Mr Realist said something to me last night that I've been bandying about in my brain most of the day.
"When something comes up, you automatically go to the worst possible scenario."
Yeah...so I'm not disappointed when it does happen, and if it doesn't, it makes it that much sweeter.
But he's got a point. I think if I could open my head and put a lump of coal in there, in about three days, I'd have the Hope Diamond.
So. I'm trying to make more happy posts. I've noticed that I'm pretty reliable when it comes to Bitch and Moan Monday, but not so much any other time. I'm formulating a plan here, LDs. Next postie?
"DOH!"
And it's funny. Or it'll make you groan out loud.
At least, I think it is and will.
Just you wait.
Heepwah, and be safe out there.
One more day
Ms Dreamer
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Dear...
You know, LDs, I talk loads of smack, bitch quite often, rant, rave, use the eff word liberally, and most of the time, don't give a damn what people think of me.
Last night, Kisha's post made me look at myself. Not in a different way, but really look. So I'm taking her cue and writing a letter to myself. It's going to take me a couple of days, to sort out my thoughts, but I will let y'all read it. There will be some laughter and probably some tears.
But it'll be cathartic (thirty point word there).
Heepwah, and be safe out there.
Your pondering
Ms Dreamer
Last night, Kisha's post made me look at myself. Not in a different way, but really look. So I'm taking her cue and writing a letter to myself. It's going to take me a couple of days, to sort out my thoughts, but I will let y'all read it. There will be some laughter and probably some tears.
But it'll be cathartic (thirty point word there).
Heepwah, and be safe out there.
Your pondering
Ms Dreamer
Thursday, June 10, 2010
"She puts the whore
in 'horrible'."
"She puts the itch in 'bitch'. Big Red doesn't have feelings. Just testicles."
~Whitney and Courtney, Bring It On
I know. It's pretty sad that I can remember lame ass lines like the above.
LDs, if I was batting for the other team (so to speak), I'd be all up in Kisha's shiz like 'white on rice on a paper plate and a glass of milk in a snowstorm.' (LDs, if you can name that movie, take 900 points).
I like to think that she's helping me be a better blogger, and in turn, it's going to make me a better writer. I had a dream last night that I was at a ball, dancing with this handsome younger man, and instead of holding my right hand in his left, he intertwined his fingers with mine. Do you ever wake up feeling slightly bereft based on the dream you had? Ok...totally digressed on the post I was intending to write. I might go back to this one later on.
I started this postie with a 'whore' quote. Kisha is spoon-feeding me with 'one word association' and I'm doing a pretty good job rolling with it. Don't let her hog all the spotlight - give me something, yos! Her suggestion was 'whore.' He he he...
And this one's kind of a long one. Sorry.
~~
Whore. I haven't been called that in a long time; at least, not in seriousness. If you find that me talking about sex and sexual conquest might disturb you, you might want to stop reading.
Now.
Mr Realist calls me 'his whore' (which, technically, I am. I am married to the guy, and he'd better not be gettin' it anywheres else *grin*). But...once upon a time...namely my freshman year in college, little under halfway through my first semester....
See, I was dating this guy; we'll call him Bob.* But before I get there, here's a small bit of background on me.
I was a virgin all the way through high school. I was one of those 'good Catholic girls' that didn't do more than a bit of heavy petting. My first real boyfriend was Catholic as well, and we were both determined to be virgins when we got married (and yes, a year into the relationship, we'd started talking about it. It might have been the beginning of the end: a year later, we called it quits). There were a couple of times it had come down to beingthisfreakingclose to saying, literally, "Fuck it." But we didn't, and we move on.
Freshman year. Bob.* I was ready. He was ready (wtf is with these virgins??). I had it planned (come on, who has sex on a fucking schedule? Me, apparently). We did it about two months into the relationship...and again, that was the beginning of the end. He told me he loved me because I was different - that I didn't care what people thought, that I was beautiful and witty and athletic and artsy. After he took my heart, tossed it into a blender with some fava beans and a nice Chianti and had it for dinner, I found out from his roommate that he got told that there was 'no way I was a virgin - she was way too into it, and how could sex be that good with a virgin?' Um, fuck you? I did what felt good (and by the time you're 18, you've probably seen your fair share of sex scenes in movies) and I ran with it.
I must have taken that "I didn't care what people thought of me" to heart, because I went all Tiger Woods. Became a 'jersey chaser' (going after the sports players...but I never went baseball. Wonder if subconsiously I didn't because Bob* was one?).
Football players.
Soccer players.
Basketball players.
Nerds.
Rednecks.
I was an equal opportunity whore - if you had alcohol you were willing to share (and on a rare occasion, weed) (some may say slut, but I see those words as interchangeable), but I was still selective. I mean, I didn't sleep with just anyone.
I remember being called a whore to my face, very cruelly, by a football player that I'd denied. He could be violently angry when drunk, and on the weekends, he was that most of the time. I was at a party with some girl friends in the all-guys dorm, and there were quite a few people around. The guy called me this, and I stood my drunken ground, and said, "No, I'm just a bitch because I won't fuck you, right?" He was furious, and a couple of the football guys had to bodily remove him from the party. I went down to the girls' bathroom on the first floor, and a couple of my soccer mates followed me to make sure I was ok. One asked me why I said what I did, and I had to laugh. I'd heard a joke not long before:
"What's the difference between a whore and a bitch? A whore has sex with everyone; a bitch has sex with everyone but you." Rob* came down to see if we were ok, and he found three of us sitting on a nasty bathroom floor, laughing hysterically. He wanted me to come to his room with him. I went.
I was trashed, yos. He made me lay down, got me a glass of water, and talked to me. He didn't try anything, and I passed out. Several hours later, I woke to find a sheet over me, and Rob* sleeping on the couch.
It made me realize that I was a fucking moron. I put on my shoes and grabbed my keys and left. What I didn't find out until later was that Rob* liked me. As in 'wanted to be with me.' He and I talked. I couldn't be with anyone until I figured my own shit out. I skipped too many classes, got drunk quite a bit, baked a little less often, but quickly shut down the "Free Sex" factory. I actually don't think I had sex more than a couple handfuls of times the rest of the second semester. Almost flunked out of college, too. He graduated, and I haven't seen him since. Rob*, I hope you've found a good woman that you deserve.
For a brief time, I was a whore. Like Coconut Pete says: "Have a good time, all the time; always eat the worm." (Club Dread) I've changed my ways, LD.
Of course, one of my conquests just had to tell Mr Realist several years ago at our Homecoming, just after we got married:
"You do know you're now the President, right?"
"President of what?"
"President of the 'Who's Messed Around With Mrs Dreamer' club." (we'd talked about all our sexual partners long before we got married, so he knew.)
Here's to President Realist. *raises glass*
And before you ask, yes. I was on the Pill AND I made Every. Single. One. wear a condom.
Heepwah, and be safe out there (of course, I feel bad writing heepwah and talking about being a whore in the same postie).
Your retired whore
Mrs Dreamer
PS: *names have been changed to protect the innocent.
PPS: I love that a story from more than ten years ago can be commented on with something from today's world.
PPPS: Yes. I smoked weed in college (quite a bit, actually). I haven't done it in years, and I have no intentions of doing so. It wasn't worth gaining the 60 pounds in three years. If you think less of me, well, then, that's your problem.
"She puts the itch in 'bitch'. Big Red doesn't have feelings. Just testicles."
~Whitney and Courtney, Bring It On
I know. It's pretty sad that I can remember lame ass lines like the above.
LDs, if I was batting for the other team (so to speak), I'd be all up in Kisha's shiz like 'white on rice on a paper plate and a glass of milk in a snowstorm.' (LDs, if you can name that movie, take 900 points).
I like to think that she's helping me be a better blogger, and in turn, it's going to make me a better writer. I had a dream last night that I was at a ball, dancing with this handsome younger man, and instead of holding my right hand in his left, he intertwined his fingers with mine. Do you ever wake up feeling slightly bereft based on the dream you had? Ok...totally digressed on the post I was intending to write. I might go back to this one later on.
I started this postie with a 'whore' quote. Kisha is spoon-feeding me with 'one word association' and I'm doing a pretty good job rolling with it. Don't let her hog all the spotlight - give me something, yos! Her suggestion was 'whore.' He he he...
And this one's kind of a long one. Sorry.
~~
Whore. I haven't been called that in a long time; at least, not in seriousness. If you find that me talking about sex and sexual conquest might disturb you, you might want to stop reading.
Now.
Mr Realist calls me 'his whore' (which, technically, I am. I am married to the guy, and he'd better not be gettin' it anywheres else *grin*). But...once upon a time...namely my freshman year in college, little under halfway through my first semester....
See, I was dating this guy; we'll call him Bob.* But before I get there, here's a small bit of background on me.
I was a virgin all the way through high school. I was one of those 'good Catholic girls' that didn't do more than a bit of heavy petting. My first real boyfriend was Catholic as well, and we were both determined to be virgins when we got married (and yes, a year into the relationship, we'd started talking about it. It might have been the beginning of the end: a year later, we called it quits). There were a couple of times it had come down to beingthisfreakingclose to saying, literally, "Fuck it." But we didn't, and we move on.
Freshman year. Bob.* I was ready. He was ready (wtf is with these virgins??). I had it planned (come on, who has sex on a fucking schedule? Me, apparently). We did it about two months into the relationship...and again, that was the beginning of the end. He told me he loved me because I was different - that I didn't care what people thought, that I was beautiful and witty and athletic and artsy. After he took my heart, tossed it into a blender with some fava beans and a nice Chianti and had it for dinner, I found out from his roommate that he got told that there was 'no way I was a virgin - she was way too into it, and how could sex be that good with a virgin?' Um, fuck you? I did what felt good (and by the time you're 18, you've probably seen your fair share of sex scenes in movies) and I ran with it.
I must have taken that "I didn't care what people thought of me" to heart, because I went all Tiger Woods. Became a 'jersey chaser' (going after the sports players...but I never went baseball. Wonder if subconsiously I didn't because Bob* was one?).
Football players.
Soccer players.
Basketball players.
Nerds.
Rednecks.
I was an equal opportunity whore - if you had alcohol you were willing to share (and on a rare occasion, weed) (some may say slut, but I see those words as interchangeable), but I was still selective. I mean, I didn't sleep with just anyone.
I remember being called a whore to my face, very cruelly, by a football player that I'd denied. He could be violently angry when drunk, and on the weekends, he was that most of the time. I was at a party with some girl friends in the all-guys dorm, and there were quite a few people around. The guy called me this, and I stood my drunken ground, and said, "No, I'm just a bitch because I won't fuck you, right?" He was furious, and a couple of the football guys had to bodily remove him from the party. I went down to the girls' bathroom on the first floor, and a couple of my soccer mates followed me to make sure I was ok. One asked me why I said what I did, and I had to laugh. I'd heard a joke not long before:
"What's the difference between a whore and a bitch? A whore has sex with everyone; a bitch has sex with everyone but you." Rob* came down to see if we were ok, and he found three of us sitting on a nasty bathroom floor, laughing hysterically. He wanted me to come to his room with him. I went.
I was trashed, yos. He made me lay down, got me a glass of water, and talked to me. He didn't try anything, and I passed out. Several hours later, I woke to find a sheet over me, and Rob* sleeping on the couch.
It made me realize that I was a fucking moron. I put on my shoes and grabbed my keys and left. What I didn't find out until later was that Rob* liked me. As in 'wanted to be with me.' He and I talked. I couldn't be with anyone until I figured my own shit out. I skipped too many classes, got drunk quite a bit, baked a little less often, but quickly shut down the "Free Sex" factory. I actually don't think I had sex more than a couple handfuls of times the rest of the second semester. Almost flunked out of college, too. He graduated, and I haven't seen him since. Rob*, I hope you've found a good woman that you deserve.
For a brief time, I was a whore. Like Coconut Pete says: "Have a good time, all the time; always eat the worm." (Club Dread) I've changed my ways, LD.
Of course, one of my conquests just had to tell Mr Realist several years ago at our Homecoming, just after we got married:
"You do know you're now the President, right?"
"President of what?"
"President of the 'Who's Messed Around With Mrs Dreamer' club." (we'd talked about all our sexual partners long before we got married, so he knew.)
Here's to President Realist. *raises glass*
And before you ask, yes. I was on the Pill AND I made Every. Single. One. wear a condom.
Heepwah, and be safe out there (of course, I feel bad writing heepwah and talking about being a whore in the same postie).
Your retired whore
Mrs Dreamer
PS: *names have been changed to protect the innocent.
PPS: I love that a story from more than ten years ago can be commented on with something from today's world.
PPPS: Yes. I smoked weed in college (quite a bit, actually). I haven't done it in years, and I have no intentions of doing so. It wasn't worth gaining the 60 pounds in three years. If you think less of me, well, then, that's your problem.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
WTF-ness
Here are some totally WTF-ness questions about your Mrs Dreamer:
Are you a morning or night person? O LDs, I'm very much an afternoon/night person. If you try to talk to me before I've had my shower and about an hour to wake up, I'd just as soon turn dragon, bite your head off, toast the pieces of you and then step over you to the next.
Which do you prefer, sweet or salty foods? Depends on the time of the month. PMSing gets sweet; most other times, salty/savory.
What was your favorite childhood television program? Reading Rainbow, Mr. Rogers, Sesame Street. I sobbed for hours when Mr. Hooper from Sesame Street died.
Are you a collector of anything? Books. Notebooks/journals. Ducks. John Deere items.
If you could be any animal, what would you be? A fox: clever and beautiful.
What do you usually think about right before falling asleep? Whatever book I'm reading. I have to read to fall asleep. (amen Mrs G!)
What’s your favorite color? I used to say blue. I'm so not a colorist (kind of like racist, only with color? Anyone?). My favorite shirt is a rainbow-hued tie-dye one.
Do you believe in extraterrestrials or life on other planets? Very much so. I don't believe that we're the only intelligent life out there. Hell, there are times when I don't think there's intelligent life on this planet.
What’s your favorite color? I used to say blue. I'm so not a colorist (kind of like racist, only with color? Anyone?). My favorite shirt is a rainbow-hued tie-dye one.
Do you believe in extraterrestrials or life on other planets? Very much so. I don't believe that we're the only intelligent life out there. Hell, there are times when I don't think there's intelligent life on this planet.
Do you believe in ghosts? Yes.
Ever been addicted to a video/computer game? WoW. Spent weekends not moving from in front of my computer.
You’re given 1 million dollars, what do you spend it on? Pay off debt and mortgage. Pay off parentals debt. Build our dream home. Go back to school. Travel. Lasik. Personal trainer.
Have any bad habits? Do you really think I'm going to tell you? I leave most thinks where they fall.
List 3 of your worst personality traits: I procrastinate, I have a tendency to start things and then lose interest, and I can be a bit of a nag.
Have any celebrity crushes? David Boreanaz. Rupert Grint.
List 1 thing you wish you could change about yourself: My weight.
Any tattoos or piercings? Just my ears, one in each. No tattoos.
What’s the first thing you notice in the opposite sex? Eyes...definitely.
Are you mostly a clean or messy person? Messy
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live? As long as there are at least four seasons, I could pretty much live anywhere. I love hot, cold, and everything in between.
If you could visit anywhere in the world, where would you go? The UK. Europe. Australia. All 50 states. Canada.
List 5 goals on your life’s to-do list:
1) have a novel published
2) lose a significant amount of weight
3) get out of debt (controllable debt) for good
4) get my Masters degree...in something.
5) experience more than Illinois
Name 1 regret you have: not working as hard at college as I did at high school
Name 1 thing you miss about being a kid: the potential for magic around every corner
Name 1 thing you love about being an adult: married life
What’s your favorite song of the moment? Human by The Killers (Brandon Flowers is my dreamsicle right now)
What’s your favorite thing to do on a Saturday night? Anything fun and out of the house
What’s your favorite thing to do on a Sunday afternoon? Read, watch movies, and just be a bum.
Sometimes...
Sometimes, LDs, as I'm reading other blogs, I start thinking. Not about why I started this blog (I honestly couldn't tell you), but what's my niche in the Great Blogosphere.
I'm not a 'mommyblogger' - you have to be a mom to be that. If you've gone back and read older posts, you might find that at one point, Mr Realist and I did want to be parents. After Miss Shitass (his sister) got pregnant whilst we were trying and wanted me to be happy for her (even though she was spreading her twatwaffle for every boyfriend) and I just couldn't be. I don't begrudge Aubree her life. God created her for a reason, and we hope it's not just for population. We're too selfish (read: I'm too selfish) with our lives and our free time and our friends, and yes, our money for kids. When we came to this decision, it was like a gigantic weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I guess I could mommyblog about my furbabies, but there's only so much you can write about two dogs that chase their tails and birds and bugs and bark at everything that moves and eat things that a goat wouldn't touch and lick up cayenne pepper that we layered around the fence to keep him from digging and all we had to show for that, LDs, was a dog with a red mud tongue, happy as a pig in shit.
I'm not a food blogger. Foodie, yes. Food blogger, no. I put one recipe up here about two hundred and fifty years ago (of course, this was before anyone really read my blog that I know of). Maybe I should start putting up recipes from Pampered Chef along with pictures? I'm not so good at the picture taking, yos.
I'm not a photography blogger. See above. I take pictures of things that interest me, and quite possibly not anyone else other than Mr Realist.
I don't give stuff away. I don't make money from blogging. I don't blog enough to make money from blogging. I can't give stuff away just because I want to. I'd have to have money to buy the things to give away and then to ship the stuff to the weeners. You see the vicious circle?
I don't meme/theme/whatever. I do Bitch and Moan Monday because I so love Kisha, and she rocks me right out of my socks (when I'm wearing them). Other than that, I seem to blog when the mood strikes me (and Mondays). I love topics. (hint, hint) Depending on what that topic is, I'm either quite passionate or mildly indifferent.
I'm as flighty as a cloud, and yet some days, I'm mired in concrete.
Help me out, LDs. What do you want to hear Mrs Dreamer talk about? (o hell...I sound like Mike Meyers from SNL when he was doing that one crazy lady from Joizy that gave you topics to discuss when she was 'all verklempt')
Let me know what you think.
Heepwah, and be safe out there.
Your concrete cloud
Mrs Dreamer
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