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Feelings. Nothing more than

2004-03-08 at 2:45 p.m.

"Look at my boobs!"

I said this to my sister in law this afternoon and she looked at me blankly, like "why did you just say that?"

"I'm not gaining weight, but my boobs are so full. I feel like I'm popping out of my bra."

"Um, maybe hormones?"

I don't know, but whatever the case, it's pissing me off. I don't want my boobs bigger. When they're full like this, I feel bigger.

However great they could be for tit fucking, they're not good for sleeping on or on the side because then I seem to have cleavage up to my neck.

If I lost like 40lbs, I'd still want them to be smaller.

Women. We're just not happy with ourselves.

I have yet to meet anyone happy with their body.

My friend, who weighs 122 lbs and is 5'7 is not happy with her body. Fuck, if I weighed 135, I'd be ecstatic! Anyhow, she had to have a partial hysterectomy for uterine problems and while that was being done, her Married-Doctor-Boyfriend-Uber-Brainiac-Plastic-Surgeon-Man did her tummy tuck.

But funny, how brainiac can he be by purchasing her a pair of $100 running shoes on the credit card and having the wife see it?

The tangled webs we weave.

So yeah. She's not happy with her body. But she got herself a sugar daddy.

Why can't I get one of those? Probably because I don't want one of those. I want someone who's going to want me and I don't have that.

So with him. Something's apparently wrong and he doesn't want to talk about it. He brings up the fact that something's wrong, knowing full well I want to know what's going on.

And he doesn't want to talk about it. Well ok.

Why does he get pissed off when I want to ask about it? He brought it up. And I said, hey you know I'll want to know what' s up. You know ...at least us women, when you say something's wrong, we want to know.

So fine. And I mean, really, fine. I won't ask. Not going to sit there and pry it out of you. I'm tired of the mind fucking. Like one minute the dude likes me, the other he acts like he could care less. Well ok then. I know exactly where I stand. You do your life, I'll do mine.

So yeah. I went in the other day for a 4 hour psych test with the local police department as part of a very long process for a job as a polic*e comm*unications dis*patcher. This Thursday I show up to then have an hour long interview with the shrink of the department. I guess he'll determine if I'm crazy. And then I'll find out if I have a job. See, I sent in an application to this police department last July or so. Then in September, I get called in for a typing test. I pass that just fine and then have to come in a few weeks later to take a computer test to see how well I can multi-task. Then I pass that and come in for an interview. Interview was in October. Then what? Oh yeah, I had to come in...I think it was last month or so to fill out a personal history questionnaire. Then they called me last week and said "Hey babe, we made an appointment for you to come in TOMORROW at 8am to take a 4 hour psychological eval. It was long. My eyes were crossing afterwards. All those fucking bubbles to fill in with Mr. No. 2 Pencil.

In the testing room it was filled with a lot of men (OH god yes!) and a few women. The testing was for both cop applicants and dispatchers. You could tell who were the cops and who were the dispatchers.

Burly dude. Cop. Stocky dude with thick neck. Cop. Really tall older guy. Dispatcher. Woman with black sweater on, no makeup. Cop. Girl with frilly scarf. Dispatcher.

I went around the room and mentally changed their outfits to be more stylish and put make-up on the one girl.

*******

Alright alright. Fuck yes. I need to fucking get laid. Does he care? NO. It's got to be a game. It's got to be the Hot and Cold game. I will play hard to get and you'll go nuts.

I FUCKING HATE THAT AND WON'T GO THERE.

But I care. Not only do I enjoy fucking him, I like him too. Love him. I want to talk and sit on his lap and (*gasp*) cuddle. Ew. Can't believe I just wrote cuddle. Ew. Ew. Ew. But I do. I want to lie naked on my stomach after he's worked me over and have him lying partially over me, kissing the back of my neck. Reaching around to rub and squeeze my tits and then sliding his hands down to my ass.

So I'm not one that just hides my feelings. I'm pretty much out there with what I feel. I'm not overly like "OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU SO MUCH" all the fucking time. But I am not afraid of "feelings" and maybe that's a turn-off? Oh what the hell. Why I'm thinking about it is beyond me. I'm pissing myself off.

*****OH MY GOD, I found this template design and it's so much way better. OK, maybe in a day or so I'll break down for that gold membership. Fuck. I LOVE IT. And it doesn't show!

***Ok, so he's now accusing me of pressuring him. FUCKING PRESSURING him into saying what's wrong?

WTF? Where did that come from? And why? I basically left him the fuck alone. I did say I was frustrated. I did get mad when he was pissy with me earlier. IF YOU'RE GOING TO BRING IT UP, I AM GOING TO ASK. And he knows it, so why bring it up. But after the initial mad-stuff, I was fine and left it alone. And didn't talk. And come to find out he feels pressured. Gosh. I didn't really talk to you all day. And tonight. So how is that pressure? I guess I'm a little confused. Someone tell me WTF? Then I say he's "ACTING" like an asshole, and that was so not right...but I did say "ACTING", I didn't say he was one. He said there was no call. And no, there wasn't. But I am pretty shocked. I thought, hey I'm doin' good. GIvin the dude some space here.

And suddenly. I'm pressuring.

Why is it I'll be taking extra drugs just to sleep tonight and he's probably not thinking twice about it? It's 12:45am and he's dead asleep. Here I am. Sitting at the computer. Hurt. He'll probably give me the silent treatment for days because I said he was acting like a bad word.

Women. We're all about in depth conversations about the way he says it, what his face looked like when he said it, how his voice sounds, if he said it this way or that way. I don't know how that happens to us, it just does. As I saw in a movie, a woman said: "Come come, tell us what he said. One word could have a thousand meanings."

And to a guy. One word. Means that word. That's been my view.

I've never read the book "10 Stupid Things Women Do to Mess Up Their Lives", but I just know that the book is probably describing me.

In some ways. I love my children more than anything. I love waking up to see what kind of day it is. I help whomever I can. I love sex in a lot of different ways. I'm an ok person, and that's better than I've thought about myself before. But when it comes to him, he fucks with my head. Probably not meaning to. I just wish I didn't torture myself at times. Sometimes I can just be normal and when he's mad at me for something, it just hurts. I dislike hurting. Yeah, so does everyone.

BUT IT'S MY FUCKING DIARY!

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