Let's make this a Rambling Journal Entry

Again I start writing without a title for my post. I have a couple of things I'd like to discuss, but then I stop thinking whether this or that is "proper" or wonder how can I drive this or that topic to convey in a clear message why it concerns me enough to write a post about it. Though granted, not everything that ends up in a post of mine concerns me so terribly. I may have a particular sense, sometimes, like some of the things about me or around me, or things I think or witness are "top secret" and I could be processed for divulging them. Yes, maybe I've been working for the Public Sector for too long.

On the front of the Book Swap, all is going quite well, except that one of the girls, Andy, hasn't gotten her present yet. This concerns me quite a lot, not only because I've been organizing this, but also because I've become quite fond of Andy. Dare I say, I love her very much. This also reminds me of a complicated situation that seems to have arrived, which is that I believe that Carrie doesn't like Andy very much, and it's sometimes difficult to lavish all my love and attention on darling Andy, and then noticing that Carrie might not be so delighted about that. I believe I have witnessed a few bouts of jealousy from Carrie - or maybe, not so much jealousy as, um, dislike that I might be making plans to spend time with Andy - with have been... peculiar to say the least.

About my friends - my girlfriends, in this particular case - recently a friend of mine, Tina, posted some pictures she made. Tina is an incredibly talented photographer. Her pictures got to me so much that I told her I would love to marry her pictures. She replied - in jest, of course - that I could marry her and the pictures. This made me really happy and I though "Yeah, sure, I'd marry her!". This then got me thinking how I'm so quick to propose to my girlfriends, and how I can actually imagine myself marrying a woman (yeah, it would hardly be a real marriage, but more like girlfriends living together, watching movies and going crazy at shopping, mind you), but if a friend, a guy-friend of mine were to make the same declaration, I would be running the other way. I've tried to press myself in this matter, get to the core of it, imagine a girl with clearly romantic and sexual intentions towards me, and a guy with nothing but friendly intentions towards me, both of them asking me to marry them, who would I marry? I would still marry the girl. But if the girl insist in having children while the guy is not interested in children... I would marry none.

Why am I so threatened by the idea of marrying a man?

I simply can't imagine the circumstances in which I would marry a guy. And yet, I can't kid myself, I know by now that sadly, I'm heterosexual. Yeah, I'm still whining about that. I refuse to believe I'm complicated, though often simply saying "I'm complicated" is the easiest way to end a conversation about me and my so-called weirder characteristics. Thanks Hyne I love them, all my quirks and crazy little things, but I still would like to uncover the mystery of some of the things I think and I feel.

Talking of marriage, getting married, as I try to think of the scenario where I would marry a man, I remember this weird dream I had back when I was a teen, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. It was one of those confusing dreams with many weird parts, with something about me having a baby that was half a kanguroo (the left half, I believe), and half a baseball player. And the father was a classmate of mine I didn't really give much thought to then. Anyway, in the dream I was simultaneously pregnant with this baby, nursing him and watching pictures of him at different ages. Then, as I rushed out of this museum like building, I was wearing a wedding dress and ran out to a funeral. There was this classmate of mine, dead and his casket about to be lowered to the grave. In the dream I stopped the funeral, opened the casket, got into into it, and laid next to him. I remember holding his dead hand as the lid of the casket was closed on us and feeling the casket being lowered and then the dirt shoveled on it. I remember feeling so happy, so in peace that I would be forever with this guy. To this day, I think that's the one scenario were I would feel ok "marrying" a guy.

Benchmarking Men

A job I( started doing at the company I'm working at, and I job I've become good at (pretty much) is benchmarking. I remember, when I started it was rather difficult, specially because my trusted coworkers of that time weren't willing to help me get the sources, though they have them. Little by little, though, I built up quite an amazing source base, and defined the parameters of my studies. Then, after three years of doing this my benchmarking projects stopped and I was left doing... well, you may have read a lot about it ^_^. In this new position I am in, the bechmarks came back, and though I still can tap my mobile sources, many of the current request leave me lost. Benchmarking for things that are not freely available on the net, that are not easily comparable, that can't so easily be processed to get a single figure kind of makes me rethink the entire process. Look around and then quite disappointedly realize that some of my coworkers have the data bases but refuse sharing them.

Yes, information IS power.

But today I do not wish to write about my job, but rather about how things spin off and something from job would be so good in another area of your life. This is today the case of the benchmarkings.

Recently a coworker of mine broke up (or more like "was broken up") by her long time lover. After more than ten years together and a daughter, the dude left her for a "newer model". Then again he is or was married to a woman older than my coworker, so the thought that pops in everybody's mind is "SUCKER!" when reading or hearing about the story. Why didn't she see that? Why did she take that motherf*** into her life? Well, that's a good question, but then again, what other stupid things do we do? Date a guy that turns out to be a lying s.o.b. that's out there to make us suffer, marry some guy who has already been married three times only to have him milk our hard earned money, beat us up and then somehow make it through a divorce, or fall into a guy who is just a player and would be lost by morning. Or even in other areas of our lives, and here I pull an example from my own life, get for thesis tutor a professor that has no sense of dedication and whose only interest in life is pulling some personal benefit from your job, while holding grudges and making everything in his power to get into the way of those who don't pay homage to him.

So with that "boss" that seemed to be such a nice person, such a good friend and turns out to be the biggest son of aa whore ever, turning the working environment into a hell of such magnitude not even Dean Winchester would have put up with. And so on and on and on on so many levels it makes you dizzy. And at the end of it, the claim "if I would have known in advance". My question now is, why don't we?

There's a site Don'tDateHimGirl, from which I heard from my friend Skylar. I've joined it but I still haven't got to its "real use".You see, back when I heard of it, it was about a chance to check on the guy you are dating, see what other people who have dated him before had to say. The idea seems good and radical, because after all, who takes the time to benchmark their dates? I dunno, but I, for once, have been thinking about meeting the exes of my boyfriend and hear what they have to say.

Sure, people act different depending on who are they with, but there's also the fact that an infatuated person would refuse to see the blatant flaws of his or her loved one. Then, regardless of who are you with, somethings don't change. Lack of attention, jealousy, insecurity, OCB... and wouldn't that be good to know in advance, so you can either drop the ball or prepare for it? Placing dates on a site, having an online data base of dates, and people in general, would be an awesome way to go by, but while we wait, we could make our own investigations, with "good, solid police work". Look for the acquintances of that person, ask around, get to know a bit of the background, prepare ourselves. But the truth is that we don't do it and will hardly do. We excuse ourselves saying that "when the heart chooses there's nothing else to do" and "I can't tell my heart not to love him", which is bullshit. A heartbreak can destroy love (in many cases), so why not to ease yourself out in a less painful way? Then, even when realizing of flaws, thinking "I can make him or her change" is a big, big load of balloney. You can't change a person, just as you can change yourself, your real self. So, why do we willingly run blindly into things, often pinning the blame of our rush, reckles behavior on "the heart" and "feelings" and other crap of the sort?

Furthermore, why do we make a study for something as intrascendental as a business, a service, a product, but refuse to make a benchmark, make a study for the things that really matter to us?

There's a question for you all.

Moments of Pain and Uncertainty

Yesterday has been far darker, deeper and more painful that I would have thought. Not only has the Month of Mourning begun for me, but also a plane has disappeared over the Atlantic Ocean. No, naturally, I don't give a dime about such things normally. I mean, there are refugee women living in constant fear of sexual violence in Darfur and Zimbabwe, and that's worse that some plane in the ocean. Worse is war, children being killed by their parents and relatives, kids killed in the streets and their killers getting away with it. The crisis that has deveiled the capitalism cruelest face, where it is blatant how those who have more are willing to send to starvation and misery thousands of families so they can keep their private jets, and toasting with $3000 cocktails. So yeah, compared to that some plane going Houdini shouldn't mean a dime.

The flight is the AF 447, from Air France. Departing from Sao Paulo (or was it Rio de Janeiro?) to Paris. 11 French crew members. I happen to know a crew member, which I have met in a flight pretty much in the same direction. Now I'm worried. I understand they are not tied to a single flight, so someone who does "Caracas-Paris-Caracas" will not spend the rest of his working days on that one flight, and then some work quite a hard shift doing Johannesbourg-Paris-Caracas. The Lord knows I know. So, maybe, and there are many chances (I hope) that this one crew member I know either decided to move permanently to the South of France and live there happily, flying no more, or maybe he's still flying, only he's on some other flight, but there's also a chance that he was on that plane. Passanger and Crew lists have not been released yet, but Air Frace opened a line for family and close friends. I'd love to call, I really do, but how could I do it? I don't know his last name, I don't know his exact address or his full birthday date.

So I scrapped all the info I could. The two pursers are older than he. That gives me a bit of ease, he told me he was a cabin officer, a purser, so hopefully he's somewhere else. I can only hope, can I?

I don't know enough of him to be able to research, but yet I know too much for me to know the odds, for me to care, and for me to worry. Hell, all I need is another death in June.

I would have never thought

1. I would have never thought I would actually receive a picture from the Polish party with the pictures taken at the New Year's party... which I'm not feeling like looking... Seriously. Some look fine, others ... well, I'm not looking at all of them. In some we look silly, in others ... well, some are rather compromising, and they are ok among friends, and not shared with ... strangers. Don't get me wrong, they were nice, but it still feels bad for me that total strangers were taking pictures of us being silly and posing like demented loonies. That's... something that remains among friends, those who were doing the stupid faces.

2. I would have never thought my Godmother would plead me to get married before I end up like her. But I want to end up like her!!! I want to be alone!

3. I would have never thought I would date again. Specially not someone I met on a New Year's party, because that's such a commonplace... And having a cocktail, then a dinner, planning movie dates and promenades at the Buda Castle, watch the city at night, all lit up... It's still a lot to go, so we will see what comes out of it. I'll report... tomorrow... or today. ^_^

Good Grace!

My heart is racing as if it were pumping coffee. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear... I saw and talked extendedly with Faux V. Coy, kiddy, seeks to make me jump with some of his comments, lovely, close, pretty much sucked up all teh vids I had on Vassili, which include every single episode I possess of Supernatural, and now we are talking on the MSN. Love? you may ask. My answer this time is HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Get real. Lust in the best of cases.

I did all my good deeds, spending an important chunk of my morning at the other side of Sabana trying to fix up my Institutional Card situation, which requieres so much paperwork I'll leave it for next week... unless I need to escape expeditely from here... like on Friday, away as far as I can from some high-quota office party which doesn't really worths for me the price asked for it.

Well, back to Faux V, he pierced his eyebrow. Well, expresses his rebelious soul. Showed me one of his pictures.

Okay, he JUST asked me to lunch. I'm supposed to lunch with Jenkins, Nell and Mr.B. No sign of Mr. B, and anyway, when have we ACTUALLY gone out on an appointed date? Never? Right. That's how much I trust his word. Sorry, but this is what things have come to. Plans come and go, and I'm pushing the line. Yeah, in 30 minutes, fisherie... like it would actually happen.

Suuuuuuuuuuuure! I want him, I really do. Love the way he speaks, the way he words his thoughts, and the novelesque quality of his narrative, plot and structure.

Will we go out today for lunch?


UPDATE 13:15.

He did. He came. He took me to lunch.

Conversation was awkward, but the beer was just fine. A lovely gentleman, though never like Christian, you mind.

Oh dear, he actually kept one promise. He did took me to lunch...

Reality Check

I rest my case.

Fuck.

... why again...

Why is this happening and why is it happening now?

It's totally driving me crazy.

It actually started yesterday, but today it has been going on and on, and I can't turn it off. He's in my thoughts, in my prayers, in my mind, on my lips, in my soul. My heart feels again like bleeding, and my memory keeps evoking the few snapshots I have from him. His words, his eyes, his smile, his hair, his beard-goes-goatee-goes- "you should just shave those cat wisks off". A part of my mind, quite rude that bitch, sneers and says:

"You know, you like Shia LaBeouf because he looks a lot like him."

If that part of my mind had a physical body, I'd love to throw a book, a mug or something solid at it and have it shut up.


I don't get it. I really don't. Why can't I simply like someone ... "normal". And someone who fits better my normal type? You know, clear eyes, fair, hair long enough for me to grab it and play with it... basically, someone looking more... "pretty". Then again, as my cell goes to "rest", I realize that my "type" has changed, and it has changed before Stan, Faux V or Shia. It changed pretty much a year ago with some magazines in French and a very, very nice ass.


Yep, my type of man has definitively changed. This is my type now.

Eagel Eye

Though I have a lot of things to be pissed off about, such as my motherfucking thesis director, who is completely unable to understand that this fucking shit is fucking important, and if he has egged us into this fucking topic, he better STICK to it and work at out rhythm or else (sorry, I had to vent about that, and nice wording just wouldn't do it), or the stupid prick who fell in love with me after I condescendingly went to grab a beer with him and got myself booooored out of my head listening to his ever-so-pitiful shit while excercising an incredible amount of will power I absolutely ignored I had towards tolerance-towards-the-mentally-and-emotionally-impaired to keep myself from standing up and telling him: "For the n-th time, you are not 'a strange guy', you are like thousands more called 'needy, dependant, useless drama queens' insteand of 'men'." --- Okay, I think I do deserve now one of those Hypocrisy Noble Prizes, also know as Peace Noble Prize. (Not like I would EVER accept one of those... Being listed in the same category as that rat Oscar Arias makes my skin crawl back...). Then of course there's the weekly dose of Iván The Epitome of Drama. Her Ladyship's last stunt was through the SMS.

"I do not understand your anger. Would you it explain to me?"

My, my... what makes him think I'm angry? I won't pretend I have no feeling towards him. I still harbor some resentment for the shit he has done, though I have so much stuff in my mind that I have to think actually at the crap he has done in order to evoke the feelings of resentment. Then, of course, there's annoyance, which springs to life each time he calls me or sends me a message. And here I thought I was crystal clear when I told him that I'll be unavailable up to April due to thesis. I must assume that while I meant Swedish Collection crystal when I thought about "crystal clear", he preceived it as crystal meth. No wonder. Anyway, the drama queen presented her weekly piece, but let's just be hopefull and hope against all hope that the carnival is going to another city and the show won't come back.

So, aside from three annoying bastards, my weekend was a blast. I did felt odd at having a Saturday not devoted entirely to the thesis, research, laptop and library environment, typing my fingers away, surrounded by papers what Mile seeks for the missing pieces to put up the perfect paper with information I couldn't possibly graps, and which makes me ever so grateful to have her in my life, here with me doing this thesis. God, bless Mile because she's the best! (Today she's filing our proposal to the Counsil to be approved tomorrow... May God be with us in this...) I'd truly be lost without Mile.

I've been rolling numbers up and down trying to make sense, get them to work and come up with some diagnosis while not having the milestone of it: the tour to the islands, the info from the islands to get this thing rolling. I kinda feeli like taking off on my own, go this Saturday there and see what can be seen around there. God as my witness, I'll do it if we have no other choice.

So, Saturday. I went running some errands to the banks, and one of those was to deposit some money on my Euro account. Life had it so, that when I went to do a little of leisure activities, I actually spent HALF of what I have deposited... T_T. Life is cruel. Thing is that my favorite bookstore had this offer, that if you bought at least two books on the weekend you could get an eco-bag. (A bag made of ecological fabric, some kind of untreated cotton of sorts.) I haven't been over at the bookstore for a while, so what best chance? I went... and ended up with four books... three of them in Spanish and the ONLY one in English a pack I actually picked for my dear friend Sandra Hill. ^_^ It just... called me. The books are cool. One is from Carmen Posadas and it's called "La Bella Otero", which is about a woman who looses all her fortune due to her addiction to gambling, and then gambles about the date of her own death. The other is a book by Nick Hornby, and it's about a guy who pretends to have a kid to score with the ladies, and a kid who needs a father figure and tags along. The last one is a journal, quite graphic and quite interesting. It's a novel by Jeff Kinney and it's called "The Diary of a Whimpy Kid". It's a page turner, mostly due to the language in which it's written, even if it is translated and translated into Spain-Spanish, which ain't the favorite of Latin American readers. ( I still remember how people growled and mocked each time a Dragon Ball movie was Spain-Spanish doubled... Specially when Goku said stuff like "Vamos! A que no puedes cogerme!", which really, only means "Come on! Try to catch me!", but in Costa Rican slang means "Come on! Try to fuck me!").

After the books I went to have some small lunch and then to the movies, packed up with my favorite movie pack: Matinée. It's a kiddie pack, with a small coke, small popcorn and candies. It's the only one with candies, and the only one with the right amount of popcorn I can actually eat. The movie I went to see was Eagle Eye. Kind of have heard of it before, but I basically went because it was the only things that seemed like I could see it, plus the guy was "okay looking". Dude, the guy, Shia LaBeouf-Or-Something is hnnnn-not-tooooo-bad-only-really-not-my-type when he's shave, but unshaven he's You-were-born-to-belong-serve-in-my-bed. Now, I don't need to hear it, I KNOW! But before you go "it's the eyebrows!", think that he keeps his eyebrows but if he shaves I dislike him. So why with beard? I'm not the likes-beards type-o-gal. I actually have always liked the angel-face guys, the softer the better, but this guy... shaven is so unappealing for me, all cheeky, hi-hi, poshy, plastic-looking, while with the beard he becomes rougher, more human and maybe also more mature, less kiddy and someone I can relate to. And then again, shaven he's too "Hollywood" for my liking, but with beard, a little ragged, a little scared, a little poor, a little scratched and rough around the edges... he's ever so... Krummy. So there I go again! I keep falling for this type... and I really liked my old type! T_T

Directed by D.J. Caruso, it delievers, to my unrefined knowledge, an acceptable performance, though a bit stiff here and there. Labeouf does a nice job as Jerry Shaw, but as Ethan, the twin... well, let's just leave it there. Thanks Hyne the "Ethan" parts are few enough not to spoil the movie. Billy Bob Thornton should remember he's not playing Agent Smith, so it's okay to be a bit more "human", yet, it's a "character", not his dream to be an FBI Agent.

The plot in itself is boring, though the action and watching LaBeouf is interesting enough to make me get another ticket to watch him, however, really, it's stupid. I know I'm spoiling the movie, but it already get's spoiled rather fast: a computer deciding to overthrow the Government. Why can't people just come up with something original? Really, some secret organization would have been cooler. It's just so fake, so "Matrix Vista" you are wondering when is Jerry being offered the blue and the red pill, and whether Neo will pop up out of the blue and save the day.

However, that's to LaBeouf's handsome face and other lovely atributes, I had a wonderful time. Looking like that he could even sell me the idea of marriage. So, mostlikely I'll be going to see him again at the movies, buy the DVD on Amazon and wonder for a while why my guy-type has changed from the angel to the roughed up struggling type of man with a soft, bleeding core.

After the movies I happened by Victor's place... my friend, and we chatted and watched FOUR Supernatural chapters in a row from the fourth season. O_O It's so good! We spent hours drooling over Sam and Dean, though he likes Sam better, while Dean is more my kind... ^_^ But we promised that if he get them, we will share and switch on regular basis. What are friends for, right? (And gay friends? To drool together over men, of course.)

"Will you come next week for the next chapter?"
"You can bet your money on it!"

So, probably from now on after thesis I'll have a stop at his place for Supernatural.

Yes, Life is Good.

Evil

I knew my calculations would turn out to be right. *swells with pride* I measured my words to cold perfection. I made it. JP wrote... after I banned him from my MSN.... don't know how did he do it. I'm... filled with happiness!! ^_^ I could make a victory dance! Save that this kindof happiness usually doesn't prompt me into victory dances. I'm overjoyed because the Ice Queen is back, and her evil plans are going like clockwork. Pride is intoxicating. Yessssssss... my profiling was perrrrfect. My weapon was flawless. May my other evil deeds be just as successful? Or is it still the luck from bedding three gay guys on Saturday night?

Oh, did I forgot that little detail of my weekend? Well... *pretense of humbleness* it wasn't that... "little". And the show... oh my... I think I'll never spend money on another movie again. ^_^

Then again... I guess Ivan and I will have a talk about why am I so loud during sex and how will I be banned next time I scream my head of. Well, it wasn't my fault: Jose is really talented with his... never mind. ^_^ Oh, and Gian Ca? Great kisser! But... that's just between Ivan and me... oh yes, and those boys. ^_~

The Weekend's Score

First of all, thanks for everbody for their loving messages about the previous entry. ^_^ Boy, having friends like you makes it all worth it! Second of all, here are the developments of the Fatidical Friday, which could have marked the end of my Evil Doing Days. (Okay, they were "curbed".)

That day I dressed up to party. Reduced my "regular daily luggage" to a handbag, and did me make-up and close "party-ready". Through all the day JP (also known as Faux Viktor), didn't even bother to talk to me, after being so verborreic the prior days. Well, *shrug* whatever. Maybe he has nothing to tell me. On the afternoon I had to run an errand close to the building where he is, so what the Fuck, I stopped by to greet him. Good thing I did! Fuck, that son of a bitch was looking like uncut coke: sinfully good. Waaah~... Hottie!

"Are we still up for today?"
"Yes," he said winking.
"Mac's?"
"uhhh... sure, sure. Mac's"

So, of course I came back to my office walking on clouds and ready to give up the essential of me: my capability to hurt. So I prayed for a miracle and I published my prayer. Hyne, you have no idea how full was my heart with hope! A painful yet tremendously romantic feeling. It was the very matter of good stories. Thanks Hyne I took fair advantage of that in writting. But giving up the Ice Queen Crown... that must have been it. You see, you have to embrace who you are and what have you done out of yourself. Sure, you can change, but if what you've been so far has been working so well, you had no complain about yourself, why to think of a change? I should have never offered my abdiction to my crown. Once an ice queen, always an ice queen. And isn't it so that the sky and the snow and the cold come upon my bidding on my birthland? ^_^ Jules says so, and well... So far I have never seen a winter without snow. ^_^

So, after work, I went to the bar and called him to know whether he was already there or not. To my surprise his cell was sending me to voicemail. O_O Okay, maybe he was still stuck ta the office and he had no signal reception there, but no. I called and he was long gone. Odd. I sent him an SMS asking him where he was, and the sat on the bar and order myself a coke. Minutes started running away, and I didn't have my journal at hand. Well, after all, I was planning to go to Babylon's after the date, and there I can't go carrying a big bag. Of course, nor I had my book, so it was really bad. Oh well, found a piece of paper in my bag and improvised a few notes for my journal using Runic writing, which probably made a lot of people highly uneasy. (People associate Runes with witchcraft, so imagine the shock of someone doing something like that in public.) Well, time was going by, and he wasn't anywhere to be found. I started getting upset, because that wouldn't be the first time he stood me up. So I called again, no avail, and sent him another message. Around 6 o'clock (we were supposed to meet after working, at 4:30 to 5...), he sent me a message.

'Sorry. Things got complicated.'

No shit. And he got his fingers broken so he couldn't tell me before? Or was he misteriously kidnapped by aliens? Shit! There's the minimal decency? You can't make it to an appointment, you call. That's the standard procedure. I've got fired up. Called my friends Ivan and Victor to bitch and get some comfort. Ivan promised to take me to get smashed drunk to Babylon's and my dear and beloved Victor, my handsome little angel told me to go to his place and have fun. Well, I asked for the bill and dialed JP's number with all the intent of leaving him a last message on my own voice: "grow some balls, asshole." Stragely, his phone was on now and he picked it up.

"Hi."
"Hi." he said.
"You went missing again."
"hahahaha! Where are you?"
"At Mac's."
"With whom?"

O_O Did he really ask that?????

"With people drinking. What do you think? It's a bar!"
"Hahahahaha! You are terrible! You can't stop partying, can you? Girl, you are terrible."

What the fuck??

"Dude: you stood me up. Again. What the fuck happened?"

Man, I just wanted to listen to him lie again. Again is sister-in-law's mom was sick? Come on, bitch, bring it forward, so I can laught. However he remained silent.

"You there?"
"Yes, yes... I'm.. close to..."

And then he tried to name a town in Costa Rica. He didn't nail one. Yeah, he fucker made a run for his hide.

"Uhum..." I said at his attempts, and then this coward chicken wuss hung up on me!

My bill arrived and since it was only a coke and I was going to pay with my card, I had to ask for something else. So I ordered a Heineken to cool down. Man, I wanted him dead, and when I mean "dead" I mean full Medieval Execution style. Hell, I'm all for classics. ^_^ Little after he sent me another SMS with one word: "forgive me" (in Spanish it is one word). The hell I would! My ice crown was restored, so I planned carefully my next move. I was going to get smashed and drunk like I have never been since 2001. I was going to see my friends, all of whom I love so deeply, and life was looking up again. So, what do I know about him to hit him? Not answering wasn't a real solution to make a statement. Now, JP is deeply affected by his surroundings. The world has to do with him, and he actually believes that the problems of others are his problems. He was a very bad case of being both unable to take responsability, and I mean real responsability of his actions, or realizing that there's people who just don't love him anymore. Emotionally, he needs to be the center of the Universe for people. He can't take a decision, even if the choice is clear. It's almost as if he needed to live in a constant turmoil. He attaches himself to people who hurt him, and he hates it, but he can't separate himself from them, filling himself with feelings of guilt, through a series of actions provoked by he himself. He lives with regret. In a way, and that's the weapon I chose, he is addicted to regret, and walks through life hanging tightly to it, as if in the moment he lets go his regrets there's nothing left for him to live. How do I know this? ^_^I'm good at listening and analyzing. Besides he's a piece of cake: his pattern is one I have studied extently in books and stories, so I could pretty much write him up.

I answered real slow, counting on the network to add some delay.

'Never mind, but know that you hurt me. You could have simply said no.'

Oh, that's so sad and so... "dramatic". ^_^ Each word measured, even the selection of the word "hurt" into such a feminine tone, yet framed in short statements and softness, it was bound to stab. Hehehehe... there goes a leave of sorrow for you, son of a whore. Now, if my calculations are right, he will go missing, BUT each time we meet, and we are bound to, he will feel a stab. Will he try to make ammends? That's a long shot, and I better he doesn't. I only need him to feel bad, so he gets depressed, his work suffers and so his career. And what if it doesn't work out? Well, not liek I care much for him, I actually got quite some profit from this, and it was a dipping into some feelings, which I was able to record to use later for writings, not to mention a fresh look for potential characters in future works, so the damage would be an extra bonus. You see, when you go around stuff like this taking credit is not exactly ... "desired". You could be labeled "psychopath", and that not necessarily lands you some "diazepan", but could certainly hurt your chances to... keep... "practicing", if you know what I mean. Either way, if I suceed, do you think he will realize that this or that is "my doing"? No. People who get depressed, specially but such sly things do not realize what's the source of their sorrow. And it is far better that way. He remains with the regret while I have moved away and keep the smirk, and a giftbag full of goodies. ^_^

Now comes the X-rated part. I went to Victor's and we had a nice time. I met his straight friend, yet another César and *smirk* me made out like it was the end of the world. Then I met with Iván and the other César, so I was kind of jumping from one César to the other. ^_^ pretty much like the Roman Empire. Hehehehe... Got hammered, and I mean fucking hammered, to the point of me doing really... really... crazy and unexpected things. No, not like the things people has told me I've done before, so I did not got naked and I did not start a fight, but it seems I did end up with some pictures of some people and some phone numbers. Oh, and I was dragged to the stage where all the insanity started. Of course, I was in no shape to go home, or so I believe (unless something else happened I'm not aware of) so I woke up at Ivan's. I went home, took off my party clothes, showered and hit the bed with one hell of a hangover. Shit, since 2001. I forgot what it was like to be so wasted. I thought I would not be in shape for partying on Saturday, when I received a call around 16 hrs. I was K.

"Hi... do you remember me?"

Oh fuck... so it did happen...

"Umm... yeah, sure! How do you do, Honey?"

Small chat.

"I can't meet you today at Babylon's. I've got sick."

Oh... we were supposed to meet? Fuck! Who was going to tell me???

"Oh... what a shame, Sugar. But it's okay!"
"We can meet on Sunday..."

Partying three days on a row is a bit much for an adult, old woman like meself.

"Suuuuure..."

Bye-bye. See ya. Take care.

It was surreal. Fuck, what the hell did I get into? I grabbed the phone and dialed Ivan's number.

"Hello?"
"When the FUCK was someone to tell me about K!!!?"
"Hahahahahaha!"

I swear, were he not gay and my current best buddy and drink buddy and someone I love so deeply, I would be peeling back his skin with a salt rock! Around seven I've got an SMS from Ivan telling me to go to his place. Well, I was still in my dying bed, but it was time to rise and shine, so I put on my pretty Benetton black dress and went to my friend's, thinking we would hit the bar. Well, not really. My dear and ever so beloved friend, may he be eternally blessed, was there with a friend, doing some work. Work-work, not "work". And may I say, his friend is a vision from Heaven! Oh dear. Well, Ivan is permanently surrounded by the most beautiful men who have ever walked on the face of the Earth, but this astonishing piece of work was... Well, look at him yourself! Wouldn't you love to be a laptop? I know I do. ^_^ He's nice and cool, and took all of Ivan's queer joking rather good, which put me off, because he has this "straight" thing about him. You know, gays have this "gaydar" thing, which allows them to identify each other. Well, when a straight fellow like myself starts to find his or herself quite often in the gay scene, I believe we also develop something like that, only in our case it's a "straightdar". Well, my straightdar was telling me that this dude was off, because no matter how at ease he was and how much he was participating and fully presenting himself like a queer, he had the straight aura. Well girls, he is straight. Straight and open minded. I had not much to do, except to watch them work and eventually join a line of talk or another, with which both Albert (the guy) and Ivan kept me pleasantly busy. It does was a bit uncomfortable to be in full party gear with them so relaxed. "Overdressed" was an understatement.

Well, Albert wasn't going to party with us, but as soon as he was gone, I grabbed Ivan's arm and pressed my forehead to it.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Well, you have seen him: wouldn't you thank him too? ^_^ We had a talk about Albert and then some ESP things. It wasn't up to that point that I realized Ivan had in his bedroom a figure I had been dreaming with for ages. We went then into talking about stuff that has happened to us and premonitions and other stuff that really has no place in here, nor anywhere else, but between him and me. I did do something evil: I wished death upon someone (strangely while thinking also of someone else...) by using a new mantra. It would have thought that Ivan would stop me from formutaling such a hate filled wish, but he did nothing. Odd. Anyone deep into occultism and witchcraft is well aware that things come back three times, so you must remain away from ill, particularly something as poisonous and hatefull as what I formulated. Why did I do it when I1m aware of it? ^_^ Because I'm Lutheran. ^_^ Will my wish be granted? I reformulated it this morning, but I doubt it will be fulfilled. It was ... great, though. It gave me something.

So, we went partying, and this time around something came loose. I have no idea what the hell happened, but I became something like a magnet. A gay magnet. If I tell you that I was kissed by five guys throught the night, one of them my very own friend (and that felt totally like incest, and not the cool book-like incest, but the weird and "this is off" kind), I might be forgeting people. Not like I mind, but the administration did. O_O Yep, at one point the manager came down from the VIP section and told me that if I was caught kissing a GUY again I would be escorted out and never again allowed in. To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. I just went on automatic with a smile on to cover my surprise and my frozen state. It is really something hard to process, so let me guess if I can work it out right, and really, if there is ANYONE who can help me understand, please, do so. First of all, yes, I know it is a gay bar and that's why I go there: because it is safe, because I am not the target of people. I am just human, not a sexual being that must display to get fucked, nor a warm body that can be fucked. I'm left alone. Yes, I was kissing... GAY GUYS! That doesn't even count, come on! I mean, I do love Iván, César... and all the others, but like friends, so that kissing is not sexual, is... friendly. Oh well, the first time, thanks to César, I thought it was, like it shouldn't really be going on, because he is gay, but then you fall into the cycle and, well, if they are doing it, why not? Feels good, it's fun... go at it. Then it comes the manager and berates ME. Oh, she had been watching me all night.

1. If she had indeed been watching all night, and not probably just when the hottest gay guy of the bar, who became the crush of the main Trasnsvestite, helped me off the stage and smooched the sugar out of me, she would have noticed that I was the one being kissed, not the other way around -- save for two cases... out of like 20! SO, why was I being berated and not the gay guys?

And this question just bring me to my next observation.

2. "I", the straight was the one berated for doing something everybody else was doing. Or is it that I'm supposed to check my heterosexuality at the door, pick it up when I leave? There's people kissing in there, but I can't do it... well, unless, of course, I kiss a girl, I guess, unless I can't even kiss a table because I've been already pegged as straight. And here comes the thing that upset me: I was and I am being discriminated for my sexual orientation. Ain't like I was making a scene or something. No, I was being kissed like many others were, but since it was an "intersexual" kissing, namely a kissing between people of different genders, I was considered an unsuitable behavior. Who the fuck cares who am I kissing or who kisses me? Isn't that between me and who kisses me? No, it's a management matter.

Needless to say, that ruined my mood. Each time one of those cute guys came to kiss me, starting by my neck (my dress is strapless), I had to turn them down with the same phrase: "The management has forbidden it." Poor guys looked at me surprised.

"You've got to be kidding me..."

I wasn't, and yes, the problem felt entirely about me being straight and "showing it off". I was a minority that had to be repressed, kept shut like a shameful secret. "Oh my! That deviant over there likes guys! Yuck!" The guys, sweet darlings came to dance with me and hugged me. They kept telling me how pretty I was and how good I kiss and that if they were straight they would date me. God bless their loving souls!

In the middle of my anger, as I was taking the resolution to never go back there again, since a place that can't accept me as I am, may not profit from my money, I stopped thinking that maybe this is the business. Gay people is being currently discriminated from most places for their sexual orientation. Yes, outside Babylon's WE are the ruling majority. Yes, they can't be as free as we are, kissing in public places, allowed to bestowe upong our loved ones all the tokens of affection we want. Straight people would hardly keep their sexuality a dark secret at work. We don't go around showing it off, as being straight is what's expected, nor must we hide when we are dating someone... unless there's something about the person itself that must be hidden. Yes, the straight world to which I belong outcasts gay people. Gay bars start to appear more and more around the world, and gay pride parades and stuff. Gay people must have found out by now that there's a lot of straight people who support them and wish them to live in the same conditions, with the same rights we do. There are lots of straight people supporting them in their fight to be allowed to get married and adopt children. We are not the enemy: close minded people is. Well, flash news: gay people can be close minded too.

It is childish to ban us because some of our places ban you. Don't you think that if we are in your bars and drink with you, help out your business with our money and bringing friends, then we are on your side? That we do not judge you? No. You can't take it against the straight people who might not like you, though none of them have come to thrash the bar, you mind, but you take it against those inside: your trapped prey. You are taking them against those who can become agents of positive change. Or is it that what you fear? How bad would it be for the business to suddenly have all bars open for all sexual tendencies? Imagine, people going to the cooler, more hipper places to dance and drink, where the sound system ACTUALLY works, there's a larger variety of drinks, the DJ's are actually prefessionals and the place doesn't look like about to fall into pieces. Yeah, if you don't keep your market trapped by this hideous discrimination, you will actually have to start doing something good. Hmmm... that would be so bad, right? That's when I decided to go back on my decision, and come back to the bar, never to kiss a guy in there again, no matter how hot César or Victor or whom ever looks like, but in return, be the mean little witch I am, and invite them over to my turf. There are plenty of places where Babylon is, so why not to be in both at the same time? Cool, bring your date, lets go goofy, check out hot het guys... and spend out money in the straight places. ^_^ And in there, I am the Queen of the Night, I am the one with the right to kiss and be kissed on my terms.

As a coup de grace, I will go back as soon as I get a shirt custom made with a symbolic phrase, a warning. ^_^ Who said I can't turn misfortune to my very own profit? ^_^ Watch and learn. This is not over. ^_^

Statement

I hate this feeling. I hate it. I hate being rendered so helpless, so vulnerable and so... peeled. The skin of my heart has been removed and now I'm made scream and cry ever so sadly and ever so bitterly by the softest touch of air. Wrapped so tight in my pain, choking with feelings and helplessness, I tried to ease my pain by torturing someone else, rendering these same feelings of impotence to a dear friend of mine. I'm suffering and I refused to suffer alone. I picked one of my dearest friends... MY DEAREST of all friends, and slowly filled his eyes and ears with images of witnessed perfection. I had to do it, every fibre of my being, the cold, smirking, evil Ice Queen shouting furiously for blood. Insane with pain and frustration, like an incarnation of Elizabeth Bathory beating maidens into bloody pulps, an Evil Queen wishing the death upon Snowwhite. Pain made me cry, and so I had to pull the world down with me into this sickening swirl of angst. May the world cry my sorrow for me, suffering under my hand, by the brutal spell of my words until my heart fills with ice again and no tenderness, no beauty, no smile, no soul can reach out and touch me again.

So I remembered... that angel I saw yesterday and described him to my friend. A beautiful boy-man in the dark, walking in the night, shy and shrugging away from the chilly fingers of the breeze. So pale and young against the ageless darkness of the sky that leaked into the the street drinkign away the colors and soaking them with an old, independent film like graying quality. The lively colors drawned away, fashion and harsh screams of attention, limelight sent home, called to serve the other half of the world with celebrities and IN news and fashion and big names and shine, shine, shine. Out of harsh colors, only thoughts floated in the air, serenity and introspection hanging in the night in deep pensiveness of death. An angel, like a shrad of light, a piece of sun left behind, shining like a strike of moon, slid his evanescent body among the graps of so many untouchable, dematerialized ideals crowding the night, seeking to be undisturbing, goal which failed due to his extreme, untouchable beauty.

In all my evil, my desire to inflict pain, I started my description with a harsh weapon: "barely eighteen, pale, tall, dark blonde, lanky, with the face of an angel and the body of a boy. Ever so perfect, so soft, so fresh, such unblemished skin, you feel compulsively compelled to lick it, rub into it and cum all over it. Complexion so light, so white, so snow-like, the cum that escapes his supreme lips, splashes on his cheeks is never to be found with eyes." But my evil did not touch his heart, as he was comforted by the dark night promise of a warm body to roll over with, scramble sheets and howl silent whispers into breath aged air. Missing the count on the miles of skin kissed over, the lenghts of flesh pumped, the loads swallowed, no air fairy, no matter how beautiful was to dent his soul, and my anger, my impotence, my attempt to hurt, inflict pain and have someone shout loud the pain I carry inside, scrambled falling into pieces at my feet, turning into ashes, impossible to touch, far beyonf repair. I had been defeated with the ease of a stronger heart fed with the bread of touch, sated with the wine of moans. So I was left to my pain, my anger, my unquenched thirst for blood and vengeance. A feeling I can't rip out of my heart, clawing into me like a vicious falcon sent to make me aware of my humanity. A defeated Ice Queen thorn into pieces by a poet, a dreamer, a soft human being ever so beautiful in his warm fragility.

Yes, it seems that Good conquers upon Evil, that the world leaves, at the end, no place for the mean and the cruel and I fall into pieces and cry, my tears and hurt washing me away into numbness, into the wish to cold in my body, the peace of my inner drum, the silence in my veins... and I curl into myself, my stories and fantasies only an echo in the back of my head, a sad reminder of the untouchable, dangerous monster I used to be before the valiant, romantic, poet-Hero turned me much to his unaware, into a suffering, pained human being.

Oh, how I despise being in love!

Invitation

This is what I call a good friend. My dearest, loveliest, most beloved friend, Iván kindly invited me this Thursday to Kashmir. Open bar, loads of rave and booze, and did I mention rave? And the booze? We were partying on Saturday, some great party, and had an awesome time! We reconnected after AGES of not seeing each other, like since high school and we are getting along so well, like you can't believe it! Then again, how could you not get along with someone tipping you of the best parties in town? Buddies in booze and buddies in crime. ^_^ Baby, I am booked! You can join me, though at Kashmir...

New Addiction: Supernatural. New Slash: Supernatural

Time and again, I guess I can't escape it. I started reading slash of Supernatural. Well, what can I say? It certainly pushes my buttons since it invariably includes my fave kinks. ^_~ Then again, just look at them! Ain't them the hottest thing since warm, spicy wine in winter? Sam and Dean Winchester. They hardly get any hoter or any better, and the story!!! Oh my, oh my, oh my! That story, those scenes are to DIE for! They scream loud for hard slash to be written! So.... will I write Supernatural? Nah.... I'm taking a Sabatic period from that kind of stuff... with the eventual exception of the Krumggory, that needs to be taken care of by someone, and that someone do seems to be me. I don't know much of them yet, but I'm willing to go deep into research and know all of their lives and miracles, pulls, stunts and stories.

This weekend, then, I was blessed by Warner Channel with a lovely 6 hour marathon of Supernatural. What a blast!!! Of course, 6 hours are only 6 episodes, and I would have loved at least 48 straight hours of Supernatural!!! Would that be too much to ask? So, after the "micro-marathon" finished, I turned Omi on, scribbled some entry (it's in the other blog, so don't bother unless you speak Hungarian) and then went searching for slashy Supernatural. So far I had read only one fic, and it was before I knew who was Sam (the one with the long hair) and who was Dean (the blond). Now, I knew them better, so I was able to enjoy story after story of "Wincest", as the genre is known. I know, I know, many out there do not like this and find it particularly nasty, knowing that Sam and Dean are brothers, but:

1. Get real, it's just a story.
2. They are both totally hot, so why not?
3. Mind your own business.

So, now I'm off to read more fics.

« Touch »

When your heart dictates the moment
And the room feels like you own it
And all you see is for the asking
But just one look is all you're after
It opens a whole new world

It's not what you're saying
But it's everything you do
It drives me crazy
And it's all because of you

Slide over here
Skin against skin
Melt into me
Forget where you begin yeah
Cause everyone needs a touch
Everyone needs a touch

You're like a desert
I'm like rain
I poor down you soak me in

It's amazing
It's just like a new horizon
Somehow you make me
Feel just like I'm flying

Slide over here
Skin against skin
Melt into me
Forget where you begin yeah
Cause everyone needs a touch
Cause everyone needs a touch

No matter who you are or where you're from
Somewhere down the road gonna nee someone yeah
Cause everyone needs a touch
Everyone needs a touch

Wearing nothing but the summer breeze
Baby doing what comes naturally
Doing what comes naturally

Slide over here
Skin against skin
Melt into me
Forget where you begin yeah
Cause everyone needs a touch
Everyone needs a touch

Tarkan's

Pheromones in the Air

Let's just lay off a few odd things. It was kind of uncomfortable to get "instant karma" yesterday as I was made talk to Eric. Ouch... talk about awkward. Why? Well, try this:

1. Step One: You think he's fake and a joke.
2. Step Two: You tell him he's fake, religious-like maniac about "Dr. Covey" and a "formula person".
3. Step Three: the pretty much only time when he does talk about himself and what he does and what he likes you laugh at him and lable what he holds good and pure as an act of selfish god-complex, paired with a comment hinting that there's no behavior in the world more unspeakable and low as that.
4. Step Four: he pays your beer and your Don Julio tequila, which has already made him swallow hard. (Okay, he offered, but I might just abused of his offer...)
5. Step Five: after he even drove you to the bus stop, kissed you in the cheek and inspite of all the ill comments YOU made there was some laughing, all it comes to your mind is send him an SMS telling him "it was great" and that you are "sorry IF you made him feel awkward"?

Bitch, hand me over that "Best Apologizer of the Millenium" Award. Damned, not only I'm mean and unapologizing, but even when I try to apologize, I just can't do it right. So, thing is that I was trying to contact these Franklin Covey people to see if there was something from them I could pull a profit from. Yes, the right word is "beneficiate from", but I like the other way better. So I scouted their site, checked on things and they are so fucking hermetic a single coke blurp would destroy their system. So I located the stuff that could hold some interest for me and then called to ask questions. I have not taken in consideration that they would transfer my call to Eric. Shit, I almost screamed: "NO!!! Hold on! I'm not interested anyway!!!" So I was made talk to Eric. Fuck, his strong accent is even worst on the phone... So, what to do? I started with a smiley

"Worry not! I'm out of bad things to say!"

Oh well, FC has absolutely nothing else to offer me. They won't surrender the stuff I want, and what they can offer is either too catchy for my liking or just more of the "Stephen Covey's Church" shit. So, that's out of my scope. Hopefully the "Liljenstople file" will also be closed with this. Still yesterday some things kelt falling into place about Friday night, things that are just too complicated and too "sitcom-like" for me to enjoy. For the fucking shit, really, how in the fucking hell do men fucking dare to fucking say women can't speak directly? Thez speak in fucking RIDDLES!!! The ACT in fucking RIDDLES!!! How in the fucking HELL am I to fucking know what the FUCK do they fucking want? Do people actually get satisfied with random teasing and pointless dalliances? I know I do it for evil purposes, to exercise my control upon other, but --- oh. Um. Fuck. Good one. Could have been better, though. It is stupid to exercise your capabilities on a subject you can't measure.

Through the day-- how can I express this properly. Yesterday I had been often reassured of one thing: I'm beautiful. Over and over I had it pointed out, and I don't mean the cat-calling men do to random hotties on the street, I mean men I know let me know on one way or another that, yes, I'm a looker. Usually I take these comments in the bad way. It takes a very talented man to make me appreciate a comment about my looks or my brain. Sorry "you are a beautiful woman" leaves me cold. "Would you like to comment some other feature of mine? Such as 'you have five fingers in each hand'?". However, yesterday I was surprised by the amount of times I was told, and the way it was said and the people who said it. They were all men from whom I absolutely didn't expect it. Oh, I see where this is going: what was I wearing? Opaque black stockings, black skirt, black vest and tiny floral printed shirt. I looked preppy. But it wasn't the clothing, because similar things had been happening, and it isn't either just me overproducing pheromones, because I've been receiving comments from across the ocean.

I think it is the weather and it is raining men.

^_^ Well, no, seriously. It seems to me it answers to this general "pack behavior" I suspect people have. Have you ever noticed that you can spend seasons with no approaches from the opposite sex (I have no idea if it works the same way withthe same sex), perhaps with one "kill" here and another there, and then, periodically, they start to rain on you. The guy yho has never said a word to you, that you thought was the less interested subject, makes the comment "you are that kind of attractive woman, who can have anyone she wants. It's difficult to approach you.". Or one I received recently "I'm one of the Super Friends. I'm the Hollow Man because nobody sees me. Unlike you. You get constantly noticed". Yes, it was meant "looks-wise". The stare at your clivage... and I'm a flat chested woman, the stare at your legs with such an obsessive intensity you know it's making him feel even more awkward than you feel, as if you were some sort of highly addictive drug. The sudden stop or confusion in the guy's line of thought when you do the slightest movement, and either he saw something fascinating like a bit deeper down your clivage or more skin on your back, or a little bit more of leg, or an expression in your face... and he has to "reset" his mind because the groin-system took over for a moment.

This brough to my mind a question: do men are sensitive to scents? I know we women are, or at least I am to a very ridiculous level, where you become primal about a scent. It is outrageous to admit it, but, yes, it is like in the AXE advertizing: the right scent can make you wild. There is something about men wearing certain scents, that want to make you cling to his neck and inhale him, but if you do, the more you spend inhaling the scent, the wilder you get, until you are getting wet with all kinds of wicked thoughts. You want to lick him, suck him, fill your cheeks with his flesh and feel the alcoholic, burning, hot esence of the scent against your soft, wet part. (inside your mouth, thank you.)

Does this happen to men, or they are only visual?

The Truth of Society is Bigger than the Market

On Friday I finished a workshop about the "7 Habits of Highly Effective People" -- Manager's version. No, I am not a manager, as you all know that, but my boss thought it would be a nice seminar for me to take. He said it could help me organize my time, if I wanted to. I agreed out of "what the hell". Would I not been so stressed, I would have considered the workshop an absolute waste of my time, but this way I took it as nice vacations. As it was, I walked expecting a load of shit served in a nice hotel, with no access to Internet, but thankfully some chance to write my journal or read Némirovsky under the table. Then, the following things stood out:

- The consultor/expositor was some American guy from California with a really strong accent and a terrible grammar. He's tall and has a very nice body, clad very nicely, perfect preppy "Trunks"-like haircut and nice eyebrows. However he's as fake as a three dollar bill, full with the 7 Habits shit, which he can't let go and uses as his magic formula for everything. It's his shield and his worktool, both of them locking away whatever real "Eric" (that's his name) into the depths of a person consumed by a job where he probably needs constant reassurance that what he's doing is what he really wants to do.

- Fabricio, a self-procclaimed "Italian" with deep rings around his eyes, short and so desperate to become a clon of Eric, he seemed to me as gay as it comes. and add to it, a desperate bottom crying out for Eric The Master's attention. It was so pathetic the way he ran to comply with each suggestion and "homework" the American gave. Really... for someone posing as a leader, he's such a pussy it's ridiculous.

- Cristiane Alkim, the Brazilian economist chick. Smoking hot, great body, blonde and smart, until you find out that she's an obsessive person who speaks so much and so fast he cuts your windpipes with talk. Rather irrational, as the only thing she is willing to hear is her self, she's a lot like me, and that made me think: am I also that asphixiating? I could be and that worries me.

- A bunch of stupid managers who really thing that paying the workshop and sitting in there already downloads into them the Escence of Sucess and Effectiveness, and from now on they will be super-managers because now they the "Stephen Covey" power in them.

- Thomas Saccone, a French man who impressed me.

I didn't learn much from the workshop, but I learned fron the people. I learned from Cristiane what I look like, what am I achieving with my aggresiveness and my forcing of my point of view. The first day I was convinced Eric wanted to fuck Cristiane, and I was pretty sure she was interested too, but then... well, I don't know, but it sure didn't look like that the next day. On Friday Eric paid the drinks of the people who would stay after the seminar was done. Surpeinsingly, a lot of people was gone quickly, as if they would have been waiting desperately for the chace to escape. Well, it says much of Eric's work, right. People stayed then for the promised beer, the ten of us, and then, in less than two hours, everybody was gone. I wanted to stay because I had nothing to do, and so Eric and I stayed for like two more hours until 21-21:30 or so. He seemed more relaxed then, though he never undid his tie. He move to full English mode and we talked a lot of things, me sharing more info than what he did, all about personal things, personal believes, and then my trademark inciscive remarks like: "You strike me like someone as fake as a $3 when you talk at the workshop, save when you are fanatically speaking of Mentor Dr. Covey... really Alternative Church-like. Then you follow formulas so much, fuck! You pretend to be polite but ignore the people you are speaking with?" And this was the soft-core stuff. The hardball came when he told me he loved working with a student exchange program because it gave him a fulfillment feeling, and I told him it was selfich bullshit and that program only stroke his god-complex.

I've got my own share that ranged from "people-user" to "superiority complex" all the way to "You are a very attractive woman, but your cinicism makes people stay away.... then again, your openness, your attitude towards sex makes you again attractive."

It was a nice chat and it was nice to hear him laught. We talked about his girlfriend and he asked me about my time of man, then he drove me to the bus station and kissed my cheek so soundly, his face so pressed to my face, it was as if he would have almost Frenched me. It was odd as well that, him being American, said good-bye to me with a "Bon nuit". French get to me, but did I mentioned it to him? I'm sure I didn't. I only say to him that my type of man was the European one, and that nothing meant ... oh.

I told him how it broke me down and how it got to me when a guy shared something with me such as a quote from Sartre or his own broken attempt to translate a part of Lermontov's poetry to me.

Like in most series, sexual tension was high there, but it never came resolved. Either he was too involved with his girlfriend and affraid of trying something new, or my cinicism scared the hell out of him and so he decided to decline. Me? Well, I was in for the "free ride": good if it happened, and fine if not. Too bad Thomas didn't came the second day, though. That would be something.

You see, something that I have learned, and not now but for some years now, is that men should not be chased, should not be sought, but you must let them come by. See something nice, reach for it, but don't run into the wild with the idea of hunting down someone. The moment you see a man, without looking for one, you can take him in as he is, with his humanity, his shields and the guy itself, withouth the added filters your eyes could add up, such as "make it a man", and the see only the gender. Men are beautiful because they are more than a gender, a dick that hangs with his balls between his legs and hardens at the rights stimulation. Men are also the smile, the smirk, the narrowing of eyes and the sparkle in the corner of their beautiful, colourful, rich eyes. They are the arms goind behing the head with locked fingers to hoist the head and show off their hard earned biceps. They are the focusing eyes, that see nothing but the concept in their minds, their soft voice as they slowly speak out their minds, as they unwrap their beautiful feelings, as they let out the simple and gorgeous threading of thoughts, wishes and emotions. You must let them come, appear in your life and happen and then, like flowers in the wild, birds in the forest, you reach out for them or let them come close, like the beautiful deers and stags they are, and enjoy themmm within their freedom, never take them home, never change them, never domesticate them, but let them be, as beautiful as they are.

I am happy there are men in the world.

It seems I have it in Me

Checking a little over my last entry, damned, it sounds like I still want to fuck Jules. So it makes me think: Do I still want to fuck Jules? I make a mega effort to keep myself honest, since, really, "honesty" and I are a repelent-mix. Fuck, I'm a "crab", I have a hard time going ahead unless it is for a frontal attack, which I don't do often. (This wasn't my main topic of the day, by the way. The title was meant for something else...)

So do I?

Truth to be told, me being a man in a woman's body (namely a gay man in a woman's body), I'm so into sex that damned, I would pretty much fuck anything nice and fuckable... within standards. If it gives me the hots, I'll land it. That sounds like I'm a whore or something, but I don't see myself that way. I just don't waste my time skirting around the topic and beating around the bushes. I get bored fast, so I better fuck the dude right when I'm interested. Why would I wait? So that the guy thinks that I'm "interested in something else" and starts considering a "relationship"? Fuck no!!! Like that ain't the point, dude! Perhapst that's why I prefer random encounters with men who I will probably never see again. Okay, sometime that sucks because, really, some guys are SMOKING HOT and MINDBLOWING GOOD and real gods among men, but that's the way it is. It's better a good memory and the desire to repeat it than a relationship gone sour where you can't even remember those times when sex and conversation was out of this world.

Achieve this level of balanced no-strings-attached-sex with friends is usually complicated, since you see your friend often, and guys may take it the bad way when you only want to fuck without paying for it with castration (monogamy) and other commitments and stupidities as a "higher level friendship with priorities". Or otherwise, a "VIP Friendship". Dude, a fuck is a fuck. Good or great, really, sex is sex, so leave it like that! Enjoy it! It's like eating: just because we ate together or we cooked for each other once or ocasionally, it doesn't mean I'll only eat with you or cook for you. Geez... I have a few friends with whom I occasionally sleep, and I love them to death because, really, they don't care that I score randomly, and they also score randomly and we talk about the people we get, and it's cool.

I do tell Jules every single detail of my sexcapades, (save the juicy parts like: "... and as we hit the bed, he reached down on me and rubbed me up so good he had to put a pillow on my face or the police would have come knocking down the door... and then he did this thing, like he held me down by the neck, and stilled his hip so I would fuck myself on his cock. Really... great.") but would that be the same if I would land him? Honestly, after the higher quality of my last influx of men, there's nothing in Jules that could arouse me. Do not misunderstand me, I love him to madness and I feel a deep tenderness for him. I would do anything in my power to make him happy, honest, but... he doesn't have what it takes to make me wanna rape his ass. (Not like I have raped anyone in my life.) His eyes are not green or blue or grey, nor expressive and big enough to hold be breathless. His physique is not as shapely as I like them, and he lacks that certain flirty, "malin" attitude I love in man. He's too much of a gentleman to be the hot, self-assured, cocky, mischievous conqueror that can sweep me off my feet. Someone a bit more "up to the moment", with an easier smile and less troubles to bring into a quick rumble. Someone who can stick is dick into something without falling in love into it and wishing for a long relationship. Perhaps the problem is also that we have too much history to just go bed-hopping. Not like I couldn't, fuck, I could break a few beds with him and then continue all happy-go-lucky as if nothing would have happened. If he works me, most likely he can get me in bed, but... he has the same chance anyone I have ever considered as a potential "fuck" for "lean times". Not like that's an extensive list. But then, why would I eat chicken when I can have lamb? Or deer? Or the best dish of France? (hehehehehe...) The problem is that he wouldn't be any special. He would be just another "fuck" in my book. Another notch in my bedpost. Can I give him more than a notch? Truth to be told? No. Only what I give him now. I couldn't certainly offer him a relationship other than friendship. Does he want that? I believe not.

Then again, he doesn't want to fuck me because he's not into me. Odd, but yeah. Not every mortal worships the same god or goddess. I don't have what he wants. So, we are even. Yeah, friendship is our thing.

Kate obviously like chicken and she wants her "chicken". Hey, I like finer meats, so she can have her chicken, have it at home and have her daily influx of chicken. I'm more the hunter, so I walk the woods and look around for that delicatessen that would make the envy of everybody else raise like fever.

As a matter of fact, the prey seems to follow me. I hooked another flight attendant. It was the Taca's Flight Attendant Officer, Mauricio Montoya. Too bad I'm not really into him, but he engrosses my list of "food for the leaner times". He does have a coworker, some Erick or something like that that does look like calf, and calf is good. (He's latin, so he will never raise to lamb or deer, since I have a distinctive preference towards Europeans...) It seem that hooking up people up in the air is far easier than one would think. And actually, I hooked up a complete stranger in Paris, right off the Rue Maubeuge. This is what I have in me: this capacity to hook up with men, in situation other would only dare to imagine or would think possible only in porn movies. I'm gifted! Fuck, I'm hot.

Trip

I can't say I'm already adapted to Hungary, but slowly I'm getting used to it again. The first days were impossible with my allergies and my asthma and I felt like coughing my lungs out or ripping a hole into my throat any minute. By today, I feel already better on the breathing department, and my eyes are not as sensitive to the cold and the wind as they still were yesterday.

Managing two or more journals sometimes can be hard when you feel you have to stick to certain information in each of them, so "breaching" that lable can prove being difficult. However, as I was telling a friend of mine today, the more people can free themselves from lables, the happier and fuller they can live. So here comes something I would usually write in Hókisasszony, but which I will write down here so some of my non-Hungarian speaking friends can read it as well.

«(_.^._)»

To say that my trip home was "rocky" it would be a crass understatement. A harrassing boss, months of anguis upon the cruel uncertainty about my actual chance to go, the money matter both at purchasing the ticket and then the Saturday right before my departure... I was ready to snap. I was going crazy! Of course, the extra 3Kg of baggage wasn't for fun either! The uncertainty about whether the boxes of disfruta would be squeezed and fload my luggage in pineapple and guava juice wasn't very reassuring. It's fairly safe to say I was nervous when I've got to the airport. So much, I couldn't even remember the way to the Gate from which I would depart, even so the plane departs always from the same gate. LR 631, SJO-CCS, 10:30, Gate 2. They write "Gate 4" but it's always Gate 2. Since I couldn't go smoking (fucking asthma), I walked around and ended up at a foodcourt with my stomach revolted from all the foul smells of pizza and burgers, trying to imagine how people was able to down that crap. I wanted to write. Write a letter, my journal... something, and I had to score a breakfast, since, really, breakfast was in place. So I went for a "liquid breakfast". consisting on:

1 Heineken can
1 Adrenalina can
1 pack of Doritos

Okay, maybe the Doritos was out of place and not as healthy and fortifying as the rest, but it was the only non-liquid thing I felt I could down. I made a few calls, and did try to write something. I couldn't get through with the letters, so I fished out my journal and wrote a few things. My handwriting was shaky and very erratic. I was carrying a pink gift bag (HUGE) with my winter coat, a big pink ballet-bag with Omi and a pink ballet purse. How do I manage? Oh, it wasn't that hard.

Near the Gate were I had to board my flight there's this jewelry store. I wasn't looking at it since it has a lost of stuff that's not my style. Too "native" or too big, too flashy, to "old lady with money". Then there was this collection of amber, which is a personal call, and I saw this magnificent necklace with an amber peacock. Had to take a picture of it. ^_^ Two of my favorite things together.

Once up in the Taca flight, I was finally relaxing and truly entering "vacations" attitude. Perhaps up to that point I was afraid the asshole of my boss would call me with some idiotic demand or just a new, invented problem made exclusively to fuck up with my peace of mind. Really, his sole work is to viciously concentrate in selected members of the team to sistematically fuck up with out peace of mind so he can feel powerful. Now I was the lucky. Well, someone should have told the s.o.b. that this bitch has:

1. A psychological problem
2. Bad temper
3. Short fuse
4. Tendency to involve Unions and Labour Relations.

Really, it will be so messy, that if someone were to take it on tape, it could be sold as the "unpublished work of Tarantino". However, up in the air, after I've got my adrenaline fix from the speeding up before the take off (my fave part of flying), I was nice and smiley. I was feeling so nice, I took a middle seat and gave up my favored "aisle seat" so a family could sit together. I always ask for aisle seats so I can get up and go to the "bar" of the plane (aparently called the "kitchen"), to have easier access to the bathrooms, but mostly to be the first in running of the plane when it has landed and I have to go for my connection flight.

Caracas was a slight set back. There was no post office at the place, where I wanted to send a few postcards to my friends and colleagues, then everything looked so fucking expensive I almost had a heart attack. I decided to lunch some sushi, and so I went to this place where I took a nice table, sat down my journal, ordered alaska rolls and wrote while waited for my food. I had an allergic fit at the middle of a piece of sushi. My eyes watered and I coughed and heaved until my throat was raw and my tongue hurt like a bitch. I then tried to finish the sushi, but couldn't. So I went to pay. It was 36000 bolívares. At 2500 bolívares per USD, it was like $14.4. They didn't tell me that if I paid in USD, I would get bolívares back, so after a lot of mambo-yambo, I've got back 5600 bolívares. In other words, $2.24. Would I not be recovering from the fit, I would I told them it was sad that either they were robbing passangers or that they couldn't do the maths. Not like I mind some lousy $4. P-Lease! But it was the shameless way in which they did it. I mean, FUCK, my friend Jules knows I'm usually a generous tipper. I mean, You could charge me 20€ for some little lunch and I would slip you a 10€ or at least a 5€ instead of the customary 10%. I would have left the rest of the change with them if they would have been more decent, more honest, Like this, they just made sure I would never return to that place. And actually, for everybody to know, the place it's a quite sweetlooking restaurant in front of the entrace of the Gate 16. It's all surrounded by glass, and separated from the foodcourt that rolls behind it. Don't go there: they will cheat the pennies out of your pocket!

After thatm and with some bolívares I had to spend, I went to look for postcards I intended to send from CDG, the airport in Paris. I found some very beautiful postcards, and them walked slowly to my Gate (14), to be close for the boarding. Close to it was this place you can see in the photo. They sell magazines and postcards and some books, but they also have a cyber. The price was cheap: 400 Bolívares for 30 minutes, 800 for an hour. The place is incredibly nice and the guy working there is a honey! I was thinking in actually using up my bolívares to check on my mail and perhaps write a few lines here, when I noticed the HUGE line for the plane. Whadda... it was still almost 2 hours before take off! Well, they were boarding. I went to the line, as as I looked back at the cyber, I noticed they had made a huge "at" in front of it. I found it so cute and so creative that I had to take a picture of it. It's a simple and creative way to express an idea.

The boarding took some time since we were checked three times. Really, what in the hell am I supposed to smuggle in from the entrance of the "sleeve" to the middle of the "sleeve" that takes you to the plane? Since I was planning spend ten hours in Paris, I checked the news papers offered at the plane (actually a few feet away from it in the sleeve), looking for Le Figaro. There was the chance of a strike, so I wanted to read news on that regard. There was no Le Figaro, only Le Monde and some Le Journal de Dimanche. I do asked the flight attendant lady if there was, by any chance Le Figaro, but there was not.

Flight AF461. Oh, I know it already.

My seat was the 42C. Such a big number freightened me, asi t meant it should be in the rear or near the rear of the plane. However I would have never guessed it's actual location: next to the kitchen. I stared down at the seat in horror. It was narrower than usual and crampy. Oh boy. I managed in somehow, and then had a father and daughter seated next to me, who proved to be upthight and obnoxious as hell. The passanger in front of me was an s.o.b. who reclined her seat almost into my lap, regardless of it being lunch or whatever time. So I placed the journals, unfolded the table and started finally writing my letter to Jules. (Attempt 10.) I was doing well, then suddenly came a flight attendant and gave me an Elle. I looked at him and smiled, thanked him and paged through it a little. Naturally, as he was turning, I checked out his ass. It was so nice I smiled for myself. One thing you can count on with Air France are the hot flight attendants.

However, once his firm, pert ass was out of my sight, I was somewhat annoyed, since I wanted to keep writing, but felt it would be unpolite to just stash the magazines away. There was something in being given Elle magazines that I took, at that moment, as "offending". It's not offending per se, but it was a bit "offending" in the labeling way that "women read and are interested in women magazines". Then, the guy appeared again and gave me an Elle Decoration. I smiled again and took the magazine. Okay. That was for the letter-writing. I stashed away the letter and pages through both the magazines. It wasn't bad, since there were advertizings with very hot guys with towels wrapped low around their hips and stuff like that.

When I finished paging through them, I went for my papers, and started scanning headlines and so. The guy appeared then again, now asking me if I had found the magazines interesting. I don't recall the conversatin precisely but it was something like:

"Oh yes, there are interesting things in them."
"So you liked it?"
"I actually would prefer to read Le Figaro."

I know, that was very mean, unpolite and uncalled for. If I have a problem, that poor guy has nothing to do with it, so he should not be the receiver of my frustraton. He smiled and went away. I was feeling really bad. That was really uncalled for. So I decided that the next time I saw him I would apologize. I then took in hand again the magazines and scanned them carefully, finding an interesting article abour Ingrid Betancourt. I wanted to be truthful to the guy and show I do have liked and I do have read the magazines. To further understand this, all conversations and all reading were entirely in French.

"I'm sorry! I would like to thank you for the magazines! It has been so nice from you!"

He smiled a huge smile and asked me what did I like to read. He actually took the time to listen to me as I explained him that being an economist working at a telcos, I was interesed in economical topics and telecommunications. He was gone and little after he offered me two magazines related to business, politics and telecommunications. These were Challenges and Le Nouvel Observateur. Naturally, all in French. Air France flight attendants are normally very friendly, and very out-for-the-customer. They do make the extra mile to please you and make you thing they are giving you a priviledged treatmen nobody else is receiving. I'm a sucker for those things, so I was happy, he was taking such a good care of me. Little after he was paying me sweet compliments, telling me about my "jolie sourire" that made me blush and smile further. He did made me laugh when he pulled on some black bloved which had skeleton hands printed on the back with neon paint that glows in the dark. I just found that so sweet and character-full. He laughed with me, made all kinds of "scary moves", which kept me laughing so loud people in first class should have noticed. He then took of the gloves and offered them to me. I put them on and flexed my fingers. It was so much fun!!!

"Come on! Work in the kitchen!" he joked with me, since these where the kitchen gloves. I wonder if people would have eaten their food if they knew skeleton hands prepared them. I took off the gloves and gave them back.

He was so nice and such a nice sport all the time, I was off my feet. He wished me bon appetite for the lunch (which was half unsavoury) and then spoke to me as if I were a child.

"That's it? You won't eat it all?"

Little after, as the Ass-Pain father and daughter fell asleep, I stood up and walked into the kitchen for a drink. He was there and we started talking. For a moment he was called by a colleague, so I finally went to the drinks and a very nice passanger fixed me a Mimosa. I'll keep drinking mimosas from now on. We kept talking and got along quite nice. It turned out that he's Basque or however you write that in English. He was born the same year I was, 1976, but he's a May child, a Taurus. We talked loads and loads and he did all these fun questions of which I took to be "expected flirting". Even asked me if I was married, to which I answered that I would never do that, and the proceeded to explain him how the most humanitarian behavior was to share your love with as many people as possible instead of selfishly giving it to one person only. He laughed and found it fun. We kept on with some fun remarks in are real camaraderie environment. At one point he asked me if I had plans in Paris. Oh, I told him I wanted to see the city a little.

"Are you meeting someone?"
"Oh no, all by my own."
"Would it bother you if I invite you to lunch? I know a good place."
"Oh, that would be great!" I bounced.

He smiled and asked me the next question.

"What kind of food do you prefer?"

Well, I stood in silence trying to figure it out. Perhaps, if my stomach were not as revolted, I could have answered that, but honestly, I have no idea if I have a favorite cuisine. I mean, I like the French cuisine, I like the Hindu cuisine and then, of course, I'm a sucker for Hungarian ciusine, but also like Caribbean. It's not a matter of what I like, but more like what do I feel like, and right then I felt like I didn't want to eat, or perhaps only something light or something to drink. I was taking longer than it should and I tried to explain that it was a difficult question because I'm really not so food centered...

"I mean, what you like to eat, something other than men." he joked.
"Oh hell, men are not in the menu?" I followed the joke.
"There's a restaurant at the hotel..." he offered with a sassy, mischievous smile.
"There's room service..." I added.
"I think only you will be doing the eating." he said.

After that, there was no mistaking of the matter. His smile and my mind racing with "I HOOKED UP A FLIGHT ATTENDANT!!!" put all things on track. As I returned to my seat, he was on my way attending a passanger or a fellow flight attendant, so I placed my hands on his waist to move him. He turned slowly at me and growled on Spanish:

"Don't touch me... it makes me react."

He did his rounds, or whatever they do in the plane, and then came to my seat, leaned/squated and whispered close to my face:

"Gara go sleep. Will be back in an hour and a half."

Then he rubbed his nose against my lips and cheek, his mouth brushing close to mine. May I ask my dear readers if anyone could sleep after something like that? I do id my best. After that, he was back and it was casually rubbing against each other, pressing chest to chest in tight places, kissing and then some heavier frottage in a bathroom stall. His idea, not mine. I have such a high aversion to risk I would have not entered if I didn't have my exit covered. Our exit wasn't covered. One of his coworkers found out. For a moment I was worried I would be scolded, but then I thought that, honestly, I'm the client, and if they, as much, as say something, I would give them a piece of my mind about if that was a no-no, they should instruct their personal to avoid such situations. It is not my fault I took advantage of... well, such a good opportunity.

He asked me if I had an European passport, which I have, me being Hungarian, and he said that was great, since then I could exit the airport. I was surprised. I had no idea the migration laws have changed. We made arrangements to meet outside the airport, exchanged phone numbers (his number and my Hungarian number), and then we met. It was the first time my phone worked with the roaming sistem on France. If you must know, it hooked on Orange. ^_^

We met neat the 2F Terminal. He hugged me, we kissed and he called me "mi novia", as a little flattery or "pet name". Due to it's meaning (girlfriend/bride) it freaked the hell out of me, but then he explained me he meant it as a little... "kedvesség".... how do you say that? A galantry, a sweet thing, a nice nick name. The no-string-attached policy was firmly drawn at that moment. Oh, he wouldn't have it otherways either, so I was safe. He then told me that there was another flight attendant, a darker one (not really someone I would call black, but for him he is), who also thought I was pretty, and who told him that I was his fiancée. The Basque teased him that he should go and talk to me then, but the darker one wouldn't, yet warned him to stay away from me.

"He fancied me?"
"Yes." he said with a smile.
"Call him! Quickly! Let's bring him with us!"
"WHAT????"

I laughed hard. I so caught him in the joke. Yet, he took it well, as I explained him it was a joke.

As we went for the bus that would take us to the hotel, he told me he had offered me the magazines because he saw me with the French papers and he was glad to find someone who spoke French. He thought I was nice and sweet. ^_^

"What did you thought about me?"

There was no pretention in his question, but rather something closer to genuine interest and a bit of aprehension that he might be intrusive.

"I tilted my head as you turned and checked out your ass. I thought you have a great ass."

His eyes widened and I noticed, for the first time, they are green. His cheeks tensed with blush, but he did not became red.

"You checked out my ass??"
"Yeah..."

He was flabbergasted. For a good while he kept saying he couldn't believe I checked out his ass. Well, women do that. We check out asses and baskets. I'm more of an ass-checker since the groin can be deceiving.

We got to the hotel, put the room, and then it was clothes off and finding out that he has a body that looks better naked than dressed. Firm, toned, tall, perfect, hard... and, really, he's the size of Italy. I felt like the luckiest person in the world... dead and living included. It proved to be that I AM the luckiest person in the world. Great sex, jokes, and quoting of Sartre in bed. And all of this on a No-Strings-Attached basis.

Sex-Sleeping-Sex-Sleeping (he did the sleeping. I do was tired, but I only slept 30 minutes affraid of breaking my time-zone adjusting), and then he took me back to the airport, where a more relaxed me, with a goofy smile and a "I didn't see Paris, but I do climbed the Tower" pasted all over my face, got in, back thought the customs (who spotted me because they had never seen a Hungarian passport before and wanted to take their time to admire it --- really, the French are all so nice!!--), out to the gate. I made a round and ended up in a store, which I shouldn't have, and purchased a silvery charm bracelet and a scarf. Really beautiful, but I'm not supposed to be around spending money!!! Oh, it worth it big time.

Then it was off to my next flight, with Malév, where I was informed that my ticket got upgraded, and therefore I would be flying on Business Class.

"Why?"
"The system said so."

Who am I to argue with the system? ^_^ I had my wintercoat hung in the guardrobe, was offered champagne, aperitif and had my dinner served in real china china and metal cuttlery. Add to it, the flight attendant talked to me on nice Hungarian and laid out a perfect, spotless little white tablecloth on my table for my dinner. I think I want to continue flying on Business... well, taken that I do will have the chance to hook up with more Flight Attendants! ^_^