No Such Thing As Cute

Redheads tend to dump me. Caroline used me like a disco stick (hence the blog identity) and Lucille went bipolar on my ass (I will, in fact, pay tribute to this in a creative way, to be announced soon). Lucille appears and disappears, (A Peek-a... wait for it...--BOO). One day she decides I'm important, the next she bails. One day I'm telling her I like her, she listens, then somehow she becomes deaf and makes up her own theories of my words, splatters them on the walls of her head and blows me off.

Redheads annoy me, and they don't fucking listen. They're convenient, they get it, they hear you and they only pull what they want, what they need. Redheads dry you up. They're dense females. A certain Duke would know.

Except for one, which I've been decidedly too chicken shit to date. Anna. I like Anna. Anna is good. Anna has a phone number. I should call her. Maybe she's my Rory?

Wow. That was mean, even for me. I'm sorry. I'm not the unapologetic type. When I fuck up, I apologize, always.

Anna is not my Rory, Lucille is not my Caroline and Christian is not my Veronique. I play favorites, I do, temporarily, sporadically, out of control, but measured. I'm too young be so damn serious about everything.

Why does everyone want everything so fucking figured out?

I have intense relationship with men. Michelangelo was my love, and Anna was my first crush. I've grown up since then. I've faced people, life and heaps of shit. I've also discovered gardens, sugar addicts and bartenders.

I have a thin line between me and all the people in my life. I haven't decided which one I'm going to break. I haven't decided if I'm going to reach through that line to one particular girl, or to one particular guy.

Christian is the closest to me right now, because he's my step-brother, so there's more between us than I've ever had with anyone else. He knows though, that there's a side of me saved especially for her. But we don't know who "her" is yet. That girl I plan to become someone else with. That girl that will take my relationships with women from "fucked up" to "intense" in a millisecond. I say this in earnest. I have many faces, but they're all me, one way or another. And each belong to one person in particular. Not all of them belong to a "the one" just yet.

I connected with Christian, quicker and more intensely than with other people. I connect with men, quicker than with women. I have more experience with men emotionally and with women sexually. I've never been the receiving end when it comes to my sexuality, neither with men or women. I give it to them. Always.

I'm not as emotionally developed as I should be at this age. But my asshole development is advanced and quite compounded. I've mastered the art of bullshit to a T. Negative or Positive consequences be damned, so far as I know, that's what I'm allowed to do.

I feel safe with my brother. There's a safe place in my life with him. But there's still a thread, thin threads nobody walks. For all my connection to the man, and I classify him as "the" man, I do not know him that well. I'm not always sure what he's thinking, I'm not always foremost in his thoughts either. There's a part of him that also just belongs to "her". Another woman, as well, that he picks, whomever that is.

We understand each other, what we want out of people, out of life, out of ourselves. Yes, we are connected in a private personal way that is also all our own. There is love in what we have, because Christian does what nobody else does with me, he loves me openly, he takes the risk to express it and let me know it. He gives back. We're friends, we're family, we're like an old married couple on crack.

Then there's "her". That girl I'm undecided about. Then there's "me" and all those secret identities. And then there's redheads, who just fuck with my head and should stick to fucking with themselves. Seriously.

And Veronique, an owl I want to keep in my pocket.

"I'm kind of tired of getting screwed over." That's what I said years ago. Looks like the words caught up with me, cause now nobody's screwing with me. Everyone's a little bit afraid. And you know what? They're right. They should be. Lord knows what I'll do. But I can state something matter of fact: Whatever I'm going to do, it won't be unplanned. When you leave the house looking up at the sky in awe, you don't notice yourself stepping on dog shit. I look to the ground, I see where I'm walking, I gauge my steps. I plan ahead because everyone's a Poodle these days.

I don't have an internal GPS, I don't know what direction anyone wants to take. I don't know how to get to my prefered destination. I just have signs guiding me. Good ol' fashioned human signs.

Right now the street have so many different signs pointing in different directions. Who's to stop me from exploring them all.

I've seen the road, and I can skip the landmines. Caroline and her abusiveness, Veronique and her neurosis, Christian and his camouflage, Michelangelo and his denial, Lucille and her capriciousness... and then there's Anna, who I've yet to call up.

I really should stop being such a chicken shit and call her, but then I'll get to know her. Maybe I like torturing myself with the notion that somewhere out there is a perfect woman for me, a redhead with cute freckles that I've admired since I was 12. That I'll meet up with her when I'm 80 and say "hey chickie... I used to like you when I we were young" and she'll turn to me and say "What do you know old chap, I liked you too" and then we'll hold wrinkly old hands together and smile knowingly, squeezing those last drops of life from our fingers, looking at the horizon and death together thinking "wow... life sure is cute."

But that will never happen. Because when I'm 80 years old I'll resort to drinking Viagra, I'll want to hit up a screeching Veronique to mess with her, I'll want to shut up Lucille's senile whining with some sort of highly inappropriate bondage, I'll want to make illegal pedophilic-looking passes at my own brother (Who, as we've always suspected, turns out to be a vampire for whom at that point I'll look 60 years his senior), I'll want to tease Michelangelo's ear with petulant requests just to make his lover jealous, I'll want to throw my walking stick at Caroline and hope it smacks her droopy ass on the way, heh, at her age, she'd fall over. All a-giggles.

So while I'd love option A. I'd enjoy more an option B. I'm sure from here to the end of my life, a C option will show up and shut me the fuck up. That girl, who is still blurry in mind, will reach out and break the thread that separates us, she'll squeeze her way into my cluttered world, she won't give a damn, she'll have the nerve and the balls to surprise me.. Until then, I guess I won't hope for a cute ending.

But I'm still hoping for a happy one.

Just like women hope for a blue prince, I'm hoping for my devil-in-red princess.

Now where are you, you dumb slore?

Ebb And Flow

Well. Lucille has suddenly disappeared. Apparently she's got a bunch of fashion shows and she's off to get a boyfriend. Girl is fickle dude!

Ima gonna charge my 30 days whether it's now or takes 30 years. It'll be like the Slap Bet on How I Met Your Mother. You'll never know when it's coming.

On the other hand, a huge storm is brewing over by London. I am going to hell. I can't wait for it to just open up and rain on everyone's parade.

I guess there's also a sick sense of pleasure that my predictions go against someone else I know.

But you know. I'm just saying.

Anyway.

HOW TO DRINK A BEER

Dude it's easy, just pop the cap and slurp away.

Cheers!

I'm kind of all happy now, because I just added one of my new favorite albums to my blog. It's called "Broken Cities" by See The World (www.seetheworldmusic.com) I don't know what it is about that first song, and another one called "Losing To Win", oh, and "Paintings". I just like the lyrics in general. They sort of remind me of Keane, or Coldplay, only they sound softer, it's just really smooth music.

I know, grunge King Nathaniel, listening to ebb and flow. Hey, at least it's not Hair Metal and Guitar Hero.

Most Girls I Meet Are Quite Savage

I'm a gemini. I get bored easily.

So today I'm going to talk about my bro Christian.

Fact #1. He's mega yummy.

He's strong and determined. He has a temper to match his body and dude, that body is ALL hard. He's a sporty guy, so he's very fit (that's what I meant by the way? pervs) and he does crazy dangerous things like ride horses and hit balls with long iron sticks.

Hehe.

And he looooooooooooves me. He kisses me goodnight and everything. Yeah I know what you're thinking. Oh yeah. He hugs and kisses me and wuvs me. How's that for a little creepy with your breakfast?

He doesn't quite worship me the way Nicholas does, but well, Christian is the older brother in this little family shindig so he's supposed to be the more mature type, right?

He has a secret place that I'm going to reveal one day, right here! A la PEREZ HILTON.

Ok I'm kidding. If my brother ever deigned to tell me his secrets, I would never publish them. If he deigned. But he hasn't.

Fact #2. He keeps secrets from me.

LE GASP OF SHOKU. I know!!!! I mean, from ME! ME! His precious younger brother! His SUN! His MOON! His WEED--er--FLOWER!

How dare he?!

Well, I'd squeeze it out of him but I'm afraid he might punch me. You see all in all...

Fact #3. Despite appearances, Christian is a violent guy.

I mean, granted, this can be useful when he's, say, trying to protect me from old perverts who want to cop a feel of my sweet sweet bisexual ass.


But for the most part, it's just a slightly scary warning sign slapped on his perfectly calm forehead.

You know what? I should train, and then test his temper, and see if I can take him. I oughtta! Once upon a time, I could slam Michelangelo into a wall... then again he was usually permissive because the slamming was followed with some heavy making out BUT STILL GODDAMNIT.

Yes, that will be my mission, to make:

Fact #4. I can totallly take him

TRUE.

Hey, I've had to fend off my share of men when he's not around, and I've got a mean right hook!


Plus I look cute doing it, and who else can say THAT? Am I right? Am I right?

Now who's your disco daddy?

Squiggles,
Disco Stick

Confessions of an Emoholic

Bang.

Way to shoot me with my issues Lucille "I HAVE MORE FACES THAN A GEMINI" Delton.

I don't self-analyze much, it's not my style, because I know who I am. I have to clarify this here in MY blog, lest someone think I'm populating THEIR blog. I was going to leave this as a comment, but it sort of turned into an entry, and why not? If the world knows it just makes for better coffee conversation.

First, let me clarify why I dedicate oh so much blog space to Lucille Delton and bet shit like move in with her for 30 days and call her names and abuse and taunt her.

Obviously, I like her.

Like you didn't see that coming.

There's more to it. Out of all the people that populate this sinister limbo of life, Lucille is the one most like me. Which is at times cute and at others kinda scary. I'd love it if we were very similar, but we're not. Yes, I know that just makes what I said confusing. Here's the deal:

Why SheHoe and Narthurloony are alike:

a. We were born in the same year. We're the same age. In limbo land, we were born in the same generation and got tossed to the side by our no-good parents.

b. We were both extremely good at being extremely bad.

c. We both went through the spiritual transformation equivalent of winning The Biggest Loser Reality TV Show.

d. We both got a second chance to prove ourselves to other people.

e. We both switch careers like crazy people.

But this is where the similarities end. We're not very similar at all. We have these things in common that appear fundamental but at the core we're very different.

So I set myself up to comparison, saying that we're alike, and we both said it when we met. But when I see Loony Lucy running around and wetting her bed linens with mopey tears, I know for sure we're nothing alike.

I never tried to actually find myself.

And that's where we are so different.

I see this girl, making every possible move to change or be herself or turn into someone else and I think to myself. Wow. You're aware that's never gonna happen.

A leopard doesn't change its spots. You can dress up the leopard, you can tame it, you can calm it down, but it's still and will always be a wild predator.

Lucille, you're a nice girl. A nice girl, who is extremely good at being extremely bad. You're a femme fatale under wraps. You should be an international spy killing bad ass mofos, sleeping with random men a la Bond, Jane Bond and coming home to a loving husband who doesn't care if you slept with half the world and left a trail of blood so long as you share with him you're favorite chai vanilla tea and smile.

You're a hell of a lot more fun than Ashley is. You just don't know it.

Why do I bother you so much? Because you're killing that awesome chick. You want people to like you but their opinions don't matter. You feel left out from your family because the Deltons don't really love you, they see you as a tool and the moment I saw you I knew that was the one thing you needed. Love. I said that word and your whole universe just went KABOOOM for some reason. Suddenly you were rampant in search for love, and depressed because you'd realized you didn't have it. And you started turning into different women, Lucia's, Pucia's, Lucillia's, wtf? I don't know? Like turning into different women would get you someone who loved anyone of THOSE women. Like any of these women held the answer to who you truly are.

LIKE YOUR GRANNY KNOWS WHO THE FUCK YOU ARE.

I totally dig that you and my step-brother gave it a go, but it failed. I like that, because Christian wasn't dating Lucille. He was dating Lucille-who-wants-to-run-away-from-Lucille. A girl within a girl. At least, that's the Lucille I saw, because I met you years ago, before any of these other people existed and I observed you. If that is who you are now, then hey, ok, you succeeded in transforming yourself, good for you, I'm sure you'll make it work. But if there's even a slight hint of who you were inside of all that glitz, that's a girl I seriously dug. If she's gone, then I don't mind having sex with your body and pretending that's the real one I'm fucking.

I set myself up a lot, and that has never changed. For example, in the past, I dated this girl, Katrina (or she who should NEVER be named) and I only did it to piss off my little brother. Nicholas, I don't think you've met him? I didn't like Katrina, not really. She was a virgin and I wanted to pop her cherry. I wanted to see Nicholas cry. I wanted to show him who was boss. End of story. I'm a mean guy.

I haven't stopped being this guy. If anything I've just become better at it.

I knew this was toxic, I knew it. But did that stop me? Noooo. I follow through with whatever sick game I'm playing until the very end. I drop hints only every now and then, far down the line, when I know they'll do the most damage, or when I know they'll at least register shock.

So here's my confession of the day: I didn't fuck Caroline because I liked Caroline. I fucked Caroline because she reminds me of Lucille Delton; just a dumber, more boring and flat-chested version.

This confession may not matter to you at this point, but it matters to me. And hey, this is MY blog after all. See, I'm respectful of people's space.

Toodles,
Disco Stick

The Dancer!

Your International Spy Name is Viper Swan

Your Code Name: The Dancer You Reside in: Amsterdam Why You're a Good Spy: You're a goooooooood lover

What's Your International Spy Name?

Because sometimes I do random Blog thingies, memes and quizzes. Now check out my real post of the day!

A Little Less You, A Little More Me

So, I'm settling into my new room in Milan. I'll be living with Lucille "I'M SO EMO AND HOPELESS" Delton. I call it the "30 Days In Milan" Challenge.

I know we won't be the only ones here, there's also Christian and Marie who are moving in not too far down the road, and I heard Vincenzo is visiting his cousin Giovanni over in Rome, he'll probably drop by for no reason. All in all, things seem like they'll be a little bit crowded.

My motif though, isn't so much to enjoy the melange of peoples dropping in, but to see if I can make sense of the point of Lucille Delton among us once and for all. There's several options, I can fuck it out of her, I can slap it out of her, I can yell it out of her, or I can ignore the hell out of her, blindfold her, gag her, tie her up and pretend I'm fucking Caroline.

I kid around a lot, but I make up for my childishness with a lack of sensitivity. Not the Eric "Whoops, I'm a douche" kind either.

Lucille and I are very similar. Except I have a cock, and a pair of cojones. And she's just a big pussy.

She just likes to mope and complain. Because she didn't get what she wanted. Because nobody she wants pays attention to her (Though people she doesn't give a flying fuck about do pay attention, but ah! those don't matter). Because nobody is giving it to her good every night with a chunk of soulmate syndrome (Which might I add, I put into the equation). Same as I dregged up her old lame' ass carcass from the ground (See initial entries) and challenged her to become someone. I also put the notion into her head that she wasn't just a fucking machine but a human being deserving of love.

All of this and she still stares at me like I'm wearing a bad Santa Claus suit in the middle of thanksgiving?

Oh really.

She's not alone in the world, or misunderstood or ignored. She's just a stuck up little princess. And you know what I do with stuck up princess types? Ask me. I'm a sadist.

Princess ABooBoo is a spoiled crybaby who thinks she has all of us figured out. Except she doesn't. And she won't.

Ever.

Because masochists don't work that way.

And a masochist is what she is. Guilty as charged and forever bawling her woes out, amen.

Or you know, she'll turn into a complete psycho... that'll make me laugh my ass off.

And I do like watching comedies.

30 Days of Milan. I know what my purpose with this is. Now let's begin.

Squiggles,

Hoot

ABooBoo... U Want Ze Sexy Time?

I am NOT a whore. But I like to do it, like... a lot.

Heck I'm so horny lately my green hat is pointy, and that's just my blog cartoon.

I don't know what it is, maybe it's the whole fever thing, makes me think of "Captain Smith and Pocahontas, had a very mad affair, when her daddy tried to kill him, she said daddy oh don't you dare he gives me feeeeeever."

I love that song.

Anyhoo, I'm gonna get laid for the next 30 days with Princess ABooBoo. Now, I don't think it's fair for her to just jump into the sack with me.

So here's to you ABooBoo, a little preview of what's to come. That way you won't be like "Hey! I never got a trailer for this extremely long extended edition of the Lord of the Rings installment!"

Unhu, you know what I mean.

Here's Caroline the Tweetie Twat:

OH NO I DIDN'T... Oh yes I did. Recorded that on my blackberry voice note.

There's a 30 Things Bucket List of sorts for the next thirty days. Now that's great and all, and I do plan to be a bother, oh hell, a bother won't come close. And I will of course amuse beyond that and go through with the Bucket List. But I'm not sure I need a list. As Amerie would say, "it's this one thing oh oh".

I honestly have only one goal in mind, and it sure as hell ain't to be friends. Right toots? Muah!

<3

Squiggles,

Disco Stick

Who's your pointy master biatch!