition. But it's all relative to how we each define it. How much you love and how you show it is a sign of your individuality. No one else will ever be the same. And if you expect the same form and level of expression, you're a narcissist and will never be happy with another human being.

Dating a narcissist is the most unfulfilling experience you can have. Because they don't have room in their hearts for anyone but themselves. And what they give you, is actually more about the fact that THEY are giving it to you, than an actual act of kindness, giving and selflessness (sacrifice). Someone once described the Narcissist's Dance to me. First they put you on a pedestal and worship you. And then when they find out that you don't fit their EXACT idea of PERFECTION, they knock you down, shatter you, and do an angry tantrum dance as they smash all your broken pieces. This describes what a narcissist once did to me. And I will hate him forever.

My advice for anyone I love would be: never be with someone who gives less than what you give. Because I will guarantee that you will never be happy.

I think good people who truly know what love means are always going to be unhappy because there just aren't enough people who understand what love truly means.

Words look funny if you look at them long enough. So do people. Have you ever stared into someone else's eyes for a really long time? It's interesting. I find that I'm always looking into people's eyes when I talk to them. And afterwards, I sometimes forget what they look like, or can't conjure up their entire face in my mind. It's more prevalent the closer I am to the person. Like I can never remember what the person that I like or am dating looks like. But I know what's in their eyes and behind them. It's a little bit disturbing. I should start taking drugs so I at least have an excuse for my weirdness.

Well, first I would say "come again." But then I would laugh because I said, "come."

(Peter, Family Guy)

Your Honor:

so i was sitting in a pink ford focus on the way to the happiest little gay bar in town with my peppy blonde ex-cheerleader not-really friend, kerri at the wheel. the speakers throbbed sugar ray track three on repeat as her mouth went on and on about how: everywhere she goes, hotties (aka "hot men") are always giving her the look (hungry) and asking her out and she just doesn't know what to do about it since *sigh* she's been dating nonstop since, like, forever and she just feels like she wants to take some time off and, you know, find herself. being that i'm going through a six-month (plus or minus two years) dry spell with the last recorded stir of sexual subactivity ending in the theft of my three favorite pairs of black nylons and a polite twelve-page letter detailing my physical flaws, i did what (at the time) the situation naturally seemed to call for.

i backhanded her.

What is it about being with you that makes me feel like I'm collapsing from the inside out?

How is it that I can feel lonelier when I'm around people, to the point that the only way that I can feel better is to go off and be alone?

I was in such a funk today. I woke up and felt so lonely. The world suddenly felt so big, and somehow, made me feel hollow and empty. Like I was raining on the inside. I'm wondering if I expect too much from the world and that no matter what, my existence will always involve disappointment. In a way, I feel like I'm emotionally high-maintenance but I don't know if there are people out there in the world who can give me all the affection and care that I need. I'm such a disgusting puppy. Sometimes I wonder if everyone feels this way but just doesn't admit it. Yes, I have cried myself to sleep in the past. There. I admitted it.

I sent out an email to Maryland Brian, the guy I was in love with in college but could not get it together for. A part of me has never let him go because he's such a good guy. He's married now. But I think I still hang on to it because I cared about him then completely went out of my way to destroy it. It doesn't matter whether there was anything there, if it would have worked, etc. I don't want anything romantic with him; I just have good associations with him because he's such an upstanding guy. The biggest thing is that I think I still feel horrified about what I will do to keep something from working. Something that might feel good to me. For someone who understands people so well objectively, I have some serious issues about relating to people.

I've realized that I can't deal with disappointment. I HATE it when people say they'll do something or go somewhere with me, and then I get my hopes up, but then they cancel for no good reason (ie they didn't feel like going anymore). I get so hurt and angry because it was stupid of me to get my hopes up and I feel like people really don't care about me. You have to realize that I don't talk about these things to anyone so most people probably don't realize what a big baby I am. But it hurts and I never tell people because I'm embarrassed about it and I think it's disgusting and needy. And then I don't want them to realize that these things can hurt me, or that I care. Then I decide that I don't want to be around people anymore because it only leads to disappointment. And I go about withdrawing like crazy. What the fuck is wrong with me.

I think I need to be alone for a little while. I know this is part of my reject-others-so-they'll-reject-you-and-you'll-never-get-hurt-again thing, but right now, I just need to be alone.

There are no words to describe how angry I am right now. None whatsoever.

I just got back from my cousin Albert's wedding. It was great...the whole thing was beautiful (and expensive!) but everyone had a blast. It was kind of scary though, since Al is only about 6 months older than me and now he's like, an adult and everything. I think I just like to pretend that I'm mature without any intention of actually ever becoming a "grown-up." "Grown-up" is synonymous to "Grown-old" for me. But for all my talk about being afraid of commitment and never wanting to get married, maybe it's all a smokescreen. L-Dogg once said that it's the people who speak the loudest about never wanting to get married who are the ones who want to get married the most. My dad, in a drunken state, declared to everyone that I'm next. I think he's trying to not so subtly kick me out of the nest.

Lauren is the funniest person I know. We were talking today about hypothetical ways that men can blunder their declarations of love.

Julia: What about, "I think I love you when I'm drunk?"

Lauren: Yeah, tell him to go ahead and write that in the vows.

So in tribute to spring love and the fact that both Lauren and I will be attending weddings tomorrow, here are my hypothetical wedding vows, if I were to marry a hypothetical man named...let's say, Toto.

Toto...since I met you, I've seen more colors in the universe than I previously thought existed. And I'm not just talking about the crazy colors in my morning phlegm, which as Dr. Grendal told me are just leftovers of the pixie sticks I used to snort in high school. And neither am I talking about the variety of pigments in my urine. Who knew the clap could be so tenacious? No, Toto, I'm talking about the the shades of sunset over the gentle ocean horizon, the oranges, golds and reds of leaves swirling in the fall, and the exploding stars before my eyes that time you slammed me in the head with our brand new fondue pot when I flipped your mother the bird for saying that my tube top made me look like a whore (good thing the pot was still in the Target bag...otherwise I suspect it might have left a nasty scar). Yes, that tube top did make me look like a whore, but your mother is honestly a fucking cunt (sorry, Mrs. G). Anyway, as I was saying, dearest Toto, I can not imagine my life without you, your sweet caresses and your tender declarations of "Get me my fuckin' Pabst Blue Ribbon outta the cooler bitch and don't let me catch you outta the fuckin' kitchen again. Don't make me use my belt!"

[Note to Self: Self, do a dramatic pause here, as you are bound to be overwhelmed by your love and too choked up to speak for up to three minutes].

After our first date, I knew that you were the kind of person that I wanted to be with forever. Maybe it was because you bought me dinner at the Sizzler before doing me in the back of your El Camino. Maybe it was because you slowed to a considerate 12 miles per hour when you nudged me out of your car in front of my house. Maybe it's because you always stand up for me in front of your friends. That day when you told Davey Boy after he caught us banging in the bathroom at the bowling alley, "Yeah, she's a ho, but she's my ho," I would have cried tears of joy if I hadn't just accidentally flushed my thong down the toilet.

Toto, you are my everything--my sun, my moon, and my retarded baby's daddy. I love you and hope you'll stick around even after the baby's born.

That Garbage song, "Queer" makes me feel soooo diiiiiiiiiiiiiiirty...

I've realized that I have a speech impediment. I don't seem to enunciate the tail end of my words very well sometimes. I normally don't care because, hey, my first language was broken English. But it's become a problem with the word, "Peanuts."

For example:

I was on a road trip with two friends. We were in a gas station convenience store and out of sheer boredom, I pointed to a bag of circus peanuts and say, "Hey! Circus peanuts!" They both turn around like, "WHAT???" Like I had just said, "Corey Feldman is my Lord and Savior. And by the way, I too, suck dick for crack." And I'm like, "circus peanuts." Apparently, they and every one else in the vicinity had thought I said circus penis. Given that statement, I wonder what the hell they thought I was pointing at (hey look! A circus penis! It's doing all kinds of jumps and tumbles in that guy's pants!)

A few nights ago, I was telling Muskrat about what it means to have an allergy to peanuts and she thought I said, allergy to penis. Of course, several softball/lesbian jokes emerged and wackiness ensued. But seriously. There's no way around that word because I can't say it right.

Today I talked to my friend Sarah (Muskrat) from back in the day. We go all the way back to junior high when we used to play softball together. She asked me, Remember when we used to put on short shorts and get all dirty? No Sarah, I don't. I have to go now. I think I hear people screaming, "Lesbo!" and throwing rocks at my window.

But seriously, I love Muskrat. I have always had a touch of Muskrat Love. But she moved all the way to Florida and she's still there. She's one of those people who always laughs at my jokes and I really appreciate that. And she calls me Shih Shih which means "pee pee" in Chinese and you can't beat that.

This was a transcript of an IM session that gave birth to a movie idea. The topic beforehand was about a sexy guy.

Me: will there be imminent lovemaking?
LaurenAHooch: how could he resist my charms..
Me: that's what i'm talkin bout
LaurenAHooch: imminent..i like that...sounds like some sort of plague or something
Me: the Black Imminent Lovemaking Plague of 2003
Me: oooh...how so many succumbed!!
LaurenAHooch: you are making me crack up here
Me: we should write a script about it
Me: it would actually make a great porn movie
Me: the country shuts down as people are self-quarantined in their bedrooms with the black imminent lovemaking plague
LaurenAHooch: sign me up for service
Me: it opens with a woman, her clothes in tatters as she just barely escapes a frenzied mob of men showing symptoms of the plague, screaming into the camera, what about the children?!?!
LaurenAHooch: im ready to be all that i can be
Me: and then someone points to a writhing pile of flesh and appendages and says, they're in there!
Me: it's sick but true
Me: it's a work of non-fiction
LaurenAHooch: is this still a porn? needs to be more sex
Me: it is more sex!
Me: it's one big orgy that spills out into the streets!
Me: they keep bringing in the national guard but they too succumb to the plague
LaurenAHooch: ohhhhhhh......im liking the sound of this one
Me: mmmm...men in uniforms
LaurenAHooch: who would play the lead...
Me: why we would co-lead, of course!
LaurenAHooch: that's what im talkin about
Me: we'll be the people who are originally infected with the plague on a trip to amsterdam after getting free tickets to a suspicious yet deliciously raunchy show in the backroom of some seedy hostel
LaurenAHooch: more...more
Me: another aspect of the plague is that people turn homosexual when exposed to water (like in gremlins) and autoerotic when they eat after midnight

I'm feeling very moody today. I'm not sure how to untangle this so I'll try to lay it all out here in hopes of getting out of this funk.

My mom doesn't really like me very much right now. I picked a strange time to assert myself and more or less kicked her and my brother out of my place yesterday. She thinks it's just because I wanted to spend time with the guy I'm dating, but it's all about principle to me. It probably wasn't right, but I just got tired of how she always places my brother first and how my personality now is shaped in a way that always puts other people's needs and desires before my own. Hell, it's gotten to the point where I don't even recognize what I want anymore because I figure it's not important. I'm so repressed in that way. I got so sick of how she can't see my point of view or even acknowledge it, and how it's always been that when it's convenient for her or the family, I should be obedient and "mature/responsible," but then out in the world she doesn't understand why I don't assert myself and says, "Just go do it" in the most disgusted, condescending way. Fuck you!! I can't just go do it because my self-assertion and self-esteem were beaten out of me. I had no fucking childhood because I was so busy being a third parent for my brother and making sure that I didn't give my parents anything else to worry about. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck you. Fuck you for ignoring me and expecting me to be able to grow up on my own. Fuck you for expecting me to become the person that you thought I should become and punishing me for being who I am. Fuck you for seeing me as an extension of yourself. Fuck you for loving my brother more than me when it was about your guilt that's not even my fault. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. I know you hate that word but this is my own fucking space and if I wanna say DAMMIT JESUS CHRIST MOTHERFUCKER in public, I sure as hell am going to say DAMMIT JESUS CHRIST MOTHERFUCKER WITH A CHERRY ON TOP in public.

Fuckin' A I'm pissed. I could really use a hug today.

I just wanted to tell all y'all fools out there that Jesus is MY homeboy. And not yours. Just wanted to throw that out there.

Well, I just signed on and saw that I'm visitor #69 (yeeeeahh!). Of course, all the other 68 visitors were also me, so this is not really anything to be proud of. Okay, I've decided that no one in the world reads this so I should be able to write very revealing things without worries, right? But I'm afraid to take that plunge. I just know that the minute I write something about blowjobs, or sixty year-old boyfriends or taping my penis between my thighs as I parade around in white spandex while attending Disney on Ice, my 2nd grade teacher will accidentally stumble onto this site while looking for a low-fat recipe for lemon biscotti and somehow recognize the author as me, a member of her Top 20 Best Students Ever list, and proclaim, "I thought I knew her!" as she clutches her chest and dies of a massive coronary. Or should I say, disappointment? The doctors will never know.

But again, there's the logical reasoning of...no one cares.

I just got back from a trip to the Grand Canyon. Three Words. Fucking Awe Some.

I realized that my personality type is that of a Loner. Who gets lonely. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? God are you there? It's me, Julia. And I have a gun.

I also found out that my mother does not appreciate the phrase, "Dammit Jesus Christ Muthafucker." Not one bit.

I have a lot of emotions but I don't express them. Is that true? Have I been walking around giving my love out when in reality, no one even realizes it? I wonder if I come off totally unemotional. I know, I shouldn't care so much how I come off or how people perceive me. But it is a little bit disturbing. That maybe my intentions aren't being carried out by my self. Sometimes I don't think people hear me. Sometimes I think that people don't take me seriously, or don't realize that I'm being vulnerable and they accidentally say the wrong thing that ends up hurting. Sometimes I think I'm a big pussy. And not in a good sense (but then again, is there really a good sense?). Mike asked me the other day if I feel like I'm on a different level than other people. I don't know about levels, but sometimes I feel like I'm on a different plane, and that it's all coming from my subjective perspective, but that I just have trouble relating in the same way other people do. I don't think I intellectualize my perception of the universe and it's form as a way to avoid dealing with emotions. But I do think I don't always share how I feel or the things that make me vulnerable because I don't trust people to treat me with sensitivity and kindness. I just don't want to get hurt anymore. There. I said something honest.

Here's a favorite quote from the past...

You mean this opera involves handcuffs? (I lay defeated)

God, that brings back old memories. Mostly of me handcuffed to a lawnchair and unable to get out.

Well. We're at war. I see that everyone is commenting on it. I really don't have much to say. It doesn't change the facts and I think for once, I'll stop expounding in little circles until my tongue is lolling out of the side of my mouth like a dumb lap dog.

I talked to Michelle today. She gave me a great quote:

Friendship between women is often nothing more than temporary suspension of hostility.

I have a feeling that people sometimes think I dislike members of my own gender. It's not true. I actually have a little too much love for everyone. But I have a hard time respecting some of the negative shadow aspects of the anima, mostly embodied in catty, passive-aggressive, underminingly hostile behavior. Men succombing to the anima can also exhibit these qualities. I just hate it. It's not a fair fight. I'd rather get punched in the face than betrayed while I sleep. I'm just cautious about getting too near that crap because I'm hanging high on idealism, which is one skip away from utter cynicism.

I watched parts of K-Pax today. I know a lot of people don't like that movie but I actually liked it. Kevin Spacey, as always, is amazing and the psychological elements were very interesting. I'm still wondering why Linda told me that she thought of me when she saw it and thought that I would really enjoy it. Mental note: Ask her. The capabilities of the human mind (spirit?) never cease to amaze me.

Oh yeah. I talked to my aunt and she told me that I have to get a formal dress for my cousin Albert's wedding next month. I asked her what she meant by "formal" and she said, "Poofy." "Like a prom dress?" I asked. "Something like that," she said. That's horrible. I thought that form of monkey torture was behind me. And I just know that with it being spring, the only kinds of "poofy" department store dresses available will be in pastel colors.

I went to bed early last night and was actually willfully up before 8am. I love the smell of mornings. This would be a good morning to head out to the beach...I haven't done that in years. Probably because I haven't been getting up super early without having to go to work for years. I'm thinking about going to New York. I haven't seen Rie since my birthday two years ago.

Okay, this obsession with wandering around my place and taking off my shirt is becoming a problem. I am finding shirts in the strangest of places. When I find one in the fridge one of these days, I want y'all out there who don't read this blogger to demand that I get help. I just found a shirt that I thought my washing machine had eaten last year in my brother's closet. Not like hung up or anything, but like I took it off, threw it in there, and then forgot about it. But I was notorious for stripping and running out to greet the mailman when I was younger (like 4 years old, as opposed to last week) so I guess I can argue that I'm getting better.

My thought of the day:

If you deny your own vulnerability, you deny the very attribute which makes you human. If you deny yourself compassion, you deny yourself access to the full potential of your soul.