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Sex and Irritation : 11.09.03 @ 1:18 am

It's 12:40.
The movie I'm watching is almost over. It helps that I'm fast forwarding the DVD enough to catch the goings on while still shortening the time.
It's on mute. It's a French film, so I'm reading the subtitles anyway and there's no need for the French to wake my Mum up. I've barely moved in two hours.
The clocks penatrate the silence. I wish I could turn them off.
My mother comes in. She starts screaming at me for making so much noise and clamering about in the bathroom.
I talk back in a slightly less then normal voice, saying that I haven't made any noise since she went to bed, and neither have I gone to the bathroom. She yells at me for my big mouth being so loud.

My entire family needs therepy.

* I had an odd dream last night.
I was working at Sean's (friend who works at a toy store) store. Only the store was in the middle of the country, on a road with no street lights that just went on forever. Sean wasn't there, I was a new employee. The boss was making me close the store by myself. I was all alone.
It was then that I realized that all of the toys were turning into sex toys. I was terribly confused, especially when one on display near the cash register started to vibrate off the counter on its own accord.
(Sean's comment: "this dream isn't freudian at all")

* There's this girl I know - call her M. When she was dating ____, she asked me into a threesome.
I said no. I don't want to be a third wheel and her girlfriend wasn't especially appealing.
Her girlfriend was *this close* to killing me because M's a big flirt and was flirting with me all day at Pride. I told M's girlfriend to chill - M's not my type.
And she's not.
Now she's single.
You should come play with me, she says. I'm going crazy, I need to get laid, it's been too long.
Too long? I laugh. It's been what, a month? Try a year and six months without so much as a real date.
Come play. I know you won't, she says. You said I wasn't your type.
I never said that.
Yes, you did. You told ____ that on the phone last time I saw you.
Yea. That's because she wanted to kill me.
We could have fun.
We could... I wouldn't be much help now anyway, I'm on the rag.
Oh well, poo.

I would, I think. Despite her not being my type, despite me not being emotionally attracted to her in that way at all (yet?).
I'm just lonely. I want to make love to a woman again. Run my hands along curves. Tease tender flesh...
A friend once did a survey of her friends... IM'd all of them my picture (without my consent!) asking them what they thought. They all thought I was cute, with the exception of one who thought I'd be if I lost twenty pounds.
If so many people think I'm cute, why am I alone?

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