I was writing a blog post that I was enjoying quite a bit, but unfortunately, it’s going to have to wait. Right now I’m much too upset to finish it.
The Surgeon pulled quite a stunt late this afternoon. My feelings are hurt, but at least I’m not surprised. I know what he is. I knew it from the day we met.
That’s the tricky thing about being with sadomasochists, you know–you have to vet them very carefully, find ones who can compartmentalize it, who can express that part of themselves in specific, controlled, isolated situations. In my opinion, these individuals are the most self-aware sadomasochists, and the least conflicted.
The Surgeon does not fit this description. He is a sadist for real, the real deal. It’s easy to forget that –after all, he can be very genial, and he is not without charm–but you forget it at your peril. Take my word for it.
Tomorrow–or Wednesday at the latest–I have two options: fake it and make nice (lie and degrade myself), or tell him NO.
I’m leaning towards no.
It’s not going to be pretty.
Update 10/16/11: Edited this post slightly for typos and clarity; I added a few sentences too. My policy is to never delete or change my posts, even if I regret publishing them in hindsight (I would make an exception in the event of a true emergency).
Well, I had an interesting week (long periods of uselessness and anxiety punctuated with manic flourishes of activity). I have to say that being underemployed has done wonders for my housekeeping. I cleaned things that I never even thought about in the past, like the top back part of the fridge next to the wall, and the plastic container cases that hold my makeup. I also bleached and scoured the grout between the tiles in the bathroom. Usually I avoid doing that (scouring, I mean, not casual cleaning) because I get totally OCD about it and become very agitated when I can’t get the grout all the same color.
I landed a tutoring job teaching a <Ivy League School redacted> undergrad
jock student athlete about Niccolo Machiavelli and Thomas Hobbes. I am familiar with both, but I feel much more comfortable with Machiavelli, the first modern political scientist (among other things). Political theory was not my area of emphasis, but I took a few seminars. I had to brush up on Hobbes (WOW was that guy smart! Stop reading this blog and go get yourself some Hobbes right this minute) before I went in to the interview. The student isn’t hiring his tutor, his parents are, and they were there for the interview (the son sat between them, looking obviously and justifiably uncomfortable, as if he was at a parent-teacher conference in 4th grade). They had misgivings (obvious, but not vocalized in my presence, of course) about the fact that my credentials come from lowly PUBLIC UNIVERSITIES, but I got the job.
I have another interview lined up for tomorrow morning. A different job. Should be interesting. I’d write more about it now, but I am very tired, and I don’t think that I can do it justice.
For no reason that I can discern, I was inspired to (try) to build a playstand for Parrot with materials purchased from the $.99 Store. Did I mention that I have no experience with carpentry whatsoever (remember The Curtain Rod incident)? Oh, it was quite an adventure, let me tell you. I felt like Ogg the caveman trying to program a plasma TV, only my project involved lots of sharp power tools.
Fear not, gentle reader, I took many photos of the monstrosity after the glue dried overnight–a catologue of my incompetency, if you will. Like a Yugo GV, the playstand was both ugly and structurally unsound. I would not climb on it if I were a bird, even a little bird. So, I tore it down and now I’m starting again. Will document.
Then my COMPUTER BROKE–I think it has viruses–so I had to drop everything and run it into the shop. It took forever because I had to get it booted up and transfer tons of the data to an external hard drive. I’ve always kept multiple copies of my financial records and research/school stuff (in multiple locations across the country, including a safety deposit box at the bank), but there was still some stuff on that PC that I was scared to lose. Also, I didn’t want anyone else running across it, like Mr. Computer Fixit. Nothing illegal, of course, but sure to raise a few eyebrows.
So, I’m stuck with my crappy laptop for the next few days till I can pick up my PC.
On the way home, I got a call from the Surgeon. Maybe write more about it soon, when I’m not so tired. Suffice it to say that it didn’t end well. He turned on a dime, for no reason that I could see. I told him not to talk to me like that anymore and got off the phone quickly. But now I have this shit to deal with sometime over the next few days. Makes me tired just thinking about it.
One day, I want to tell him, one day I will leave you for a man that is capable of loving me.
I came home and baked gingerbread cookies. I put cream cheese icing on a few of them. I wrapped them up and put them in the fridge to bring to a meeting tomorrow. I did not eat a single one.
We are quite a pair, the Surgeon and me. A long time ago, as I sought to understand his behavior, I thought that he was afraid of emotional intimacy. I was wrong. I am the one afraid of emotional intimacy (which is why I’m with him). He deprives not because he is withholding, but because he has so little to give. He has nothing to withhold. And I deprive myself.
|time stamp is incorrect|
There’s a film coming out in November that I am curious about. A Dangerous Method is about Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, a troubled female masochist, and the origins of psychoanalysis. The source material is very rich, but there’s no room for error when you’re trying to make art out of people and issues like these. Let’s be honest–the description reads like a Monty Python skit. One wrong move and it all lapses into howling, unintentional comedy. That Keira Knightley is the female lead doesn’t inspire much confidence, either.
Anyway, the still shots released for promotional purposes have made me a very happy camper. Into the Coconut Porn folder they go!
This one is my favorite:
Catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror at the right time, and you’ll never forget what you see–or, rather, who you see. There are pieces of yourself, your identity, that you seldom express, or think about, or even acknowledge in your daily life…but you look in the mirror, and there they are, looking back at you through your face. And they’re not just there, either–they’re running the show. The part of you that you usually think of as you–the dominant narrator in your head–has been usurped. Still along for the ride, but moved to the back seat.
I love staircases and stairwells, especially when they are old and beautiful like this one. I wish that there was a coffee-table book devoted to stairwell photography. I would buy it. Click any photo to enlarge:
This is, obviously, a sunbathing squirrel. He was chilling out in Tompkins Square Park. I was there to get tips from the hobos about how to survive in the Park if I don’t get a freaking job pretty soon. Anyway, the squirrel was interesting to me because I don’t think that I’ve ever seen a squirrel sitting still for more than a few seconds. Doesn’t he look cute? I love squirrels. I think they are awesome! I wonder if they have soft fur.
This is a water fountain erected by a Temperance Movement organization in Tompkins Square Park. I found it by accident, but I recognized what it was when I saw it. The Temperance Movement contributed a lot of public water fountains all over the nation. They wanted to give thirsty people the option of getting a drink without having to set foot in a saloon. I believe the aim was twofold: to give people the option of having a free, non-alcoholic beverage, and to keep them–especially women and children–from being exposed to the ‘degeneracy’ in bars. If you look around, there is probably a Temperance Movement water fountain in your community. They’re all over the place if you know how to look. Pretty neat, if you’re a history geek!
Pick your poison.
Getting money from the Surgeon would be the fastest and most fail-proof option. I am confident that he would give it to me. I am extremely reluctant to ask him, however. I’m extremely independent, and the thought of going to a man with my hat in my hand and my other hand out makes me wince—but it’s more than that.
I have a few more days—literally, a few more days—to think about it.
I take back every trace of myself. Every piece of me.
Jesus, just kidding.
Found this gem of an ad while perusing the local CraigsList jobs ads…shoot me now.
(I want to be very clear–I AM NOT going to write this girl’s paper for her.)
I like the way our fearless little scholar includes her email address in the ad and offers the writer “an extra $20 if I get an A.”
But seriously–WTF? 4 pages, double-spaced? I know Kant and Sartre aren’t exactly your boyfriend’s copies of Maxim magazine, but I know that any university course that assigned a paper like this didn’t hurl a copy of Being and Nothingness at your head and scream at you to “Figure it out!”
I’ve practically taught this course. I think your professor stood up there and presented, via PowerPoint, Kant and Sartre’s “views” on freedom in nice, neat bullet points! I think that she stood over each one of her tattooed, spikey-haired, pajama-ed little students like a big momma Robin, trying to drop big fat juicy worms of Kant&Sartre factoids into their little mouths! Why didn’t you get a worm or two, Nicole? Surely not because you’ve been skipping class, right?
You know, Nicole, you still have DAYS to write this little essay, most of which could be straight paraphrase and regurgitation–you only need to formulate and proffer an opinion towards the end. Maybe you could take this time and go ask Professor Momma Robin, or her TA, for some tasty worms, instead of someone off the internet.
Barring that, you could just look this shit up on wikipedia and summarize it yourself. It would be a crap paper, but it would pass. Just don’t cheat–be sure to paraphrase or put quotation marks around citations.
Write a Philosophy Paper – $50 (New Brunswick)
Reply to: nicole_12909@xxxxxxxxxx [Errors when replying to ads?]
(…Is “sexual Rorschach test” redundant?)
I’m introducing a new topic to this blog, a subject near and dear to my heart: Making Porn out of Coconuts. I credit defunct blogger Bitchy Jones for coining the phrase. I believe it’s inspired by Gilligan’s Island or some similar lost-on-a-desert-island story, where the survivors have make everything they need to live out of coconuts and bamboo–hence, porn out of coconuts.
I have to make porn out of coconuts because (as longtime readers of this blog have doubtlessly surmised) I’m a little weird. I’m hardwired differently. I wouldn’t say that my hardwiring is wrong (though it can be problematical and inconvenient), but it is, statistically speaking, definitely atypical (I prefer not to use the word normal for a reason that has nothing to do with my being defensive). Suffice it to say that I see erotic potential where others do not, and vice verse.
Consider the following ad for Diesel shoes, which ran in magazines (where I came across it) a few years ago–I think around 2008. I cut it out and put it in my Coconut Porn folder. Then I got online and found a digital copy.
Now, I’m pretty much a pure heterosexual, so two dudes are not particularly interesting to me, but whatever. When you make porn out of coconuts, you can’t be too picky. This is a very weird, very provocative picture. It’s fascinating. I try to understand what is going on.
|Miss Margo sez: don’t ever say I never gave ya anything, good reader….click to enlarge|
Think of it as a projective psych test, like the TAT. If you were describing the events in the photo as a story, what would you say? What do you think is going on?
I was waxing rhapsodic about the photo to an old grad school friend who asked if he could take a look. We are very close, so I let him have a gander. He couldn’t make hide nor hair of it and he looked vaguely disturbed.
“Okay–this is clearly the old guy’s house,” I effused, gesturing about the photo. “See that old-fashioned armchair, the bowling trophies, the lace curtain tops? Definitely the old guy’s house. The young guy is visiting–he’s a hustler, a professional. Look at how well-groomed he is, his unusual choice of clothes. The old guy paid the young guy to come over and rough him up. The young guy is good at it–look at that sneer on his face, the shoe on the back of his neck!”
My friend looked at me. His expression was kind, but it was obvious that he thought I’d lost my mind. “Oooo—kay,” he said. “Well, that’s interesting.”
Yes, it is interesting. Very interesting, indeed! I plucked it from his hands and put it back in the Coconut Porn folder for safekeeping. Good porn like this does not just fall out of the sky, you know!
This ad has a following on the web. I knew I wasn’t the only one!!! Would do anything to know who conceptualized it and how it got approved for distribution.
P.S. Applied for two band-aid jobs this morning. Found opening for position as legislative assistant that sounds interesting (unlike the band-aid jobs) and I plan to apply to that one, too, after I tweak my resume a bit.