Because at the end, he got Kimber.
John Hensley from Nip/Tuck taking his papas' (notice the plural) leftovers.Thursday, November 30, 2006
Fuck a Dang Duck
It's a period day and a fuck you day and so close to being a fuck your mama day.
My recent addictions/must-haves/fixations: egg drop soup with the crunchy noodles, pork, tums, my PDA (the 8125 by Cingular), solitaire, uggs, the word cunt.
I am a red fiery ball. I wish to hurl myself at someone's head. I try to not let work matters get to me, but some people are just so fucking annoying. People are so helpless these days, which is becoming intolerable for me. There is only so much more I can take on. What happened to professionals?
Signing off.
My recent addictions/must-haves/fixations: egg drop soup with the crunchy noodles, pork, tums, my PDA (the 8125 by Cingular), solitaire, uggs, the word cunt.
I am a red fiery ball. I wish to hurl myself at someone's head. I try to not let work matters get to me, but some people are just so fucking annoying. People are so helpless these days, which is becoming intolerable for me. There is only so much more I can take on. What happened to professionals?
Signing off.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Hot List
Daniel Craig has just been added to my list of hunky brits, which includes Clive Owen and Jason Statham. Hught Grant is a hot brit too, but he's not hunky. (Kimmee - please get on this.)
Anyway, I was just zoning.
So Craig was just awesome in Casino Royale. I noticed and welcomed his sexiness in Munich, but it was nothing like his role as Bond. I fantasize about this man's skills. Also, a genuinely decent actor. See Casino Royale - it's good.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Me Likey
on to better things...if you are wondering what to get me for christmas, i would like one of these:
the little horse. this horse's name is thumbelina and she is the smallest horse in the world, weighing some 60 lbs. i really love her.
Therapy is Worth the Money
All of these processing and affect management skills I have been working on since May are - well, err, working. God bless my EMDR therapist. He fucking rocks. I love the fact that I'm allowed to be angry. It's great.
So now that I've made this clear, I'm going to do get out some more of my anger in an open letter to Dogface. My therapists probably wouldn't be too happy about this as this is just so mean and disturbed of me, but really I could give a fuck. I'm one pissed off girl.
Dear Dogface:
I think you’re a pig. I hope your death is slow, painful and leaves you retching and without color in your skin. I hope you are alone as you whimper in pain and wither away. And when all is done, you will enter a dark afterlife where child molesters and rapists will greet you with open arms.
I wonder how you lie in the arms of a man who has left his school-aged children home alone at night consistently; who doesn’t call his 14-year old son daily to see how he’s doing; who comes and goes as he pleases without his children knowing where he is.
I wonder what it felt like for you to be at the funeral of a woman who was devastated by the fact that her husband was having an affair…with you.
Do you know that my brother asked me if, “Dad was having an affair when mom killed herself?” He said that his father had an attitude as if he didn’t care about anything or anyone. He said that his father was coming home late at night and that his mother was always crying. He remembers seeing you at the funeral and he tosses and turns at night thinking about all of this.
It was certainly healthy for my sister to hear you and my father having sex shortly after my mother died…something every teenage girl needs. Thank you for making her uncomfortable in her own home. I hope you remembered to take your money off the nightstand when you left.
I wonder how you look in the mirror and see beauty and security. You are an ugly person. Foul. Dirty. Rotten smelling. Tainted. My God, I'm four hours away and I smell you from here. Dogface, take a fucking bath.
But I'm glad you and my father gravitated towards one another. That is how the weak do it. I mean there is a reason why you lived with an alcholic for how many years - like 30? You see, my father will cheat on you. He will fuck someone else and not feel any guilt about it. And then he will leave you one day. And as soon as you get sick with lung cancer from all of the Marlboro's that you smoke, he will probably walk away from it all because that's what he does best. He will break down your spirit as he did my mother's. He will make sure you feel like the worthless piece of shit that you in fact are.
I speak truths, and I know that all my truths will wrap around you one day and strangle you. But Dogface, let's call a spade a spade here. My father is the guilty one. My father is the one who really deserves punishment. You're just a sad, shy, unattractive person with no conviction. And that's ok. It's probably not your fault. You were probably beaten as a child by your parents, which in turn made you marry an abusive alcoholic and eventually you left him for my father, who's at this point certifiable. I'm not sure if that's a move up or move down, but whatever - he IS a doctor, right?
Anyway Dogface, the letter to my father or better named- Your Boyfriend - will be equally scathing. It'll be a good read.
Cheers,
Annie
So now that I've made this clear, I'm going to do get out some more of my anger in an open letter to Dogface. My therapists probably wouldn't be too happy about this as this is just so mean and disturbed of me, but really I could give a fuck. I'm one pissed off girl.
Dear Dogface:
I think you’re a pig. I hope your death is slow, painful and leaves you retching and without color in your skin. I hope you are alone as you whimper in pain and wither away. And when all is done, you will enter a dark afterlife where child molesters and rapists will greet you with open arms.
I wonder how you lie in the arms of a man who has left his school-aged children home alone at night consistently; who doesn’t call his 14-year old son daily to see how he’s doing; who comes and goes as he pleases without his children knowing where he is.
I wonder what it felt like for you to be at the funeral of a woman who was devastated by the fact that her husband was having an affair…with you.
Do you know that my brother asked me if, “Dad was having an affair when mom killed herself?” He said that his father had an attitude as if he didn’t care about anything or anyone. He said that his father was coming home late at night and that his mother was always crying. He remembers seeing you at the funeral and he tosses and turns at night thinking about all of this.
It was certainly healthy for my sister to hear you and my father having sex shortly after my mother died…something every teenage girl needs. Thank you for making her uncomfortable in her own home. I hope you remembered to take your money off the nightstand when you left.
I wonder how you look in the mirror and see beauty and security. You are an ugly person. Foul. Dirty. Rotten smelling. Tainted. My God, I'm four hours away and I smell you from here. Dogface, take a fucking bath.
But I'm glad you and my father gravitated towards one another. That is how the weak do it. I mean there is a reason why you lived with an alcholic for how many years - like 30? You see, my father will cheat on you. He will fuck someone else and not feel any guilt about it. And then he will leave you one day. And as soon as you get sick with lung cancer from all of the Marlboro's that you smoke, he will probably walk away from it all because that's what he does best. He will break down your spirit as he did my mother's. He will make sure you feel like the worthless piece of shit that you in fact are.
I speak truths, and I know that all my truths will wrap around you one day and strangle you. But Dogface, let's call a spade a spade here. My father is the guilty one. My father is the one who really deserves punishment. You're just a sad, shy, unattractive person with no conviction. And that's ok. It's probably not your fault. You were probably beaten as a child by your parents, which in turn made you marry an abusive alcoholic and eventually you left him for my father, who's at this point certifiable. I'm not sure if that's a move up or move down, but whatever - he IS a doctor, right?
Anyway Dogface, the letter to my father or better named- Your Boyfriend - will be equally scathing. It'll be a good read.
Cheers,
Annie
Monday, November 27, 2006
Hello, Again
It's been too long. When I start to open up and talk to people, I communicate less through writing. I suppose that I miss it - the writing that is, but not really. What I miss is being around people. I miss You, and You, and You. What I miss are familiar faces, familiar voices, familiar places.
Seeing The Kids this weekend was great. We laughed and cried as both are inevitable. I finally saw Dogface's house. (We will refer to C's girlfriend with this name from now on.) It's a nice house, and I was happy to see that The Kids weren't chained up in human-sized cages. I had this image that C just threw in a chunk of his grilled meat each night.
The Girls - Abby and Maggie - looked sad. Abby is visably sick and needs to see a vet. They don't smell the same. My sister mentioned this to me beforehand.
Peter looked taller, thinner. Amy lost weight. Both hold a sadness that I can't touch, that's entirely different than mine. I don't want to try to explain it. It's too much.
As for the holiday, well, it had it's moments of great fun. As I mentioned seeing my brother and sister was great. Seeing my cousins and my aunt and uncle was also fantastic. Then there is Dan's family who always do their best to make me feel at home. After five years together, I'm getting close.
My aunt, uncle and cousins brought me a Chloe handbag for my 30th birthday. It's stunning. On Thanksgiving Day a client appeared in a page 1 New York Times story. I spent a good amount of time with Stace. I had a wonderful dinner on Wednesday night at a restaurant in Somers - Luce. Dan's mom's pecan pie is just so delicious.
With the ebb and flow of life, great fun usually comes along with even greater heartache. I realize that no matter what I do, no matter how good my intentions are, there is always someone I am going to piss off and/or disappoint. I'm tired of not winning. I'm tired of these broken relationships. I'm tired of losing a piece just as I put myself back together again.
To no one's surprise, I spent a lot of time crying about my mom the last few days. When I was little we used to play the game at recess where we would close our eyes and envision a tropical beach and sunny weather in order to stand the cold. I tried doing a similar thing with our Thanksgiving meal. If I only imagined my mother's cooking, my next spoonful wouldn't taste like Dan's aunt's cooking (which is excellent, to boot), but my mother's much preferred food. The imagination can only stretch so far.
I suppose there is a lot of gossip to get in to. There's more for the hot list. There are so many movies that I've seen to discuss. But maybe tomorrow I will have the energy. Signing off.
Seeing The Kids this weekend was great. We laughed and cried as both are inevitable. I finally saw Dogface's house. (We will refer to C's girlfriend with this name from now on.) It's a nice house, and I was happy to see that The Kids weren't chained up in human-sized cages. I had this image that C just threw in a chunk of his grilled meat each night.
The Girls - Abby and Maggie - looked sad. Abby is visably sick and needs to see a vet. They don't smell the same. My sister mentioned this to me beforehand.
Peter looked taller, thinner. Amy lost weight. Both hold a sadness that I can't touch, that's entirely different than mine. I don't want to try to explain it. It's too much.
As for the holiday, well, it had it's moments of great fun. As I mentioned seeing my brother and sister was great. Seeing my cousins and my aunt and uncle was also fantastic. Then there is Dan's family who always do their best to make me feel at home. After five years together, I'm getting close.
My aunt, uncle and cousins brought me a Chloe handbag for my 30th birthday. It's stunning. On Thanksgiving Day a client appeared in a page 1 New York Times story. I spent a good amount of time with Stace. I had a wonderful dinner on Wednesday night at a restaurant in Somers - Luce. Dan's mom's pecan pie is just so delicious.
With the ebb and flow of life, great fun usually comes along with even greater heartache. I realize that no matter what I do, no matter how good my intentions are, there is always someone I am going to piss off and/or disappoint. I'm tired of not winning. I'm tired of these broken relationships. I'm tired of losing a piece just as I put myself back together again.
To no one's surprise, I spent a lot of time crying about my mom the last few days. When I was little we used to play the game at recess where we would close our eyes and envision a tropical beach and sunny weather in order to stand the cold. I tried doing a similar thing with our Thanksgiving meal. If I only imagined my mother's cooking, my next spoonful wouldn't taste like Dan's aunt's cooking (which is excellent, to boot), but my mother's much preferred food. The imagination can only stretch so far.
I suppose there is a lot of gossip to get in to. There's more for the hot list. There are so many movies that I've seen to discuss. But maybe tomorrow I will have the energy. Signing off.
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