Fab Moretti, the drummer from the Strokes has a Facebook page and approved my friend request! Yes, I am sure it’s him, because he’s got a photo of himself up; Legit much? It’s so funny, though, he only has 284 friends and I have almost 900, maybe I should be a drummer for the Strokes... if ticket sales ever aren’t doing well, because his inability to connect, I mean. It feels really good being so socially superior to a famous person. I am sure that I am because of the friend tally, plus I have been tagged in way more photos. Maybe he hasn’t been tagged because he’s always hidden behind people. I dated a drummer once, didn't like his face, but he used to hand drum on my back after sex and I liked that. Nothing like being a bongo to make you feel substantial.
Fab Moretti dated Drew Barrymore for five years, so that’s follow through. I think that says something about the guy, not sure what, but I am pretty sure it means I am a shoe in if I could just dumb it down a bit. I don’t want to say that. Why did I say that? Drew Barrymore isn’t a dum dum, she’s actually pretty savvy, but she talks with elongated “ums,” which is indicative of stupidness. That doesn’t make her stupid, just like if someone has a large forehead, doesn’t mean they have fetal alcohol syndrome. However, it’s a safe assumption that their parents don’t love them (look at that forehead). I do yoga and have full breasts that I used to flash all over the place, so he might love me for 3-7 years.
Uuuuuuum, this all reminds me of the time I sent John Mayer a friend request on Myspace and quietly believed he would recognize that I was his soul mate from my profile pictures. He approved my request right away, so I was pretty hopeful, although he didn’t read my message- ever. I thought that I should try dumbing it down a little, so he might like me. I rewrote the letter with lots of “likes” and very little punctuation. A year later he started dating Jessica Simpson and I gave up on me and him- I couldn’t dumb it down THAT much. That isn’t fair, I shouldn’t say that about her, she clearly has some proclivity towards canniness... her clothing line is doing really well. Also, she is getting married to an athlete- take that John Mayer. Seriously, though, call me- I have such a stupid voice.
I wanted to write about travel and living abroad everyday, but the reality is after two months in Paris, there is nothing left to say. I don’t think it’s the same city it used be, and if it is, people are really stupid- like Jessica Barrymore stupid for building it up so... I mean, it's pretty, but ah, uuuum, I shouldn’t say mean things like that, like it doesn’t count. I am excited to travel to Spain next month and Greece the month after that. Other than that, I just kind of take it day to day, meeting people and trying to keep an open heart and mind, except when I am walking places. When I walk places I am all tank-like, because I get riddled with meaningless compliments by men who don’t seem to realize that the mere fact that they are flattering me negates the act by the assumptive intention they use. They seem to have it that stopping me might just get them somewhere. If I was truly beautiful, you wouldn’t approach me, now would you greasy fatso?
Speaking of greasy fatsos, I am mad at my ex, who isn’t a greasy fatso, but would really hate that I used that descriptive. He was my best friend on the internet, maybe in the world and all the sudden he just stopped talking to me. I don’t know if it’s because I was like “look, stop acting like a fucking loser” or because I slept with his brother... that’s not true, but it could be if he doesn’t get with it. I will fly to where his family is and seduce his brother while wearing a disguise and using a fake name. Yeah, don’t let me get away, asshole. My ex spent half the time we talked, telling me how he likes that I don’t let him get away with anything and one day I say something about how he’s once again escaping reality by doing mushrooms on a monday morning in his dank apartment... and I’M so fucked up?! I guess I should consider it a blessing, because I am now free to date Fab Moretti with out feeling guilty. I mean, I don't have to worry about how that might make my ex feel or that it might make him drink. I have felt a little helpless with regards to losing my ex as a friend, so I was like “how can I get my power back?” and I thought that I might block him from Facebook, so I don’t have to be reminded he is on the internet, not keeping in touch with me. I wont do that though, for obvious reasons... I want to win the friend spread competition I’m having with Fab Moretti. Uuuuuum, totally.
Showing posts with label ex boyfriends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ex boyfriends. Show all posts
Monday, June 13, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
This Is Something Relevant
Part of being a new ex pat from America, is an unhealthy attachment to the internet and peanut butter. The internet thing has you looking at old friend’s photos to see what they’re doing and who they know now that you are gone. Part of me wonders if I am comparing the appearance of my life to theirs, but am almost positive that I am just avoiding doing what I need to do by hanging out on Facebook. There is always something comforting in the creepiness of stalking strangers, but even better than that, is the idea of a world where you can comment on strangers photos without virtually knowing them.
“Be careful!”, “: P” or “That better be juice!” has an air of invested concern that might be reassuring coming from a complete outsider... or it could be gross, depending on my profile pic. I remember, back when I was on Myspace, forever ago, I thought creating a page where I was Jesus Christ would be brilliant. I was sure no one had ever thought of it and I was confident I was an ironic genius. However, as you can imagine, thousands of mentally retarded and just mildly dumb, but hopeful people already had the same idea. The difference between them and I, was they were just creatively crippled enough to follow through with it. I was a proud dum dum, so I pretended I never thought of it and instead became a rapper. I would be the first white, female mc to hit the big time... I didn’t know a lot about hip hop, or even appreciate it very much, but I did like words and music videos. Don’t worry guys, I also seriously checked into Scientology... also... did I say also? Do you know what “also” means? Maybe you should stop here, look it up and write three sentences using it, so you know it- then write down everything bad you’ve ever done. That will be $300, why are you looking at me like that- are you on medication?
Back to commenting on strangers photos, that would be great, especially if they were teenagers or something. I think there are a few members of my family I could do that to and have the same desired “awkward affect.” It was good to get this off my chest and maybe not even slightly amusing- mission accomplished.
Paris is still breathing and I miss America in the strange smell of a new home. I have made some friends here and have routines that help me feel grounded instead of isolated or helpless. There is a comfort in redundancy, unless it results in you getting stalked and raped because they know exactly what you’re going to do next and have known for many sweaty nights. I don’t think that French men technically rape, because they kiss you a bunch... you’re welcome. I sit outside at the same cafe almost everyday to write these inspired little peeks into a still safe-guarded vulnerability. My inauthentic ramblings and inane musings are made possible by perseverance and caffeine. Today, I was writing, when a man came to peak his grey topped head over the glass divider to interrupt my “work”. He began talking to me, asking me if I was American, before I even verbally responded. “I thought you were American...” I take off my glasses, because I am not a complete asshole, so I reject with eye contact and he then says “ah yes, your eyes, that’s what I wanted to see! Everyday I see you here, behind your computer and your sunglasses and I think ‘I need to see those eyes!’” I think to myself “you need to see a shrink,” but I don’t say this, because I know that it was meant as a compliment and he’s got that handsome “ old boat captain/ skipper” thing going, so it wasn’t terribly insulting. I am just not an American who came to Paris to be treated in some generic way that guys here must be used to hooking American women with... desperate women wanting to be touched. I am desperate for some touch, but also a stickler for originality. The last boy I loved kissed me for the first time as I was about to go poo poo in the port-o-potty under a bridge- I miss his kisses. He wants to have babies with me someday, but he also likes me better when I am a bit fatter because that means I am having lazy time- his favorite. Maybe babies can wait until I change him.
So, I am on Facebook and at the cafe everyday. I talk to my ex in some way several times a week, but I am free to sudo-date here, just don’t tell him. I explore options knowing full well, that everything wont go past platonic because I cannot date somebody who doesn’t respect me for my mind and sense of humor. As it stands my jokes are lost on most and I am not interested in men who approach me on the street with some slick-talking solicitation that exceeds trite. I may be a prude, but I know what I like and there is nothing wrong with having time to write a book or pluck all the hair from my pubic region instead of getting pounded several times a day/week by a man who loves you.
“Be careful!”, “: P” or “That better be juice!” has an air of invested concern that might be reassuring coming from a complete outsider... or it could be gross, depending on my profile pic. I remember, back when I was on Myspace, forever ago, I thought creating a page where I was Jesus Christ would be brilliant. I was sure no one had ever thought of it and I was confident I was an ironic genius. However, as you can imagine, thousands of mentally retarded and just mildly dumb, but hopeful people already had the same idea. The difference between them and I, was they were just creatively crippled enough to follow through with it. I was a proud dum dum, so I pretended I never thought of it and instead became a rapper. I would be the first white, female mc to hit the big time... I didn’t know a lot about hip hop, or even appreciate it very much, but I did like words and music videos. Don’t worry guys, I also seriously checked into Scientology... also... did I say also? Do you know what “also” means? Maybe you should stop here, look it up and write three sentences using it, so you know it- then write down everything bad you’ve ever done. That will be $300, why are you looking at me like that- are you on medication?
Back to commenting on strangers photos, that would be great, especially if they were teenagers or something. I think there are a few members of my family I could do that to and have the same desired “awkward affect.” It was good to get this off my chest and maybe not even slightly amusing- mission accomplished.
Paris is still breathing and I miss America in the strange smell of a new home. I have made some friends here and have routines that help me feel grounded instead of isolated or helpless. There is a comfort in redundancy, unless it results in you getting stalked and raped because they know exactly what you’re going to do next and have known for many sweaty nights. I don’t think that French men technically rape, because they kiss you a bunch... you’re welcome. I sit outside at the same cafe almost everyday to write these inspired little peeks into a still safe-guarded vulnerability. My inauthentic ramblings and inane musings are made possible by perseverance and caffeine. Today, I was writing, when a man came to peak his grey topped head over the glass divider to interrupt my “work”. He began talking to me, asking me if I was American, before I even verbally responded. “I thought you were American...” I take off my glasses, because I am not a complete asshole, so I reject with eye contact and he then says “ah yes, your eyes, that’s what I wanted to see! Everyday I see you here, behind your computer and your sunglasses and I think ‘I need to see those eyes!’” I think to myself “you need to see a shrink,” but I don’t say this, because I know that it was meant as a compliment and he’s got that handsome “ old boat captain/ skipper” thing going, so it wasn’t terribly insulting. I am just not an American who came to Paris to be treated in some generic way that guys here must be used to hooking American women with... desperate women wanting to be touched. I am desperate for some touch, but also a stickler for originality. The last boy I loved kissed me for the first time as I was about to go poo poo in the port-o-potty under a bridge- I miss his kisses. He wants to have babies with me someday, but he also likes me better when I am a bit fatter because that means I am having lazy time- his favorite. Maybe babies can wait until I change him.
So, I am on Facebook and at the cafe everyday. I talk to my ex in some way several times a week, but I am free to sudo-date here, just don’t tell him. I explore options knowing full well, that everything wont go past platonic because I cannot date somebody who doesn’t respect me for my mind and sense of humor. As it stands my jokes are lost on most and I am not interested in men who approach me on the street with some slick-talking solicitation that exceeds trite. I may be a prude, but I know what I like and there is nothing wrong with having time to write a book or pluck all the hair from my pubic region instead of getting pounded several times a day/week by a man who loves you.
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