Wino Wednesday

Ok, so that makes three Wednesdays in a row that I have been out boozing it up with The Foreigner. I got home earlier this last time, but less sober. I had an adult juice box before I went out, two splits at The Dub, and another adult juice box when I got home. Yeah, I woke up with wine stains on my pj's, you want to make something of it? I was surprisingly not hung over on Thursday, just tired from the weird dreams about The Foreigner cleaning my kitchen naked and then having sex upside down (like a bat). The funniest thing is, I tried to post when I got home and could not figure out how to copy and paste the entry after my neighbor's wifi kicked me off. Seriously. I couldn't do it. I probably tried for an hour. Somehow I saved it as a .txt file but even I'm afraid to read that shit.

Also, ReadBecca cleaned. Call the Vatican! We need to verify this miracle! ReadBecca still needs to do the floors and some dishes, but she quit after two days of hard labor. (Ow. My whole body hurts.) Whatever happens, DO NOT look in the closet.

Ok, so I went ahead and looked in the .txt closet and it's too...ReadBecca. It HAS to see the light of day, with no corrections or censorship. Enjoy my issues. That's why I have them. To entertain strangers and friends alike. And now, without further ado, I present Wednesday's musings on the modern situation!

Dang it all to hell and back, ReadBecca is conflicted.

Yeah, I know ReadBecca's set point is fucked up and conflicted, but still. ReadBecca was supposed to have been violated nine ways to Sunday by The Foreigner by now,
but ReadBecca, in a fit of self-esteem, actually turned the fella down. I know! Either you're saying, "Atta girl!" or "You stupid bitch, never turn down perverted sex of doom!"

The thing is, I agree with you. All of you. The headline was supposed to be "We'll Always Have Wednesday." and here I am, Wednesday, like the last two Wednesdays, except home earlier and yet drunker, and I can't stop thinking about
The Foreigner's freaking kisses and the 46,892 glasses of wine that have made it freakin' impossible to stop thinking about the delicious kisses of doom that I will regret and crave all at the same time. I hate him and all that he stands for, except for unless it's delicious red wine from a box and I am listening to Crystal Gayle. Hang on, I have to find the remote.

Also, thank God I didn't burn the fucking house down. When I left to tell The Foreigner to "FUCK OFF, YET NOT SO FAR AS NEVER KISSING ME AGAIN," I thought I put out the candle I had burning all day, and Hey, guess what! That bitch had been burning all day, and into the night. Thank God I'm not a hobo. I couldn't deal with being a hobo and not having sex all in the same day.

And dammit, preparations were made! There was exfoliation! There was use of the good bath products! And it's all my fault because I know The Foreigner will never touch me unless we're having sex. He's not hand-holding guy! He totally admits it! He's friends-with-benefits guy, and I have plenty of guy friends already! And it is totally unfair that a classy broad like me has to work so hard for dirty monkey sex combined with a little hand-holding.

Seriously, if you're here, you know the last thing ReadBecca needs is to throw gas on the fire of chaos with like, a relationship. It would be great if I were the kind of person who could wander around life three glasses of wine in, except that state is unsustainable and then people like The freakin' Foreigner ask stupid questions like "Are you ok to drive?" which can only be answered with, "No, but I'm gonna." which is stupider than fuck, and yet, what the hell is The Foreigner going to do? Especially since said The Foreigner said he wouldn't read ReadBecca anymore since ReadBecca has expressed regret on on more than one occasion of having given The Foreigner the ReadBeccam address, because now she can't talk about him freely and ReadBecca really doesn't give a shit either way right now. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!

lySerious;u

It is not fair in any way that I am not having dirty filthy illegal delightful carnal knowledge of The Foreigner right this very minute. And trust me, if I were, I would not be all typing away at this moment and shut up.

The other day, ReadBecca realized the difference between ReadBecca and actual people. If someone asked actual people to walk down a creepy dark alley for apparently no reason, actual people would say "Fuck you and the white coat you rode in on."

ReadBecca says, "OK."

And has no conception of what could happen down said dark creepy alley, nor does ReadBecca care. ReadBecca thinks they're just taking a walk. ReadBecca wants to see what happens next, damn the consequences. ReadBecca has always been that way, which could explain why ReadBecca has a lot to write and/or seek therapy about. Either way, it makes for good material. Hang on, I need to take a sip.

ReadBecca doesn't want to think about tomorrow. ReadBecca wants to make some memories and have good material. ReadBecca wants to be interesting and out of the ordinary. ReadBecca thinks that self-destructive artists like Van Gogh were fucking morons, but then she sees Van Gogh's self-portrait in the Musee D'Orsay and the Haystacks exhibit at the DMA, and she wants to be first in line for that kind of crazy. Bring. It. ON.

ReadBecca wants to be immortal.

What the hell, Crystal Gayle? Did I say STOP?

I have adult juice boxes from Target and Crystal Gayle's greatest hits on repeat to infinity. What more could I ask for except for to not be cold while I'm writing all my ridiculous bullshit and to have a little carnal knowledge of an inappropriate suitor who isn't exactly pursuing his suit? Again I say: It. Isn't. Fucking. Fair. That. I. Have. To. Choose. Between. Self. Respect. And. Banging. The. Foreigner.

Even The Foreigner wants me to do the right thing. I hate him and everything he stands for and all his reserved control and remoteness and I want to break The Foreigner, but The Foreigner is so self-contained and ReadBecca is so emotional and lacks the kind of focus it would take to make that damn Foreigner beg until he cried.

I want to buy a riding whip.

Man, I am so full of shit.