Confessions of a Dirty Blonde

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 04:41:57 GMT

Dear Amanda,
Here is your horoscope for
Sunday, November 8:

Your situation isn't so ridiculous right now -- you just need to let go of the details and focus on the big picture instead!

haha. Almost seems fitting, doesn't it?

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 05:06:48 GMT

What do you do when your “Divorced Boyfriend” really isn’t divorced at all? It’s not even a matter of divorcED versus divorcING but separated. A whole other ballpark. It’s not a lie exactly, but an omission of the truth. Apparently the marriage was just so long over that it’s considered divorced by all sides, and their families... but technically, I’m still sleeping with a married man. Nice work Amanda. Even when I go legitimate, I’m not. I seem to be stuck in this pattern that I can’t really break free from. I feel stupid. I’m I’ve got a whole bunch of new questions in my head: What does his family think, with me parading around and spending nights at his apartment? Why didn’t he trust me enough to tell me? He says he loves me, but never bothered to share this little tidbit. And if it’s been over for the year, why hasn’t his “ex” wife filed? I already don’t feel comfortable with their level of friendship, now I can’t help but trust it even less.

He says he was stupid and didn’t say anything because he was scared to lose me. What else could he be hiding from me?

Get Home

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 04:56:38 GMT

I wish I had this song back in June.... But more so, I wish I wasn't still so damaged that it makes me remember and cry.

Get Home – Sarah Slean

you can stay the night
you can look me in the eye
you fake your way to the finish line
but, don’t dare profess to love me
when you’re lying to another
that’s not love that’s just wishing
wish and love, are not the same thing, yeah

get home, get home
take a look at her
you know, you know
that you love her

Mr. Masquerade
you’re getting good at this charade
go on fool yourself with talk of poetry
but, don’t you dare pretend you’re sorry
to me you’re just a tourist
you've got to stand next to the real one
because you know you’ll never be one

get home, get home
nothing more to say
you know, you know
that you'll never change
o, you'll never change
and I don't play the game
with liars and the cowards
liars and cowards
liars and cowards
like you

get home, get home
nothing more to say
you know, you know
that you’ll never change
o, You’ll never change
I don’t play the game
with liars and cowards
liars and the cowards
with the liars and cowards
like you
liars and cowards
liars and cowards
liars and cowards
like you

Holiday Card Roll Call

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 04:50:25 GMT

Since Halloween is officially over it's time to turn one's attention to the Winter Holiday... and the joy of sending mail! You know, before all those nasty Credit Card bills come in.

So, if I don't have you're current mailing address, and you would like to share, I would love to send you a greeting. :) If you're so inclined to share either drop me a comment (which I think I've got set so only I can see them) or email me at sweety167(at)yahoo(dot)ca

Okay Universe. I get it....

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 00:21:49 GMT

Dear Amanda,
Here is your love horoscope
for Saturday, September 26:

Previous relationship issues die hard. Even when dating new people, it's tempting to compare them to old flames. Live in the now. You've already learned from past mistakes, so don't obsess over painful memories.

Dear Amanda,
Here is your horoscope
for Saturday, September 26:

A memory -- or person from the past -- haunts you a bit today, but it might be an inspiration to try something new. Your energy is best suited to exploring options that once seemed close off.

I am trying. Goddess knows I'm trying. As does Jen, and my poor cell phone history. I am trying.

Sat, 26 Sep 2009 06:02:03 GMT

A -
Why did you fake it?
You didn't have to lie to keep fucking me. You didn't have to mess with my head and break my heart.
If your little game with me costs me the ability to be happy I won't forgive you.
I just need you to leave my head.
Please.

Dream Study.

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 04:29:47 GMT

I had this dream the other night – Friday night, er...Saturday morning rather. Essentially there were these two buckets: one of sand and one of water. In the dream, for some reason, they were there to dip my grandmother’s feet in. Her feet were already all sandy, so the water was to wash away the said sand. And for some reason it was explained that the water was for growing things.

Odd enough, but the point is what it means... Sand means to be wary of someone exploiting you. And the clean water is coming happiness. And I finally put it together when I was telling my boyfriend about it (he’s new to the whole dream studying thing, but it’s already helping with his nightmares.)- Since the feet were already crusted with sand, and the water was there to cleanse and “grow” I’m washing away the pain of having been used and exploited, and am becoming happy. I’m opening up to the idea and possibility of being happy. Happy without the bullshit (not that life has stopped handing me bullshit...)

And I should learn to listen to my subconscious a little more. Mid-June I was having dreams about being married to an “ex”. While I’ve never had any intentions of marrying that ex, or really anyone, it just pointed out how unfulfilled I was with my “relationship” at the time. I wasn’t getting what I wanted – shocking news huh?

Ah, but I’m all about the basin of clean water from here one out.

Open Letters to Healing.

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 05:40:20 GMT

You look so happy – and I honestly am glad. I’ve always had love for you, and I haven’t stopped caring about you so it’s good to see that you can be happy. Part of me wishes that I could have made you happy like that, but I accept my failing. I just want you to be as happy as I was when I was with you.

I’m good. Better now. And happy. Not the same way I was with you, but I’m also not that miserable ether. I wish you weren’t such a coward and that we were still talking. I miss you – the person, not the penis. And I’d really like to talk to you about the good things, like my boyfriend. There never seemed to be enough good news for us to talk about.

And this isn’t a matter of me letting you go – you were never mine to hold on to – but you hurt me. No matter if you said you didn’t want to, you really did. I’m still trying to relearn how to trust and depend on someone. You were there and listened through so much from grandma to panicking over Karen. You were such a strong support. Maybe I’m sorry I leaned so heavily. And maybe I’m sorry I never told you how much I appreciated it. I have a few regrets, but I don’t think it would have changed anything.

I don’t want you back. That much I want to have clear. If it didn’t work out those four times we gravitated back to each other, I guess it never would have (even if I thought it could have.). And I don’t think I am exactly what you need in the long run. I would have given you too much freedom. And maybe the life differences were too much. I don’t know. And it seems I never will.

I’m just glad you’ve found someone that does make you happy. I think you deserve to be happy.

Love, or something like that. 2

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 04:36:34 GMT

And the boyfriend followed suit.

The Birthday Prep Continues...

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 04:03:43 GMT

So, the finished Project on the Harley Quinn sketch:

And the cake that matches it: It's a purple carrot cake. Oh man... I'm a sap.

Love, or something like that.

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 03:58:56 GMT

I’m the insecure type of person who fears that her mother will stop loving her (after all, father did) so for the life of me I can’t understand why I ever assumed that A would have. But that’s neither here nor there, last night someone else said he was in love with me – and not the boyfriend, which would just make a little more sense I suppose – but AR. It’s not that I hear that a lot, (I’m still unbelieving when D, the boyfriend, says he likes me and will keep me. After all A said that too.)but I have heard it before. AR is only different: I’ve been to bed with him, he’s the first man I ever woke up next to. Not used to being cherished after – just disposed of. And I do care about him, and he will forever mean something to me (my value of “firsts” is a little skewed – when your virginity goes to a thief in the night smaller things end up meaning more. And too many of those things went to A anyway...) I trusted AR to such a scary degree. I believed that he wouldn’t leave in the middle of the night and I let him have me defenceless. Love was just never a thought. A still had complete residence of my heart (the fucker still has a strangled hold too) and in the mean time, I’ve broken AR heart be seeing D. Turns out I hurt a few people. When the little girl lost doesn’t have faith that anyone could love her or care for her like that...

I Drew This!

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 03:12:41 GMT

I actually can't believe I just drew this... And by "just" I mean, it took me an hour and a half...and two sheets of paper.

But what do we think of her? It's part of a birthday present for my (oh gods, how odd...) boyfriend. So, do I colour her? Do I frame her...or is that pretentious? Direction, words of encouragement. All that is needed. :)

ETA: coloured:

can't win for trying.

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 03:20:38 GMT

Why is it that when I try to be happy, I end up making other people miserable?

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 03:41:10 GMT

I don't know how to be a girlfriend.

If the past has taught us anything...

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 20:35:58 GMT

If I get too attached to D, he’s just going to leave. This had been clearly illustrated right back to my father. But most recently with A. I tried to keep him at arm’s length, even stopped seeing him twice in that year span so I could maintain some distance and maybe keep myself safe, but he came back. And finally, I gave in; I told him, I let myself love him – and what did he do? He left. Albeit, after that brief taste of what it’s like to be normal and have someone return my affection.But he left. He went running in some other direction. Maybe I just have a shelf life, and my appeal expired.

Fun and Games

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 05:08:15 GMT

Dear </a></b></a></div>,
I don't really know how to tell you this, but Our horoscope doesn't match.
I think I realized it when I quoted Santa in your closet and I saw you sit at my John F. Kennedy-statue.
I'm sure you're scarred enough to understand that your Honda sucks.
I'm returning the couch cushions to you, but I'll keep your photo as a memory.
You should also know that I always will remember cocaine abuse.

Greetings to your frog Leonard,
sweety167

Do it like this:
Dear (the person who last commented on your journal),
I don't really know how to tell you this, but ___1___.
I think I realized it ___2___ ___3___ and I saw you ___4___ ___5___.
I'm sure you're ___6___ enough to understand ___7___.
I'm returning ___8___ to you, but I'll keep ___9___ as a memory.
You should also know that I ___10___ ___11___.
___12___,
-Your name-

1. What's the color of your shirt?
Blue - Our romance is over
Red - Our affair is over
White - I'll join the monastery
Black - I dislike you
Green - Our horoscope doesn't match
Grey - You're a pervert
Yellow - I'm selling myself
Pink - Your nostrils are insulting
Brown - The mafia wants you
No shirt - You're a loser
Other - I'm in love with your sister

2. Which is your birth month?
January - That night
February - Last year
March - When your dwarf bit me
April - When I tripped on sesame seeds
May - First of May
June - When you put cuffs on me
July - When I threw up
August - When I saw the shrunken head
September - When we skinny dipped
October - When I quoted Santa
November - When your dog ran amok
December - When I changed tennis shoes

3. Which food do you prefer?
Tacos - In your apartment
Pizza - In your camping car
Pasta - Outside of Chicago
Hamburgers - Under the bus
Salad - As you ate enchilada
Chicken - In your closet
Kebab - With Paris Hilton
Fish - In women's clothing
Sandwiches - At the Hare Krishna graduation
Lasagna - At the mental hospital
Hot dog - Under a state of trance
Other; With George Bush and his wife

4. What's the color of your socks?
Yellow - Hit on
Red - Insult
Black - Ignore
Blue - Knock out
Purple - Pour syrup on
White - Carve your initials into
Grey - Pull the clothes off
Brown - Put leeches on
Orange - Castrate
Pink - Pull the toupee off
Barefoot - Sit at
Other - Drive out

5. What's the color of your underwear?
Black - My best friend
White - My father
Grey - Bill Clinton
Brown - My fart balloon
Purple - My mustard soufflé
Red - Donald Duck
Blue - My avocado plant
Yellow - My penpal in Ghana
Orange - My Kid Rock-collection
Pink - Manchester United's goalkeeper
None - My John F. Kennedy-statue
Other - The crazy monk

6. What do you prefer to watch on TV?
Scrubs; Man
O.C.; Emotional
One Tree Hill; Open
Heroes; Frostbitten
Lost; High
House; Scarred
Simpsons; Cowardly
The news; Mongolic
Idol; Masochistic
Family Guy; Senile
Top Model; Middle-class
Other; Ashamed

7. Your mood right now?
Happy - How awful I've felt
Sad - How boring you are
Bored - That Santa doesn't exist
Angry - That your pimples are at the last stage
Depressed - That we're cousins
Excited - That there is no solution to this.
Nervous - The middle-east
Worried - That your Honda sucks
Apathetic - That I did a sex-change
Ashamed - That I'm allergic to your hamster
Cuddly - That I get turned on by garbage men
Overjoyous - That I'm open
Other - That Extreme Home Makeover sucks

8. What's the color of your walls in your bedroom?
White - Your ring
Yellow - Your love letters
Red - Your Darth Vader-poster
Black - Your tame stone
Blue - The couch cushions
Green - The pictures from LA
Orange - Your false teeth
Brown - Your contact book
Grey - Our matching snoopy-bibs
Purple - Your old lottery coupons
Pink - The cut toenails
Other - Your memories from the military service

9. The first letter of your first name?
A/B - Your photo
C/D - The oil stocks
E/F - Your neighbour Martin
G/H - My virginity
I/J - The results of blood-sample
K/L - Your left ear
M/N - Your suicide note
O/P - My common sense
Q/R - Your mom
S/T - Your collection of butterflies
U/V - Your criminal record
W/X - David's tricot outfits
Y/Z - Your grades from college

10. The last letter in your last name?
A/B - Always will remember
C/D - Never will forget
E/F - Always wanted to break
G/H - Never openly mocked
I/J - Always have felt dirty before
K/L - Will tell the authorities about
M/N - Told in my confession today about
O/P - Was interviewed by the Times about
Q/R - Told my psychiatrist about
S/T - Get sick when I think of
U/V - Always will try to forget
W/X - Am better off without
Y/Z - Never liked

11. What do you prefer to drink?
Water- Our friendship
Beer - Senility
Soft drink - A new life as a clone
Soda - The incarnation as an eskimo
Milk - The apartment building
Wine - Cocaine abuse
Cider - A passionate interest for mice
Juice - Oprah Winfrey imitations
Mineral water - Embarrassing rash
Hot chocolate - Eggplant-fetishism
Whisky - To ruin the second world war
Other - To hate the Boston Celtics

12. To which country would you prefer to go on a vacation?
Thailand - Warm regards
USA - Best regards
England - Good luck on your short-term leave from jail
Spain - Go and drown yourself
China - Disgusting regards
Germany - With ease
Japan - Go burn
Greece - Your everlasting enemy
Australia - Greetings to your frog Leonard
Egypt - Fuck off now
Italy - In pain
Other - Greetings to your freaky family

For sale: Used Heart, Cheap. Fractured.

Thu, 20 Aug 2009 04:06:34 GMT

The fact remains, I still miss A. There’s a void that he left that still hurts with phantom pains. A gap in my life, my heart, wherever you want to claim it. But the thing is, I really don’t want him back now. I wouldn’t want to be greeted by a “Hey Babe, I’m sorry" message, because I don’t want him now. I want what was then. I want what was back in May. That then and there, and when it worked and felt right.

This could all be fear since D started telling me how much he likes me. How he calls me his and thanks me for coming over. All those things that I’ve experienced before. Almost in the same language too.

I’ve even been asking about Mallen. I needed to know how he was doing. Apparently well, and that relieved me in some way. Even if they could never love me, I want them to be happy and well.

Not by the sins of others..

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 04:33:38 GMT

He called me his girl tonight. Sweet. But, I've heard that before. And then two weeks later he didn't want to see me anymore.

I'm really trying not to judge based on the sins of others, but it's really hard not to. It's hard to stop my brain from making those comparisons. And there are comparisons to be made.

Muses are people who hurt you...

Thu, 06 Aug 2009 06:05:39 GMT

Oh look. More poetry.

FIELD OF VIEW

Were you bad for me then,
or worse now?
A chased down fantasy
of the plainest type.
The simplest touch
from its broken and complicated source.
Those twisted tales
from an unwritten tome,
warnings gone unseen, unabided
by the unbridled.
Blinded heart
exposed at the sleeve
a token, a trinket
at once too shiny to collect,
but drawn to caress, touch, taint.
Fingerprint smudged,
the smeared reflection -
in your own image shattered.
Only sought out solace,
in the crook of your arms and curved mouth;
thought to be shelter,
not the storm.
Rather found a false prophet
of true lies – mix truths
like beauty for the eyes who behold.

Once, you were good for me,
better then.
A tangible reality,
once within my grasp.
A moment’s taste,
with a whiskey soured burn.
In a moment of weakness
clung to, devoured.
An easy choice, yes,
not foolishly pursued;
never forever, just the time.
Felt real in the moment,
now faded edges blur
in hot echoed breath with callused fingertips.
The marks all linger,
the lesson remains.
Uncovered soft malleable flesh,
the still beating heart, stalled, restarted.
Awakened deep desired worth,
your teachings of an honoured student:
sum of parts, and parts of some.
Everything has its ugly splendour,
discoloured bruises fade.
Blinded eyes open
to the beatified mess.

08/05/09

Are these summer repeats?

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 03:51:38 GMT

"I am really quite taken with you"

Hmm, Where have I heard a variation of this before? What was it, "addicted to...", "I do like you..."? Something like that. Can I trust it now? Does the source matter?

So many similarities. SOOOO many. Maybe too many, I don't know...

I've just heard this all before... and it was fake....

Soundtrack of a Break Up

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 05:37:07 GMT

John Mayer's Continuum is the perfect soundtrack for a breakup. So haunting and sad, but really beautiful. And it's almost a little upliftingly healing too, when you really listen to it.

What's ironic about it though, is that when A took me out there was a John Mayer cover artist playing at the bar. Cosmic in a way, isn't it?

Done.

Sun, 19 Jul 2009 06:44:02 GMT

I’m used to watching movies alone again. I don’t expect mid-afternoon text messages. And I don’t wait for someone to wish me a good night with a kiss.

That’s dead again. Broken off and fractured. Done.

Sun, 12 Jul 2009 05:45:03 GMT

Had the worst conversation today with my cousin. My sixty-something year old cousin at that. It was all “You should go out more. I have more of a social life than you do. What you need is a boyfriend. Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Why don’t I have a boyfriend? Because he thought we would be better off with friendship. I don’t have a boyfriend because the one guy who made me want to be a girlfriend didn’t want me. That’s why!

Oh, but if I’m lucky, I’ll get a boyfriend like she has, when I’m in my sixties too.

Gee, thanks.

Fic: The Hardest Question of All (X-Men)

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 06:31:02 GMT

Shocking, isn't it? I'm writing again. Go figure.

Title: The Hardest Question of All
Author: Amanda
Feedback: sweety167@yahoo.ca
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything X-Men related.
Spoilers/Continuity: X1- Alternate Universe
Summary: Marie just doesn’t know.
Completed: July 11, 2009
Notes: I know a “Logan”, and the reality is not nearly as fun as the fiction. It hurts all too sharply.

Deep down, Marie wasn’t really sure if it was love.

She had nothing to compare it to. Nothing more than a chaste, but deadly, first kiss from David. And with everything that swam in her head after that, she had no way of knowing, no way to decipher or understand. Too many questions and never enough answers. That’s always been the way.

And then there was now.

She didn’t know if it was love, but she knew she was drawn to him. Undeniably drawn to a man who’s age alone should have repelled her. Who’s history should scare her. But instead it intrigued her, challenged her. Even thrilled her. Made her curious, made her determined, made her want to try even harder to be what he wanted. Maybe even what he needed. For as long as he would let her.

Was that love?

Or some dangerous game of hero worship, like everyone always suggested. But she was sure, deep down, that it wouldn’t matter if he hadn’t handed his life over to her – so literally. Marie had jumped into his trailer long before that. And all she had to go on then was the beast of a man who could, and would, take a beating like no body’s business. That he was a man who made people uncomfortable.

And yet she trusted him with her life, her body, even then. In that first moment. From that first look. And her trust in him has only grown.

Is that love?

In those moments where you hand yourself over to another person. Where you’re vulnerable and exposed, but not scared at all. Instead you feel comfortable, even relieved.

But...

But, there had been so many times, too many times where she was left to read between the silences. To piece together what he meant when his words and his stillness contradicted each other so sharply. He’d thank her for staying all night in his room, just sharing the space, but would follow with a week or more of nothing. Or worse, the cold, forced conversation. Where she followed him around begging for scraps of attention that he would toss her way.

There must be a switch Marie never saw, but always managed to flip. She was sure of it.

Could that be love? That secret power?

She wasn’t even sure if it counted as affection most of the time, or some form of abuse. With the way it always switched so quickly. He had been missing in action for so long that she assumed he’d never return, only to find him waiting for her the next day. Almost eager and excited. A light in his eyes and an energy humming. She would always dream that was affection – something he was fighting as if she were some temptress out to get him. A mutant Lolita. And he’d only run to gain control over it, only to be powerless against the driving need.

But the more Marie thought about it, the more she figured Logan was pushing her. Shoving her away. Trying to teach her that good girls like her don’t belong with the likes of him. No matter what those “good girls” thought about the whole thing. Even if those good girls were sure they weren’t all that good at the core to begin with. Marie was sure she wasn’t; not after everything. Maybe not ever.

Was that love? In some form or another?

It was a hard question to answer. She had nothing to compare it to, and no one to compare it with. Kitty and Jubes were never there in the moments like these, they never saw what it was like between her and Logan. What it was like when it was just her and him. All mutton chops and silky strands. They had their own views, their own comments, and oh-so-polite concerns.

And as their friend, she appreciated it. But...

But maybe, what she came to think of as truth, was that when it came to Logan there was nothing to compare it to. There were too many variables, and too many first that had been uncovered, exposed. And shattered. Things were always different. Him being the only one to reach for her, without a moment’s hesitation. Him being the one who allowed her to curl up against his side, a hand tangled in her hair. Offering her moment of normalcy that everyone else took for granted. Moments of closeness. Letting her taste that sweet burn of his cigar smoke that clung to him – after uncharacteristically asking if he could smoke it, in his own room, if she minded. Once even, the first swig of bourbon, long before she was ready, that made her throat spark and eyes water.

But he only smirked with a hint of amused pride at her innocence.

Was that love, around the edges?

Marie did know something though. She knew that, without a doubt, she’d never get what she thought she should want from Logan. Love or not, they would never be Jean or Scott. She would never get a taste of a fairytale ending from him. No All American Dream. Logan wasn’t built like that. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she was.

But, if that was love, than what she held for Logan would never be that. Defying definition, without labels or names. Maybe without understanding. Certainly without pomp or circumstance. It was intense, but casual and unformed. It was lumpy, at best. Bumped and bruised and nothing a young girl would expect to be proud of. Although...

It might not be love, but again, it might be.

What if it was? What would that mean, what would that shift and change? What consequences would spill then?

No. All she knew was if it involved Logan she wanted every drop she could get of it. She wanted to soak up every moment he would give her. She never wanted to let that go, couldn’t imagine not having that presence in her life. She ached at the idea of missing out. Even if that made her feel little girl young and foolish.

Marie wondered then, with her cheek pressed against his chest and his arm draped so casually around her shoulders, if it were possible and this was love, who’s side was it on? Her fingers lightly traced over the large belt buckle, bitingly cool to the touch despite the body heat; was it love? Would it matter?

She tipped her head up to find his eyes.

-end-

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 03:55:16 GMT

ONCE, MAYBE TWICE

Something, like beautiful,
once. Maybe twice
in the quieted creases
of your sleeping brow, relaxed.
The softness, the stillness;
only a moment’s memory
when tangled limbs spoke
and the close press of flesh
meant something. May have.
Once, maybe twice
for a moment’s time, anyway.
Intimate, naked inside.
Strangely beautiful
that flash of existence,
the light touch of happiness,
however brief:
a careless caress,
a tightened hold.
Under pale skin
stretched, softened -
hot breath scorched,
and scarred when quiet hands moved.
Guilted, flawed.
But no promises fell
from your parted lips,
kiss swollen and moist,
once seen as beautiful:
maybe twice, maybe.
Delusions of affection bred,
as the friendly consequence.
Never a choice, no freed will,
when a heart sped
and a tiny smile spread
out. Once, twice;
too many to count.
Something like beauty,
when looking back once,
maybe twice. Never again.

07/09/09