There’s only so much disappointment one can handle in a week.

I’m waiting out traffic before I go back to work and reclaim my possessions from work Halloween. DEAR GOD am I glad that that is over with. As much as I like getting done up for something, I was fucking dying to wash my make up off all day.

Which got me thinking.

This morning, as I spent roughly an hour and a half getting ready, as I had so recently, it really got me thinking.

There’s something I find naturally pleasing about wearing make up, especially a lot of it to the point it hides your exterior flaws and highlights the good features. There’s just something really pleasing and right to me about wearing a mask, especially one that sits right on your skin like that. Because that’s what make up is, in more than one way. At least to me. There’s the cosmetic benefits, but there’s also the secondary distance you build between yourself and others when you’re doing something to highlight your beauty. Or so I’ve always found. Again I don’t totally know what the experience of an unattractive person is. I feel like everyone gets treated like shit for no reason (on a varying scale of frequency) no matter what they look like.

And honestly, even though I’m freakishly vocal on that subject (IDK, it’s the one part of my life I’ve always been okay with…so fucking sue me) I also like….am NOOOOOT the kind of person who uses their looks to their advantage. I mean, if I want to bang someone I’m going to attempt to present myself pleasingly, but like…idk, there’s a lot of people, women especially who learn too early how easy it is for them to get things/be treated well compared to others for no reason other than their accidental looks, whatever grab bag their genetic lottery pulled together. At least when a person is stupid toned you’re like…ah well I see you hit the gym while I’m on my ass on a computer which is whenever I’m awake, pretty much.

I haven’t written in SO LONG. This past weekend was fucked. When I wasn’t super happy and excited, followed by extreme bafflement and disappointment, I was working on fucking Halloween crafts. So burned out on like…my emotions, and crafting. I feel like my characters miss me. As fucking lunatic crazy as that sounds.

But.

Okay since I couldn’t control myself from returning the subject.

I figured out why I was so devastated about the N thing.

Yeah, I was looking forward to the sex. I mean, I couldn’t possibly be the only one who likes finding out what someone is like in bed. Plus, N painted a pretty promiscuous picture of himself, and the more sexual experience a person has, the better. Or so I’ve found with my HUGE list of partners. (It’s 10 dudes), the more experience the better. I imagine women are the same.

So, yeah, the sex. But also. Out of those ten guys….the first time I had sex with them worked out well in….two of the instances.

My first boyfriend would “always jerk off twice” before having sex so he would “last longer.” So he did that, my first time having sex ever, and then because he was on his third hard-on, while we were having sex, he kept losing his erection, going into the bathroom, coming back, again and again, until he came back in and just got dressed and didn’t say anything. We lied there in my bed in my parents house (the three of them were at a Tigers game) in silence until we left to see X-3 (the X-men movie from 2006) because I’d already purchased the tickets. I had to ask him on the drive over there what happened. He was a weird, weird asshole about the whole experience. As if it were SOMEHOW my fault. Also, looking back, who is like SO worried about railing some poor girl whose idiotically chosen you as her first partner? So fucking dumb. It was something he “had a reputation for” at his high school (we went to different high schools), this ability to last a very long time sexually.

I was far too young and naive and fucking achingly desperate to have a boyfriend, to have an emotional connection with someone outside of my fucked, fucked, fucked family. Of course I picked like….a TERRIBLE fucking choice….but whatever.

It just made me realize, as I typed this, that I can’t really stand it when I have to drag something out of someone. Like just fucking tell me. I thought we did that.

You know what time I remember dragging something out of my husband? July 2017, when a doctor’s bill in the mail alerted me to something he’d done a month before. Something I guess he was never planning on telling me about because he lacked the fucking balls. I don’t know how I would have behaved in that situation, because I never met a perfect stranger from Craig’s List for sex like he did. Then, I still had to drag it out of him when I couldn’t figure out what this doctor’s bill was for. He said he knew he was caught, and didn’t know what to do, and was panicking, which was why he tried to evade me at first. But, like I’ve said before, I could tell something was very wrong by how pale he’d gotten when he looked at the bill.

Then, just this past Sunday I had to do it again.

I guess I shouldn’t hold it SO out of sort….given that it seems to be typical male behavior, in my life. Which is funny…because….why?

But anyway.

Back to why I know I’m truly bothered by N and how that panned out, besides the fact that I was lied to, and that he did the world’s worst 180 in the history of date psych-outs. Those are things I will get over in time. Like now they piss me off. But I know how I feel about things that once made me angry.

What bothers me, what like literally hurts, as much as I hate that phrasing, is that I was able to be totally be 100% max Cassie around him…and it was totally fine…it was fun….it was SO fun he changed his mind about being able to sleep with me because it’d get too complicated because of an emotional connection. I’m paraphrasing his explanation that I had to fucking request. And like…because I could be myself…I mean that also involves letting your guard down, no? So it was the strange level of vulnerability on multiple levels…and like….at SOME fucking point, in the course of less than five hours….yeah…..just…..what….omg

So. IDK I guess I sound like I’m still pretty obsessed with this. It’s better than it was. I was still REALLY upset on Monday. Well duh there’s a huge ass blog about it.

But yeah. I realize, that that’s what truly saddens me. It such a rare, rare, rare, rare, rare, rare thing to find someone who can handle/be around/reciprocate max Cassie, as I like to call it. That that person is also a relatively smart guy I know from grad school who I could totally see myself fucking…I mean….am I NOT supposed to be into that? I mean really. I would love to take a goddamn poll. Ha that’s one of those verbal double entendre. But yeah don’t worry I still have plenty of sex. My husband has like a teenage libido. I think it’s all the testosterone from working out. IDK I’m not doctor. I don’t talk about my husband with my doctor best friend because she doesn’t really like him, from knowing about the shit he’s done. And she doesn’t even know about Craig’s List.

Well, that’s it. That’s why I’m still so obsessive and bothered by the N thing.

Zero idea how long it’ll take before I don’t feel bothered about it. Like I never do about anything.

All right, I’ve wasted enough time.

Peace

~Cassie

N, or No, but really though

Okay. I think I’ve discussed it enough with the two people in the world I trust (besides my moms, but she’s different, I don’t burden her with my life) and I THINK I figured some shit out as to why I was SO FUCKING UPSET today and yesterday.

Luckily, I have the world’s chilliest best friend (she rewards you for positive behavior with kindness/more attention than your whining ass was getting…it’s hilarious to watch when you know it’s coming) and the world’s warmest husband. IDK how I’d still function without the too-much-one-way approach they both take.

So. What happened that upset me so much? Ha. Okay. See if you can keep up.

N, guy from grad school, not to be confused with R, and I had been flirting hard for about a week over DM/text. You know the thing I alluded to being excited about? Well, blog, I know you knew it had to do with fucking, but yeah, it was the fun of talking with N on a really regular if not constant basis for about a week. Not long, I get it. We were talking enough so that I felt comfortable enough to ask him if he wanted to hang out this past weekend. He said he was into it. His words. He proposed plans and I agreed. I was super excited.

And, instead of getting into the details, because I don’t want to do that more than I already have mentally and in other blogs that are private, let me just tell you TWO exact quotes from N, spaced 5 hours apart, both of which were said on my couch:

5:30 pm (first arriving to my house) : “So we’re going to have sex….let’s just hang out first.”
That was all well and good. We’d already blantantly discussed fucking over DM. He did. He brought it up.
10pm: “I don’t think we should sleep together. I’m sorry. I feel like a prick. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

What the sweet fucking shit was I supposed to respond?

I was really embarrassed and confused. After he told me what was going on, I was still really embarrassed, but also fucking super pissed and just overwhelmed by how stupid I can fucking be.

I bothered to be myself around someone and to let my guard down and just be honest for once. And THIS happens.

The reasoning behind his massive/sudden change of heart stemmed from his having lied to me from the get-go about the exact situation in his relationship, which is intermittently open….and this was glossed over/straight lied about. He had a PERFECT out, when I asked him if he wanted to get together. He could have said right then that he wasn’t able to do such a thing at this time. OR he could’ve said he wanted to hang out but sex couldn’t be part of it, THEN waited until he was in another “open” period. But N didn’t do that. N just fucking lied to me and made it seem like we were definitely going to fuck (because he literally said the words…more than once….) then at the end of the night gave me a comic book and then was like oh by the way I’m completely not okay with this.

I mean. No one owes anyone sex, ever. And I’m not desperate….do you see me?….but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. THIS was a weiiiiiiird amount of bullshit.

I do NOT do well when I put myself out there only to be rejected.

NO woman does well with sexual rejection. It’s literally like the one thing we don’t deal with, that and prostate cancer.

I let my guard down, and got fucking socked for it, AGAIN. You’d think I’d goddamn learn, but the day I learn is the day I stop feeling feelings…I think…

It’s a very disappointing thing to happen to anyone.

It’s not easy for me to connect with someone, or want to, AT ALL. Now it was all for nothing.

N could have SO EASILY just like…NOT fucking talked to me and started this whole process. Or he could have just NOT made hang out/fuck around plans with me, like he so definitely did.

That’s what bothers me.

And like…I had to stop myself last night when I was texting him because I didn’t want to be TOO mean because like…I forget only one other person in the world was raised by W, so only Justin (my brother) knows what it’s like to be eviscerated with verbal abuse and threats of physical/sexual abuse on a daily fucking basis. Our mom knows too, but she was a fucking adult then, wasn’t she? My husband tells me how good I am at cutting down, through all the layers, between the bone, with the craft of a surgeon. He doesn’t word it like that, but trust me that’s what he means. So I told N I was going to stop talking to him, but that it fucking destroyed me that this happened because I let my guard down. My fuck all my life has ever done is teach me not to do that. And all I’ve ever done is tell it to fuck off.

Now is no different, of course. I mean….I can’t help but think things along the lines of “Well, YOU’RE the one about to miss out, guy.” Perhaps my arrogance is some strange mental illness I developed to shield myself from the chaos that was my childhood.

But you know what. Adults get to make their own destinies. Even if its just fighting back against what you can’t help/couldn’t stop.  You’re responsible for all of your own shit, but that also means no one gets to take credit for things you do.

I tried teaching R that. But I don’t think he was listening. He was too far gone with alcoholism. Hot as he was. And you know what R NEVER fucking lied to me. It’s really not a good thing when you can’t reach the bar R fucking set.

I shouldn’t be so mean. He did mean a great deal to me at one time. I was always hyper attracted to him.

Like I said, I’m lucky to have my husband around for situations like this. He’s been so great about comforting me through this.

I know it’s fucking fucked that my spouse was consoling me for my “poly” hookup rejecting me hard, but it’s what fucking happened, all right?

I had to ask for an explanation.

When I said I’d stop talking to him, N said “Thank you.”

So. Yeah.

That went well.

The comic book still seriously confuses me. Like why. I have so many questions.

But it’s like N doesn’t get how hurt I was by what he did. I don’t think he gets it at least.

My husband tried helping me figure out what it was that fucking upset me so much. He was like, was it your self esteem? Did you just want to fuck? Were you super into this guy? Was it just wanting something to look forward to?

I’m not sure. But again, it was nice having him be there for me.

Still. One can’t help but wonder why you couldn’t have just been left alone if this was how it was going to go. Did rejecting me make N feel better about some shitty part of his life? Did he seriously just think he would be able to convince himself sleeping with me fell under the “okay” category when he “realized he wasn’t comfortable with it” hours into our meeting up? Then of course there were his many mentions that it freaked him out that we got along too well and talked too easily. But oh don’t worry he acknowledged that that’s a self-defeating loop that’s super unfair to me so I feel super not stung by that.

I wish I wasn’t so upset by this.

I wish I didn’t feel like this.

I wish I wasn’t so bothered. And hurt.

 

Also….I wish I could afford therapy……might be able to unpack why I only look forward to casual sex anymore….or why it means SO MUCH to me that someone would bother even paying attention/talking to me….

Yes….so…so….hard to figure out…..

But just because you know the cause of your feelings, that doesn’t mean you can fucking stop them, now does it?

 

 

~Cassie

Luck v. Persevereance

I’m lucky in so many odd ways. I have a great waistline and breast size, and nice lip/nipple color, and I’ve always had a magnanimous benefactress in my life (first my Grandma, then/now my mother in law), and I’ve been given two cars and three computers (1 desktop, 2 laptops, if you’re wondering) in my life. “Looks are an accident, Dr. Lecter.” “If comeliness were earned, you would still be beautiful.” My god I love Thomas Harris. He’s like my living Puzo. At least I think he’s alive.

I’m waiting for dinner. I’m done with CF for the day. My brain literally hurts right now, I can’t create any more eloquent word thoughts. I can’t. Seasonal allergy related sinus headaches can fuck right off.

How’s my life, in a few words?

I haven’t seen my pointless father or brother in four years. I haven’t seen my mom in the past year, but she and I email each other every day. I’m always torn between still loving my mom, and then being very much like “Lie in the bed you made, bitch.” towards her. She should’ve left my dad when the Bad Shit happened when I was 5. Like, it was the 90s, not the 30s, she could have fucking divorced him. So, no matter how sad hearing about her pathetic life makes me, I kind of don’t let it totally get to me, you know?

Coworker I wanted to fuck, back in the day, is leaving my department, at long last. He kind of offended me about two months ago (whenever Kamikaze came out, it was that very day) and I never got over it, I wrote a freaking huge blog about it and all….BUT, his super hot even younger brother now works in my department. It feels like a fucking porno. Like his little brother is so hot, it’s hard for me to look right at him when I’m talking to him. And before I sound like a disturbed pervert, his little brother is 23. So young but like…definitely legal. MMMMhmm. Anyway. Then of course there’s the other two guys at my work who I would fuck like yesterday. I added the one on Linked In, because I heard people use Linked In to hook up, but as of yet, nothing. 10/10 disappointment.

Something interesting is happening elsewhere, but it feels wrong mentioning just now, on here.

I’m on page 214 in CF. I have about 50 pages left to transcribe, then that bitch is like an actual, complete thing. Working on assembling more intelligent people to read it over before I pay a professional editor. It’s hard because like…who’s smart and trustworthy? That’s a rare fuckin’ combo.

Anyway. Oh yeah, my 12 year old cat Felix is diabetic, he was diagnosed last weekend. I have to give him insulin every 12 hours. It’s kind of annoying because I’m like “Cool, going on vacation just became a million times more complicated for us” but then I’m also like “Self, when the fuck is the last time you went on “vacation”?” IF Shakespeare Behind Bars counts, then that when we went last May, but still. Plus we get nervous leaving the plants for that long, to be honest.

Dinner is ready. Hope all is well. Keep strong and keep on, writing community. Write it first and do it for yourselves.

~Cassie

My life as I know it boils down to one activity, or thinking about one activity

I wrote this blog as a document on my lunch break because I don’t make time for blogging when I’m going full tilt with the writing:

It’s funny what this blog used to be, compared to its current use. I’m not one for ultimatums or resolutions, but I kind of realized, as much as I want to talk about the stuff I used to blog about, I only have so many words in me any given day. Am I really going to waste them talking about the ups and downs of my marriage, or even worse, about my pointlessly terrible childhood? Why? It’s distracting and I have other work that’s far greater (in many ways) and far more enjoyable (again in many ways).

So, where am I at with CF? I’m almost done transcribing the second draft, which I’m printing for my husband. When he’s done with his copy, I’ll edit it and turn the 2nd draft into a 3rd as I input those edits. Then, after 3 is saved, I MIGHT transcribe again. I basically want to transcribe twice, but I don’t want to do them too close together. I want to give my best friend her copy to read the next time I see her because I do not want to mail this shit. CERTAINLY am not into the idea of emailing it.

So, I near the end of second draft. When I hit like…idk five or six, I’ll probably be ready to pay the $3000 for a private editor. I actually don’t care about how much money I have to spend to publish. Truly I don’t. I mean, I’m in so much other debt (all from school, I’m not a secret shopping addict or anything) that like, who the fuck cares if there’s more? At least this way it would be over something that I care about, and would love to go into debt for.

Because, as much as we all want to fantasize about the day you can build a shipping container house complete with author’s turret (or whatever your personal writing goal is) that’s really not the point is it? We all want to be rich and famous. Whether we’re taught that as children, or if that’s the true, base desire of any red-blooded ‘murican is beyond me, but I feel like it’s presented as the ultimate expression of life as we know it. Well, not me. I just really want to be rich. The idea of being famous feels like it would be people paying attention to you all the time, in a way you don’t enjoy or want….yeah….that’s not my bag.

So, what are your writing fantasies? For the hundreds of hours we spend staring into computer screens, for the times we forced ourselves to write when we were tired, for the fragments of your soul you have to dust your work with, why are you doing it?

I have two phrases I like to look at. “Write it first.” and “Do it for you.”

Stay motivated, and remember why you’re motivated.

That’s all the advice I got. I’ll be back when I have a sweet picture of a new manuscript. Also I’ll be back in a week because I’m ridiculously proud of my Halloween costume for work. I’m going as Ms. Scarlet from Clue. It’s pretty hard to be the slutty character and stay HR appropriate. Let me tell you.

Peace

~Cassie