Feeling very alone right now. Not sure why. Feeling alone and adrift, heading nowhere and with no one by my side.
Has my time as a prowling maneater on the loose finally caught up with me? Perhaps. Having many men I spend time with but no one to truly belong to is much more lonely than I had expected. It's lonely to have to keep rejecting their offers of commitment, while I keep waiting for a man I feel is truly worthy of my commitment.
Am I being too picky? I don't know. I want a man that I am physically attracted to, I won't lie about that. I hate to be shallow like that, but is it really that much to ask for? I want someone smart, with ambition and goals, someone who can hold an intelligent conversation with me. Someone who is going somewhere with their life. Someone who likes animals, and is not allergic to cats. Someone I can goof off with, because I can be such a dork. Someone who wouldn't mind laying around all day with me, watching dvds or tv. Someone who can handle me in bed, because I can be a bit of horny sex kitten... I love sex. Someone who will be affectionate with me, as I love to be affectionate and cuddly- hand holding, little kisses on the lips and cheek, butt pinching, etc. Someone who makes time for me, someone who will go out of their way to tell me that they like me and seek me out when we are dating. Someone who will get along with my friends and be able to spend time around my family.Someone who stands up for me- I will not tolerate being disrespected and not being defended by my boyfriend. I dealt with that way too much before.
Why do I ask for so much? Because I offer all of this in return. Is it really that crazy to want someone who can be on my level? I want someone who is just as well rounded as me. There has to be a man out there who is just as amazing as I am.... Where is he?
In the meantime, I guess I'll just keep waiting it out...... I suppose I choose loneliness over settling.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Damn, I've been in blog hibernation
It's been quite a while since I've written in here. It's always been in the back of my mind too.... "Gee I should really update my blog," I would think to myself, but then I would put it off and pay attention to other random distractions.
Whatever... here it goes.
I'm looking for work. I haven't been able to find a permanent job. I have been looking for one since I graduated from college 2 years ago. Instead I've have only found a few temporary positions that never panned out. I was so desperate for work about a year and half ago, that I wandered into the "adult gigs" section of craigslist.
There was a lot of disturbing shit in there. It really freaked me out. But there was an ad in there for foot models. My mom has always told me that I had pretty feet, that I got that from my grandma, and I should always take care of them. So I thought, "What the hell," and answered the ad.
The guy I met introduced me to the business, and sort of taught me how to make my own money at it. I do private foot worship sessions. Guys pay me to worship my feet. Some of them kiss my feet, lick them, suck on them, bite them, massage them. Some masturbate, others only worship. I don't give footjobs, but I always get requests for them. It's annoying. No matter how clearly I indicate that on my ads, some douchebag always asks for them. Learn to read, asshole.
It's not a steady income. I get so many calls and emails and texts, but only about 5% of guys will actually follow through and actually end up meeting me.
Sigh....
Are you really that surprised? Look around... people are losing their homes and jobs left and right. I'm a beautiful, intelligent woman with a bachelor's degree..... and I can't find work anywhere.
It's a job. Sometimes I get a kick out of it, how weird some people. Sometimes it's annoying, and gross.... but goddammit it pays. I have to give props to the girls out there who can strip, or work in porn, or the hookers. That kind of work takes more balls than I have. I wish I had the nerve and the strength to do it... not because I would want to do it, but because it's steady work.
I just wish I could get a job in a shitty little office somewhere, I would be so grateful for a simple, humble job, just to save money and pay the bills....
But so far, the only people calling me are guys who have seen my ad. My phone is buzzing, back to work.....
Whatever... here it goes.
I'm looking for work. I haven't been able to find a permanent job. I have been looking for one since I graduated from college 2 years ago. Instead I've have only found a few temporary positions that never panned out. I was so desperate for work about a year and half ago, that I wandered into the "adult gigs" section of craigslist.
There was a lot of disturbing shit in there. It really freaked me out. But there was an ad in there for foot models. My mom has always told me that I had pretty feet, that I got that from my grandma, and I should always take care of them. So I thought, "What the hell," and answered the ad.
The guy I met introduced me to the business, and sort of taught me how to make my own money at it. I do private foot worship sessions. Guys pay me to worship my feet. Some of them kiss my feet, lick them, suck on them, bite them, massage them. Some masturbate, others only worship. I don't give footjobs, but I always get requests for them. It's annoying. No matter how clearly I indicate that on my ads, some douchebag always asks for them. Learn to read, asshole.
It's not a steady income. I get so many calls and emails and texts, but only about 5% of guys will actually follow through and actually end up meeting me.
Sigh....
Are you really that surprised? Look around... people are losing their homes and jobs left and right. I'm a beautiful, intelligent woman with a bachelor's degree..... and I can't find work anywhere.
It's a job. Sometimes I get a kick out of it, how weird some people. Sometimes it's annoying, and gross.... but goddammit it pays. I have to give props to the girls out there who can strip, or work in porn, or the hookers. That kind of work takes more balls than I have. I wish I had the nerve and the strength to do it... not because I would want to do it, but because it's steady work.
I just wish I could get a job in a shitty little office somewhere, I would be so grateful for a simple, humble job, just to save money and pay the bills....
But so far, the only people calling me are guys who have seen my ad. My phone is buzzing, back to work.....
Thursday, March 3, 2011
a sleepless night and a frantic morning
For some strange reason, I could not sleep for shit last night. I woke up around 5 and just couldn't go back to sleep, so I just decided to just stay up until I felt tired again. I checked several times that my alarm on my phone would go off at 8:30, so I could get ready for a 9:15 doctors appointment. I started to feel tired around 7:30, and before I closed my eyes to check that my alarm was set correctly.
The next thing I know, I roll over and check my phone and it says 9:30. I was so damn pissed. I don't know if the alarm didn't go off or if I just slept right through it. So I rushed around, throwing clothes on and running out the door. DAMN I WAS PISSED! I'm already a crabby patty in the morning, but then the fact that I woke up late for an important appointment just made it even worse. I called one of my friends and was ranting to him about it on the drive over the appointment, lol.
Luckily, I was still able to have my appointment and I got out around 11:30. I decided to head over to the local dollar store in the area, and wandered around in there for a while. I love dollar stores; I don't feel as poor when I shop those stores; I can afford to splurge in a handful of pointless random treats for myself and I don't feel too bad about it.
I managed to get out of there after an hour, and then I wandered in to the used bookstore up the block. It had been in town for many years, and had been expanded. However, it had come into new ownership in the past month. The previous owner kept the prices too expensive, about 75% of the publisher's price, and he couldn't sell much. It was exciting walking in there and seeing the new inventory stacked everywhere.
The awe I feel upon walking into a library and a bookstore is always overwhelming. There was a point in my life when my brain would just whizz off in a catatonic frenzy as my eyes scanned the vast landscape of pages and covers. I would want to read everything and anything. I wanted to buy every book I stopped to skim. I always felt like even the most unfamiliar topics sounded so interesting to investigate; maybe someday it would prove useful to know about the origins and techniques of weaving, or the private thoughts found in the diary of Anais Nin. It felt almost hopeless. I would never read everything I wanted. However, I now console myself with the realization that those books and the information are not going anywhere. I would rather borrow books that are interesting at the moment, and own books that I feel I will continue to love and return to over and over. It is this sense of selectiveness that allows me to browse through the plethora of books, skimming some and putting most back, without feeling deprived. This magical place of printed thoughts and history will always be here for all of us. No one person owns it; the joy of books belongs to us all.
Anyway back to the bookstore, the magnitude of books was staggering. Ancient books with tattered jackets falling to pieces, yellowed romance paperbacks, old textbooks, old battered magazines, beautifully bound classic literature with guilded edges, and colorfully illustrated children's books. Books about Japanese costumes, a graphic art book about pandering and pimping, books about Zen meditiation and the life and times of Rasputin. Ahh, the romance of books. So many of them, much too many to ever read in any lifetime, and too many thoughts from so many authors, captured in print forever.
The store was still being organized; seeing these stacks of haphazard sortings and groupings, I felt an organizational twinge. I wanted to sort them, to get them up on the shelves where they belonged, so that they could sit and wait patiently for someone to pick them out and skim them. It was here, walking through the forest of stacks and bookcases, that a long forgotten memory suddenly came back to me. I remembered that back in elementary school, I would spend many recesses in the library, helping the librarian sort the returned books and file them back correctly. I was a hardcore nerdchild like that; I found it so entertaining, and oddly, soothing to gather up the disorder and magically put it all back together. I remember when I got older, I donated a large portion of my educational magazines that I didn't want anymore and I donated them to the school library; I would feel humbly proud when I saw other kids reading them, thinking "Those are my magazines that people are enjoying."
Upon returning from my reverie, I walked up to the counter with my book of choice, and inquired about the opportunity to volunteer. The guy at the counter told me the store was still brand new, and was relying on volunteers; "Well, I'm not working now; I'd really love to help out" I said. I told the guy I would be willing to come in Monday in the morning. He told me that there was no minimum amount of time I needed to work. I could come in and work for as long or short I time I desired. If I stayed for more than a couple of hours, he said he could provide a meal and a free book or dvd. That sounded so awesomely ideal to me. Walking out of there, I could picture it: Monday morning, sorting and organizing, throwing out empty boxes, suggesting better organizational schematics, maybe pizza for lunch, a free book at the end of the day, and the satisfaction of getting out of the house and doing something worthwhile, even if for free.
Nice.
The next thing I know, I roll over and check my phone and it says 9:30. I was so damn pissed. I don't know if the alarm didn't go off or if I just slept right through it. So I rushed around, throwing clothes on and running out the door. DAMN I WAS PISSED! I'm already a crabby patty in the morning, but then the fact that I woke up late for an important appointment just made it even worse. I called one of my friends and was ranting to him about it on the drive over the appointment, lol.
Luckily, I was still able to have my appointment and I got out around 11:30. I decided to head over to the local dollar store in the area, and wandered around in there for a while. I love dollar stores; I don't feel as poor when I shop those stores; I can afford to splurge in a handful of pointless random treats for myself and I don't feel too bad about it.
I managed to get out of there after an hour, and then I wandered in to the used bookstore up the block. It had been in town for many years, and had been expanded. However, it had come into new ownership in the past month. The previous owner kept the prices too expensive, about 75% of the publisher's price, and he couldn't sell much. It was exciting walking in there and seeing the new inventory stacked everywhere.
The awe I feel upon walking into a library and a bookstore is always overwhelming. There was a point in my life when my brain would just whizz off in a catatonic frenzy as my eyes scanned the vast landscape of pages and covers. I would want to read everything and anything. I wanted to buy every book I stopped to skim. I always felt like even the most unfamiliar topics sounded so interesting to investigate; maybe someday it would prove useful to know about the origins and techniques of weaving, or the private thoughts found in the diary of Anais Nin. It felt almost hopeless. I would never read everything I wanted. However, I now console myself with the realization that those books and the information are not going anywhere. I would rather borrow books that are interesting at the moment, and own books that I feel I will continue to love and return to over and over. It is this sense of selectiveness that allows me to browse through the plethora of books, skimming some and putting most back, without feeling deprived. This magical place of printed thoughts and history will always be here for all of us. No one person owns it; the joy of books belongs to us all.
Anyway back to the bookstore, the magnitude of books was staggering. Ancient books with tattered jackets falling to pieces, yellowed romance paperbacks, old textbooks, old battered magazines, beautifully bound classic literature with guilded edges, and colorfully illustrated children's books. Books about Japanese costumes, a graphic art book about pandering and pimping, books about Zen meditiation and the life and times of Rasputin. Ahh, the romance of books. So many of them, much too many to ever read in any lifetime, and too many thoughts from so many authors, captured in print forever.
The store was still being organized; seeing these stacks of haphazard sortings and groupings, I felt an organizational twinge. I wanted to sort them, to get them up on the shelves where they belonged, so that they could sit and wait patiently for someone to pick them out and skim them. It was here, walking through the forest of stacks and bookcases, that a long forgotten memory suddenly came back to me. I remembered that back in elementary school, I would spend many recesses in the library, helping the librarian sort the returned books and file them back correctly. I was a hardcore nerdchild like that; I found it so entertaining, and oddly, soothing to gather up the disorder and magically put it all back together. I remember when I got older, I donated a large portion of my educational magazines that I didn't want anymore and I donated them to the school library; I would feel humbly proud when I saw other kids reading them, thinking "Those are my magazines that people are enjoying."
Upon returning from my reverie, I walked up to the counter with my book of choice, and inquired about the opportunity to volunteer. The guy at the counter told me the store was still brand new, and was relying on volunteers; "Well, I'm not working now; I'd really love to help out" I said. I told the guy I would be willing to come in Monday in the morning. He told me that there was no minimum amount of time I needed to work. I could come in and work for as long or short I time I desired. If I stayed for more than a couple of hours, he said he could provide a meal and a free book or dvd. That sounded so awesomely ideal to me. Walking out of there, I could picture it: Monday morning, sorting and organizing, throwing out empty boxes, suggesting better organizational schematics, maybe pizza for lunch, a free book at the end of the day, and the satisfaction of getting out of the house and doing something worthwhile, even if for free.
Nice.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Much needed maintenance...
Just did hella lot of updating on this blog, appearance and design wise... much happier with it now. I hope now I will be more motivated to actively update it.
Also been trying to get my lazy ass up and going again with my memoir. It dawned on me while writing in my journal that I should probably vent about the writing process on here. Fuck, I write a lot. To myself anyway. I guess it was just a matter of time before it became available to the public.
I wish I could write more candidly, though. Upon reflection, there are some things going on that not everyone in my life knows about that may be shocking and unnecessary for them to be privy to, besides the things that the public probably shouldn't know. I keep coming across these stories about bloggers being exposed and harrassed for what they write about. It's not encouraging. I don't know. We shall see what comes up with this blog...
Anyway, my temp job finally ended. I lasted a good while, about two and half months. And it was so chill there that I was actually able to start writing my memoir on the job! Hahaha, whatever. Sometimes I sit and wonder, will this shit ever be published? Is that what I even want? I don't know, maybe, maybe not. Even if that is what I wanted, the content and style is probably shit anyway. I'm hoping that if I ever decide to try and get published, the best strategy might be just spitting out all the content now,without worrying about it in all its rough, shitty glory. Then I could maybe research and read up on writing technique, and work like hell to edit and resculpt it, and maybe then it will be worthy of publication. I would bet that I will probably throw out everything and start from scratch... hahahahaha. I believe I'm a pretty good writer, but I'm also pretty humble about my abilities, and I'm sure it will take some time to gain any fans, if that is even the route I attempt to take.
Any advice about writing your own memoir, or blog?
XOXO
Tina <3
Also been trying to get my lazy ass up and going again with my memoir. It dawned on me while writing in my journal that I should probably vent about the writing process on here. Fuck, I write a lot. To myself anyway. I guess it was just a matter of time before it became available to the public.
I wish I could write more candidly, though. Upon reflection, there are some things going on that not everyone in my life knows about that may be shocking and unnecessary for them to be privy to, besides the things that the public probably shouldn't know. I keep coming across these stories about bloggers being exposed and harrassed for what they write about. It's not encouraging. I don't know. We shall see what comes up with this blog...
Anyway, my temp job finally ended. I lasted a good while, about two and half months. And it was so chill there that I was actually able to start writing my memoir on the job! Hahaha, whatever. Sometimes I sit and wonder, will this shit ever be published? Is that what I even want? I don't know, maybe, maybe not. Even if that is what I wanted, the content and style is probably shit anyway. I'm hoping that if I ever decide to try and get published, the best strategy might be just spitting out all the content now,without worrying about it in all its rough, shitty glory. Then I could maybe research and read up on writing technique, and work like hell to edit and resculpt it, and maybe then it will be worthy of publication. I would bet that I will probably throw out everything and start from scratch... hahahahaha. I believe I'm a pretty good writer, but I'm also pretty humble about my abilities, and I'm sure it will take some time to gain any fans, if that is even the route I attempt to take.
Any advice about writing your own memoir, or blog?
XOXO
Tina <3
Saturday, December 4, 2010
I suppose it begins here
Finally, a job has materialized on the horizon, after almost 6 long months, and many months more before that last disaster of a job. Albeit, it is just a temp position, but in this drowning cesspool of a jobmarket, its better than nothing.
Fifteen an hour, to punch in data for an insurance agency in Orange. Not bad. And finally, I will have the daily routine and structure that I have so desperately craved. Having all the time in the world to yourself certainly sounds like a dream, but I guess for me, it can easily turn into stir crazy cabin fever. While there are plenty of things I know I can do to occupy my time all by myself, somehow, without a structure, I seem to enter into a depressed sort of suspended animation. I don't quite understand it myself, there is so much I could do! I could read whatever I want (and there is always so much I want to read), I could work on a sewing project, I could work out (or attempt to... hah!), I could write... It feels as if all these options seem to oppress me, strangely. As if there is so much I want to do, that I paralyze myself in a catatonic eagerness to do it all. And then as I end up doing nothing, I get sort of depressed and crave a routine imposed by an outside force. If I can't make up my mind about what to do with all my time, then a routine will certainly decide for me!
Perhaps, I have only my weak decision making skills and weak motivation to thank... I should probably work on that.
Well, until next time,
Kisses from Miss Tina <3
Fifteen an hour, to punch in data for an insurance agency in Orange. Not bad. And finally, I will have the daily routine and structure that I have so desperately craved. Having all the time in the world to yourself certainly sounds like a dream, but I guess for me, it can easily turn into stir crazy cabin fever. While there are plenty of things I know I can do to occupy my time all by myself, somehow, without a structure, I seem to enter into a depressed sort of suspended animation. I don't quite understand it myself, there is so much I could do! I could read whatever I want (and there is always so much I want to read), I could work on a sewing project, I could work out (or attempt to... hah!), I could write... It feels as if all these options seem to oppress me, strangely. As if there is so much I want to do, that I paralyze myself in a catatonic eagerness to do it all. And then as I end up doing nothing, I get sort of depressed and crave a routine imposed by an outside force. If I can't make up my mind about what to do with all my time, then a routine will certainly decide for me!
Perhaps, I have only my weak decision making skills and weak motivation to thank... I should probably work on that.
Well, until next time,
Kisses from Miss Tina <3
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