Man Killer April 30, 2006

Lately I’ve been thinking the Bossman is right. Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with me. Maybe there is something about my personality that repulses men when they’re out of my presence. It’s the only explanation, but I don’t know how to change.

I’m pretty much the same with everyone. Funny. Sweet. I know what I want. People usually love me for that. But men are different. They love me while they’re talking to me, and I never hear from them again.

This fucking sales job is making me crazy. It’s not me, it’s my job. It’s not personal. They don’t want my product — not me! right? My boss doesn’t think so. He thinks I do something to men that makes them not want me.

But what?

I IMed the new Daniel after over a week of no communication. It went like this:

Me: daniel?
Him: hi
Me: hey, you’re alive
Him: sign offline

Now come on. The last words the boy said to me was ‘i think its a miracle that i met you tonight’ and could barely bring himself to say goodnight. you tell me, what the hell did i do to deserve ’signed off’ in my face?

Do I Smell Like Cheese? April 28, 2006

My boss asked me the other day: what is it about you that makes clients and men you like, not call or show up for appointments? It’s a very logical question. My appointments never show. When we meet they are all happy and excited to come talk to me the next day, but when the next day rolls around, they are nowhere to be found. Same for men. Every boy I meet tells me I’m the girl they want. They say: you’re really the perfect girlfriend, how are you still single?

Then I never hear from them again. Not even Daniel, who couldn’t say goodbye to me for 30 whole minutes. What do I do to these people? Why do they fall in and out of love with me so fast?

Easy come, easy go? maybe.

Kyle, (boss-man), thinks I trust too easily. ‘Everyone is your friend, Amanda’. He thinks I’m naive. I believe what people tell me. Of course I do–when I tell people something I mean it. When I set an appointment or act interested in a guy, I’m serious. It’s not a game — I like you and I mean what I say.

Isn’t this the way people should be? There must be something I’m just not getting.

More ARGGG April 26, 2006

Do you see why I had to put my two weeks notice in? My job is making me crazy. I am losing faith in all humanity because of the people I deal with everyday. My co-workers are amazing — I love them. My clients are fantastic too, don’t get me wrong. But it’s those awful mother fuckers that string me along, blow me off, and use and digaurd me without a bat of an eyelash that make me want to tump a hole in a wall!

I’m a Jamaican woman. Hell hath no fury…

Tomorrow I’m interview for a receptionist position at a hedge fund. My temp agency called to say: dress conservatively. Black suit, whit high-collared blouse. Minimal everything. Also, Amanda don’t talk about growth — it’s just a receptionist job. I thought she was making a joke so I emailed her back saying: haha, ok no growth talk.

Her response: what was the haha? stay focused…

Stupid bitch. Why don’t you swallow a box of laxatives and get it out of your system.

Dumb whore.

Anyhow, I have two promising interviews on Friday with magazines. Fuck the hedge fund. I hate white people.

ARGGGG!!!! April 26, 2006

On deeper reflection, I’ve come to the conclusion that people do not deserve trust. People, not in general but rather very specifically, are horrid. They lie. They say they’ll show up for an appointment. They say they’ll come back because they love you/your product/themselves–they say noble promising things, frought with false hope and unprecedented expectation.

HOLD UP! that mother fucker just signed online! Out loud to my empty apartment I just screamed: You’re Alive!?!?!?!?!

OK, that’s it. ALL PEOPLE ARE HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE PIECES OF SHIT AND IF THE WORLD ENDS AND WE ALL DIE, WELL FUCK! WE DESERVE IT!

Goodnight!

Irrational Girl April 24, 2006

It’s totally irrational, but when I meet someone new and they don’t call when they say they’ll call, my mind automatically assumes that they are dead and I freak out. I blame my mother. She constantly thinks I’m dead when I don’t speak to her for two days. During exam week freshman year she called campus police and told them to go look for my body in the woods behind my dorm because I wasn’t answering my phone. I was in the library.

Anyhow, Laura thinks I’m crazy. She says I need to re-read “He’s Just Not That Into You”. Well, it’s not really his fault if he’s dead, now is it Laura? He can’t be into me if he’s no longer living!

But seriously, do you think he’s OK? I’m worried. I sent a cute little email saying: how was Boston this weekend? and Im waiting for a reply. Here’s the glorious girl manipulation behind this unassuming sentnece: if he responds then he’s alive and I can proceed to be pissed off (bc then he’s really not that into me), and if he doesn’t respond he’s passed away.

How’s that for rational?

I really hope he’s alive though…I might even over-look being pissed, out of sheer joy that my future baby-daddy is safe and sound. I mean…I like him…and I hardly ever actually like anyone, you know? And I thought he liked me too. I sound pathetic but I’m really not. Everyday men hit on me. EVERYDAY! It’s repulsive. But with this new Daniel…we actually have a lot in common…and I like talking to him…and he makes me laugh a lot…I dunno…I feel like I’m in high school. Blah!

Potty Talk April 23, 2006

The apartment feels really big tonight. I keep wondering from room to room. Kitchen-living room-bedroom-bathroom. Why do i live in such an enormous space? Where is everyone? I’m so used to having someone else with me here on rainy nights. My roommate’s in Long Island with her family, and my grandparents, father and brother are all back in Jamaica. When I’m tripping over other people this place doesn’t seem so big. It feels like a shoe box normally, but tonight I feel like it’s obnoxious to be unemployed and have this much space to myself.

And I made pasta for dinner which now means I’m bloated. Yuck, I hate pasta. I threw a bucket of pepper into the sauce and an equal serviing on thyme, but in the end it’s just another simple carb covered in fat. I’m hoping the pepper will speed up my metabolism and make me shit. My entire life is the same: I only eat things that make me shit. Then after I shit I feel skinny, and it’s OK for me to have cookies and ice cream. What a simpleton I turned out to be.

Lately I’ve found dates are the best things to eat before bed. I don’t even need an alarm clock. At 8:30AM I wake up and go to the WC. What a lovely way to start a day — skinny and ready for the world.

Tee Hee April 22, 2006

I am in love with a boy named Daniel. No, not Chin Yee, but Daniel nonetheless.

‘In Love’ is not the right phrase. Well…more like high school ‘in love’. He rocks my little NY world. At least, he tries hard and I appreciate it. tee hee.

If this keeps up, I may let him have my babies. Lucky American Boy…

When I Think About Him April 20, 2006

When I think about him, I think about me. My butterflies. My blank mind and open eyes.

When I think about his smile, I think about me. I must’ve said something funny. dear God, what am I saying and why am I still talking?

When I think about his touch, I think about him touching me. With his perfect pink mouth and teasing, long fingers.

When I think about his funny, questioning face…his one raised eyebrow and mischievous grin…I think: why couldn’t I make him happy enough to stay?

When i think about him, I wonder why I can’t get him out of my head. I think: if I talk about him, I’ll keep him on my lips, outside my body. I can’t swallow him, digest him, absorb him into my blood if he stays on my outside. If he’s not in my blood he can’t get to my heart and kill me again. He can’t get close enough again, to hurt me.

When I think about him, I know he’s in my brain. I know he’s in my dreams and on my mind. When I think about what he did to me, how he treated me, I want to vomit. When I think about his eyes — the way his eyes oozed contempt onto my grandmother’s quilt. I think about his hands, pushing me away. When i think about him I can’t breathe and I want to melt into the city and walk with my eyes down at my feet.

When I think about US…and the way we were…when we used to do crazy shit and laugh for hours…I think: what happened? What went wrong? Did I love him too much?

Yes

He loved me when I kept him laughing. He loved me when he was sober. Was he just too drunk in the end?

Yes

Was I too vulnerable? Did I pressure him for something he wasn’t ready to give me?

Yes

When I think about him, I think about me. When I think about me, I think: I’m happier without him.

Quitter April 19, 2006

I quit my job yesturday. I loved it when I got to do it, but I couldn’t take the rejection and disappointment. I was losing faith in humanity. People are so horrible.

Monday Morning Musings April 17, 2006

There are more pressing issues in the world than this, but here’s what’s on my mind right now:

Tila Tequila has re-made Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry” and put it on her myspace page. ugh! OK, so I love Tila for being a hot slutty Asian-American girl, and for accomplishing all she has in the past years, like everyone else, but hey now Tila: don’t re-do reggae! Especially not Bob Marley! It sounds fuuny if you replace the ska beat in the background with your child-like, clear-as-a-bell voice. Sorry Tila, you lost my vote on that one. Keep it to techno/electronic/alternative or whatever you’re calling your sound these days. Reggae is not your homecourt.

(But Tila I still love you so don’t get mad! You’re in my top 8, aren’t you?)

Right-io then, moving on…

My grandmother has decided that I should move back to Jamaica in June. Just when I have a job, she decides this! I love Jamaica and I want to go back, but the question is what will I do when I get there? and Who will I date? Sad to consider that there are no men I fancy in my homeland. Sure, there are small crushes here and there, and I sometimes entertain the possibility of something more occuring, but truly I know it never will. The fact is that if I move back to Jamaica I will never have sex again, and as a healthy, attractive, 22-year old girl, that is UNACCEPTABLE!

As an alternative, I’m also thinking about moving to CT. Can you imagine? Me in CT? AGAIN? Craziness…