huntersmencken

I think your number is in my mailbox. What are your thoughts on food around here?

We must defintely meet up again. I hope the rest of your evening went well.

I'll pass on the spanking. Funny how I always get those offers, though.

God... that SG thing you forced yourself to go to sounds awful. I'm sooooo glad I didn't go now, what with all the naked and the bouncing and the naked bouncing.

I didn't pay that close attention but the guys at that station were very nice. I know Yahoo maps said to make a U-Turn at Old Courthouse Rd. because that's the first "legal" U-Turn but I got antsy and said "screw it!' and I turned around early!

I haven't had much fine dining experience yet. I just got into town a month and a half ago and I'm working in DC so between my work hours and my commute hours I have no time for food hours

Living dangerously is what life is all about.


Answers to your questions:
My car is now scrap parts.

The (Uma)girl turned out to be someone I went to school with who's lil' brother is a lil' bitch & wont give me her number.

I myself have never seen shrimp (which we call prawns) on a BBQ but from what I hear it happens quite often. The most common thing to find on a barbie is sausages (we call 'em snags) & sometimes steaks, chops or chicken.

A prize?

Perhaps.

Do I get a boat?

That would be about right. Though 8-track never really caught on here - cassette tape was the mass market car stereo medium.

You know, I've never, ever owned a quad system. (Call me anachronistic, and I'll agree. And ask you how much you spent on all those world-beating gadgets. That Betamax, for instance... )
My CD player is stereo. The thing in my car (I just reactivated after 18 months without) is radio/cassette...

hello its an evil clown .

Ain't that just the state of life, though?

I don't suppose most people really get Leyner. I think he may be a bit too raving for most people's taste. However, we can always place our hopes with the children. If we are very lucky, and read them perverse literature from an early age, the children might just get it.

I'd like to think good-hearted isn't well behaved. Sometimes my only comfort is in being decidedly not well behaved. Why? Well, I need to know where the boundary is, between me and the person I imagine is hurting me. But . . . what I said about text prevails. It matters little what we intend, or whose fault it is. Situations grow further into themselves and become . . . well, in-grown.

As for my childhood, I didn't call out the ghost of my sad father to play "name that pain" with you. I called it out to assure you, since you seem to require this assurance, that I have my eye on my son's heart before all else, because I know what it is to be "damaged" by adults. That's all. A historical fact is a historical fact, not a game to me. Especially my father and all that pain . . . that's no game or exploitative verbal maneuver.

I think it is at least bordering on oversimplification to blame anyone's marital problems on PMS, but, I do find that PMS amplifies in my consciousness what is actually going on. It is usually better for me to not write people, not speak to people, because the reality is too real and the impetus to torch is so strong . . . but it is seldom possible to manage pure silence and oblivion 10 days out of every month. But you wouldn't know what that's like, would ya? Gotcha there.

Oh, and my husband has refused counseling since my son was aged two. I've had counseling, and was told my depression was because I live with someone who probably has a personality disorder. There's pills for depression; there ain't none for personality disorder.

I'm not currently depressed or medicated for such. I've a clean bill of mental health, and you?

Oh, I could use a New Year!

I'll call her, if I can overcome my shyness enough to.

Not to pry . . . well, yes, to pry: what need do you have of hypnosis? You seem pretty together, though none of us is without fragility, in some rarified "completeness" of form and function.

My new job is overwhelming me. I usually get clinically depressed when I work for pay (although never when I pay to go to school). The place seems a sweat shop--hurry, hurry, hurry, and forget about taking lunch . . . let alone federally mandated breaks. Then my boss calls me in at 5, after hours, and talks to me forever when I need to leave to pick up my son . . . and I've told her. Workaholics, ugh! Oh, and the talk is all work-related instructions, off the clock! Jobs drive me crazy. Wish I could just sit at home, like a fat cow and look at my PhD diploma while eating bon-bons.

'night

Uh, I could use some hypnosis for my insomnia. Last night I had to take Peppermint Schapps and Nyquil to finally, finally get to sleep. Yes, I did a re-fucking-lax-a-tion CD too. Waves of anxiety. Mostly anxiety over not getting enough sleep. That's what they call viscious circle, no? Maybe your people can make a better CD for me. I'll pay.

You read Mark Leyner! I will now dribble in my shorts. Pardon me.