Von's Room　ヴォンの部屋

In a night that consisted of epic laughs (which included the phrase of “A gestalt…syphillis”)…I should have had lots of fun.

I’m glad you don’t read my blog.  I wouldn’t want you to know that I was totally fine at improv night, until I turned around.  And saw you. Sitting there. With another long-haired asian girl beside you.  She wasn’t even pretty.

But I am still not over you.  Remember the spring melt? The smell of it reminded me of when we first met at that photoshoot.  Spring rolled along, and the smell of ozone reminded me of that beautiful day where I rollerbladed and you biked, you showing me sights of the city that I didn’t know existed.

I loved you.  You pulled away, but I still wanted you.  Even after we broke up. I must have consumed your energy, but you made me insecure. Before I met you, I was strong, independent, beautiful.  Afterwards, you left me a sobbing mess, not knowing who I was, broken, and fettered by the chains of non-closure.

I know, to you, I was just a sexual fantasy.  An asian girl who was pretty cute, and hot in lingerie, who could cook like no other, who gave a mean BJ.  But really that’s all I was. Now, knowing that I could be replaced…by THAT…well…

I thought I was strong, independent and beautiful. I came from work, in a new dress complimented by everyone. I had a tall, cute, yet shy and geeky boy on my arm.  I was just bragging about my soon to be job offers in Italy and Japan.

But after seeing you there, I was left feeling ashamed of who I was, and who I was with that night. I may have had a dress on, but I was overdressed for the night. He may be taller, but you’re a perfect height for me. He may be smarter, but his awkward hand placements and his insecure posture pale to your confidence and glowing persona.   I wasn’t the one you were sitting beside.

No, instead, an awkward, ugly asian girl was beside you.  I whispered to my roomate: “Ugly probably means glowing personality”.  She replied: “I sure hope so.”  Well, she better be, because something has to make her better than me.

So, I can easily be replaced by any other asian girl, shy and naive enough to place their trust in a cute boy with yellow-fever. I’m nothing but my race, a bra, and a notch on the bed post.

And so, I give up on you.  I deleted your text-conversations. (Your contact information was never restored to my phone either). And I’m not responding to any of your future texts. There was no friendship, nothing but hollow “promises” on your end.

I shall now remember that I am better. Than her. Than you. And frankly, I deserve better. Than you. And sadly, than him.

Lately, I’ve found that hetero males like the impersonal forms of communication, such as texting over talking on the phone, and breaking up over voicemail rather than in person.  Luckily I respect people enough to meet them in person to deliver bad news.  I find that these hetero males are cowardly in that sense.  It’s a sad, sad day to learn the preferred method of break up now is via texting.

So…why not break the mould and be courageous?  Give a girl a call instead of the cold shoulder.   Show you respect them enough to give them a few minutes of your time…instead of turning the cold shoulder after you pump and dump them.

Hahahaha, no one will read this and think it applies to them.  Most of my readers are not that sort of person…

I’m convinced all hetero males are out to hurt me.  But I like the penis so much, it’s hard to bat for the other team. There’s only one solution, become a gay male. I love my gay male friends dearly…they’re fun and full of entertaining drama that I’m not part of.

So, I’m saying: Fuck it.  Screw hetero males.  I’m joining “Team Edmonton” a sports community mostly consisting of the LGBT community.

to self-destruction.  I’m listening to Paramore, wishing for the passionate, hurtful, angry sex that I crave.

Sometimes to truly build oneself back up, after all the hurt and rejection, is to completely and utterly pummel my self esteem into submission.

In my self-destruction I may leave a wake of hurt and pain and anger, bodies tossed by the wayside in a fit of cathartic release. One of those bodies is mine.

I just called an ex-boyfriend for that release.  In his eyes, he just thinks of it as casual sex.  In my eyes, it’s the best thing for a cathartic release. To be used and discarded by someone I cared for so much, and left on the side of the path, sobbing…

“sometimes the pain is the only thing that can pierce through the despair” – C. Wagar

and the rejection. The self-destructive path I’m on has a timeline…the sooner I start the sooner it will end.

“Then I will I ‘rise from the ashes’ by discarding just about everything around me.” – C. Wagar

…and sometimes I discard people too.  Hence, I lead a lonely life. One day, I will find solace in being alone.  But until then, I will take it in the form of promiscuity. Fuck celibacy, that’s for losers.

Cup of Coffee – Garbage

….I lie around in bed at night just staring at the walls/Hanging around the bars at night wishing I had never been born/I give myself to anyone who wants to take me home.

…So no, of course we can’t be friends, not while I’m still so upset/I want to ask where I went wrong/but don’t say anything at all.

…on the outside (from the mountain) and on the inside (from heartbreak).

Nothing hurts more than hiding heartbreak with Christmas cheer.

When all the world is happy, you feel the most alone when you are sad.

Apparently Christmas is a time for love and peace and family.  A joyous occasion.

I’ll celebrate alright – even if I don’t feel love, or at peace, and abandoned by any sense of family I may have had.  Maybe one day I’ll get so good acting this part, I can play any role in any RomCom.

Remember this post? https://vonsroom.wordpress.com/2009/01/17/priorities/

Basically my priorities at the time were:

School/Work > Monogamous Boyfriend >/= Friends > Snowboarding > Climbing > Kink > Playing “The Game” (where > means “higher priority than”, and = means “equal priority as”)

I have revamped it:

Survival (jobs that pay rent and bills) > mental well-being (research) >/= emotional well-being (polyamorous daddy, and currently seeking local emotional support) >/= physical well-being (activities such as cooking, aerial arts, climbing, snowboarding and burlesque dancing) > sexual well-being (my kink, I haven’t found any local lovers yet).

Money dictates survival, but I think I’ve learned that happiness STARTS with content.  The main priority right now is still happiness…

I would assume I’m one step closer.

Next time?  Dates of a different kind.  The only thing good about online dating is the stories that I can share about the crazies.

I have one.  At the end of August 2010, I moved into a beautiful apartment in downtown Edmonton, a half block away from the train station, with a large living area, floor to ceiling mirrors EVERYWHERE, overlooking the river valley in the south west, so that the sky would span a multitude of colours at sunset every day, and a very neat roommate.

I met her where I worked.  And she was cute, young and innocent. Yet she wanted to expand her horizons, and attached to me (the older, wiser, more experienced asian girl) who would most likely corrupt her instead of instruct her.  But I took her under my wing.  She reminded me of myself when I was younger, trying to understand the world, often jumping to inappropriate conclusions, and severely oppressed by the parental units. And much more innocent in the ways of romance. Except, she is more beautiful.

• “Oh, she’s daddy’s little angel, a paradigm of chastity and virtue.” – Sebastian, Cruel Intentions

So, she was recruited into my burlesque troupe. And soon after that, we moved in together.  She’s determined to be a teacher, and she’ll make a good one at that. She also jogs in the winter, and has a body to show for it.

• “She’s quite cute, you know? Young, supple breasts, a tight, firm ass… uncharted pooty… Be her Captain Picard, Valmont. Boldly go where no man has gone before.” – Kathryn, Cruel Intentions

She has a fun collection of books – ranging from Alan Moore to Neil Gaiman.   She is very neat, and clean, and I enjoy living with except for one thing…

I feel like Kathryn Merteuil – from Cruel Intentions. The girl with all the knowledge, the beauty and the lack of morals. I bring boys over to play with and often times, when they meet her, they are charmed off their feet.  I had a crush on one boy, who after stating that we make great friends and possible bed buddies, but nothing more, asked if he could start hitting on my roommate.  Why do the coy, virginal ones always attract the males?

• “Eat me, Sebastian! It’s okay for guys like you and Court to fuck everyone. But when I do it, I get dumped for innocent little twits like Cecile. God forbid, I exude confidence and enjoy sex. Do you think I relish the fact that I have to act like Mary Sunshine 24/7 so I can be considered a lady? I’m the Marcia fucking Brady of the Upper East Side, and sometimes I want to kill myself.” – Kathryn, Cruel Intentions

And so there…my roommate complex is exposed.  Please feel free to send messages of how much you want to meet her.  I have yet to set her up with anyone, and I don’t really intend to. 🙂 But it’s nice to dream, right?

I saw my reflection.  Just for fun, I stepped off the LRT in a burlesque swagger, watching the students on the platform stare while waiting for me to come out.

But my eyes gazed back down to the floor as I walked up the escalator.  My inner monologue started a conversation.

“Do they see the sadness in my eyes?” I think to myself.

I realize I’m slouching as I go up the second escalator and another flight of stairs.

“Buck up. Stand up straight!” I straighten my back, walking through the Engineering building, my head still looking past to the walls and the floor, past every passerby.

“Look up! Jeez…don’t be awkward, if you walk like a model you gotta sell it with the look.” There were a ton of students in line in CAB, waiting for their Tim Horton’s. I looked at some of them before my eyes darted away.

“But what if they see the sadness in my eyes?”

“The most they’ll see is an over confident/arrogant look. You know, the one that Daniel likes to photograph.”

“I guess that’s true.” As I choke back a tear, and wipe its non-existent counterpart off my face while putting my gloves on to exit the Chemistry building.

“You’re being a teenager.  Stop overestimating how much people care.”

My heart strings continue to tug.  I wonder how the alcohol stopped them from hurting last night.

“You’re right, no one will even notice. No one cares anyways.”

I feel a tightness in my chest, as if someone plucked that heart string and made it go ~twannngg~. 

My heart feels broken. But I still fake that smile.

1) Grad students are alcoholics.  I tend to jump on bandwagons late into the game. Should I try? I’ve been told it helps in the short term.

2) “Why does my heart cry? Feelings I can’t fight…”

3) “I’m in the business of misery…she’s got a body like an hourglass, ticking like a clock…” Do I also have to “wait 8 long months”?

4) I need to express myself. It kills me that I can’t.

5) Love is expensive.