Ramblings Onsss July 14, 2006

Dude, here I am making more money than I ever thought I’d make, and my bank account is broker than broke. I’ve been thinking about this:…hmmm…haaaww…I’ve said…why am I so bloody broke after I just got a fat check?

Then it occured to me: I am keeping myself in the lifestyle to which I’ve grown accustomed, and there is no way one person can ever make enough money–from scratch–to support that! I mean, I’m ridiculous. Who really needs 2 personal trainers? That’s more than half my pay-check right there. Not to mention that no matter how hard I try, I cannot live on $20 a day for food in this city. Food–sure–but what about drinks? And snacks? And desserts? And lunch time shopping trips? Hellooo! $20–I think not.

And toilet paper? I mean…shit man…I’m always fucking running out and having to use my kleenex box. What happens when I use up every kleenex box in the apartment? I’ll have to wait till my grandparents come back in August to get more boxes because that shit is the real expense in bathroom materials! Then when I run out of toilet papge I’ll be seriously screwed and have to resort to Domino’s napkins and the back of my hand. (Only for pee–and I wash it right away! Like you’ve never done that before!?!?!)

And I’m forgetting the regular stuff like toothpaste and razor blades. I feel like as soon as my credit card is cooling off from the last Duane Reade excursion, it’s time to swipe again.

Who can honestly live on a five-figure income in NYC?

Not me, that’s for sure. Imagine if I had to pay rent!!! Atrocious. I can barely cover a pedicure and an eye-brow threading, and tomorrow I want to get my hair done. Wow–I wonder if my parents will let me use their card. I’ve confiscated my own credit card because it keeps getting me in trouble.

Onto other news, I have a little crush on Bo, therefore I’ve deleted his number from my phone (as I’ve done once a week for the past 3 months), and decided to no longer respond to any contact he may try with me. I cannot fall for a gay man.

Not again.

The weather is getting a little cooler in Nuevo York. The rain helps, although I didn’t make a sale all freaking day. I’m #3 in the region though, so I guess that’s worth something. Tomorrow the numbers will change, so let me just have tonight to gloat.

I’m #3!!!!!!!!!!YIIIPPPEEEE!!!!

–End of Post–

Bo My Boyfriend July 11, 2006

I call Bo my boyfriend when I’m giving tours at work. My boyfriend, the actor, i say. When men call, email, and solicit me on the street, I tell them: no thanks, I have a boyfriend, he’s Matt Damon’s body double and we’re veryyy serious.

If Bo ever heard me say that, he’d crack up. We are the furthest thing from that. Sure-when we’re together we get along well and we have a lot in common, but to ever call our relationship a ‘relationship’ would be absurd and dellusional. (hello–do you know me at all?)

Convienient, is what it is. There’s an understanding, though we don’t really need to define it with words. He’s serious about his career, and I’m serious about…well…finding a husband. Many months ago I informed Bo that we were never getting married. He said, you never know, and I said, no really, never. But we sleep together. (yes–sleep only). We haven’t had sex since the week we met. Honestly, its not like that with us.

I think maybe we could seriously date in the future though, when he’s more settled and I’m mature enough for a relationship. And if he convinces me he’s totally straight–that has a lot of influence on things as well.

Side note: my mother called, from Jamaica, specifically one day, out of the blue, to tell me she thinks Bo is gay.

It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Bo my boyfriend, however, because he got pulled into a new Matt movie, unexpectedly. Wow–my boyfriend is famous. Bo is such a safe boy for me. The more I type this, the more I think he really is gay.

In Response… July 3, 2006

In response to the comments I’ve been recieving:

Stephanie–I get an HIV test every 6 months. Everyone should. If I sleep with one boy or twelve, it is my responsibility to myself and my sexual partners to be sure of my health. Why aren’t you getting an HIV test every 6 months, Stephanie? Getting tested doesn’t mean you’re a slut or even that you are infected. It’s the responsible thing to do. I would encourage everyone to get tested as often as possible. There’s no harm in knowing you’re OK.

Peta--I have a fine self-esteem. I love myself better than anyone else. Having occasional moments of self-doubt is normal and healthy. I wouldn’t want to meet the egotistical bitch who thinks she’s perfect all the time. Through the process of writing in a stream of conciousness fashion, I dispell doubtful thoughts from my mind. Once they are out, they can’t hurt me anymore. It’s not that I have low self-esteem, its that I’m human, and I operate on a binge/purge system of mental health. Thank you for the self-help book anyways. It’s a very kind gesture.

Readers-At-Large: The last two months of my life are rather out-of-the-ordinary for me. It’s not my habit of getting involved with almost-married-men, or having one-night stands with dubiously straight actors. I only ever sleep with one man at a time. Bo and I haven’t had sex in two months. Kyle and I had sex four times over the course of five weeks. All that is done now. My blog may portray me as over-sexed, but in reality, I’m not actually getting that much.

Stephanie Again: Despite the personal situation between me and Kyle, the fact remains that we are passionate about this business. That isn’t a question and it’s not something I want to get out of. Don’t ‘I told you so’ at me–this is my project, my baby for goodness sakes! I can bitch and carry on about how Kyle betrayed me personally all I want, but don’t think for one second that I’m not devoted to our partnership. Men come and go, but business is business. If I could, I’d invest my $5K again tomorrow. Stop thinking of me like a child–as emotional as I can be, I am careful about my money. This is still a great investment and has incredible potential for success.

Everyone Else: This is my private blog space. It’s not a forum to discuss how fucked up I am, or even a place to express your opinions. It’s for me! I let you read it because you few are the ones that I consider friends. Don’t abuse the privelege or I will take my writing elsewhere and not give you the address.

Venting July 1, 2006

I hate that Bossman keeps showing up at work. Worse–he’s showing up to see another girl. Not me or my co-workers, her. After three months, I thought we were friends. All of us, a group of friends, but he doesn’t care about us now, he just cares about her. He doesn’t care about me anymore. I’m just the girl he wanted to fuck, but she’s a girl he actually cares about.

I like her. I hate him.

When he’s not around, I really don’t think about him that much. Life goes on and I keep busy, but it hurts me to see him now. Just a week ago he told me he ‘really liked dani’. My eyes must’ve looked teary because he started saying: I never wanted to hurt you. Words don’t mean anything to me–he hurt me–i am hurt. I don’t care about his fiance, I knew the deal from the beginning, but somewhere along the way I began to believe that he was cheating on her with me, because he kind of liked me. Now it looks like he is cheating on her, to cheat. With whoever! Not only I am NOT special, I am easily disposable. We are disposable–our friendship.

He didn’t mean to hurt me. HE HURT ME! ‘Meant to’ has nothing to do with it. I’m hurt, damn it.

As usual, when I’m upset, the walls go up. A wall for every boy who’s ever hurt me. Every boy who’s ever said: I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I like someone else. Walls as far back as 7th grade. 

PAYUM: standing on the steps of the library the morning after I caught him having sex with another girl. “Don’t be hurt, but I’m cutting my summer flings. I’ve found a girl I really want to date”.

JAMES: Amanda, I love you, but I’m marrying another girl in January.

NATE: you’re not enough for me.

I freeze up. At the very moment that history repeats itself–at the very utterance of another girl’s name–my eyes change. It’s not my fault, I’ve always had a very expresive face, and I can’t help but let the world see what I’m feeling. If you looked, you’d see the walls–the concrete distance I create between me and him. Pushing him out of my life. LEAVE ME ALONE, I HATE YOU, GET AWAY FROM ME!

Don’t be upset, he says, I didn’t mean to hurt you.

My first response: I’m not hurt, I’m fine. I suck it up and shake it off. I say: You could never hurt me, you’re not that special! You will never hurt me, because I will feel nothing for you. As time passes, I have time to recover from the shock and digest what really happened. the walls get thicker and higher, and after a week I can’t see you at all. Hurt? Me? Over you?

Whatever.

I dare you to hurt me. Try. You’ll never be my friend again, you’ll never have my trust.

I trusted you, I thought you cared about me. You did, but not the way I guess I wanted you to. In the end, it means, i don’t want to see you anymore. I don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to pretend things are cool, like nothing ever happened. I saw how you looked at me, it wasn’t just sex. Go away, please. Give me some space so I can build some more walls, and cage myself in, from predators like you.

Hurt me? You could never hurt me, because to me, you are nothing. You are vile, indecent, and loathsome. Go hang out with your new mistress, because your old mistress is disgusted by you.

Be careful not to hurt her though. We both know you never intend to leave your fiance. We both know that you’re greedy. You can’t start a relationship with someone else when you’re taken–that in itself says that YOU MEAN TO HURT THEM!

Don’t say you didn’t, you’re not a fool. I knew it was wrong when I did it, but I had little to lose. This is YOUR future you’re messing with. If your fiance is your whole life, then let her be enough for you. Stop looking for other girls. YOU MEAN TO HURT THIS GIRL, JUST LIKE YOU MEANT TO HURT ME.

If you say it was just sex between us, you’re a liar. You’re a liar regardless. Don’t talk to me until September, when we have to work together again. I need some time to forget and forgive what happened between us. I love this magazine, and I love the way we work together, but I don’t love you. I don’t love how you took me for granted.

I’m a very passionate person, and I get carried away sometimes. I am young, and trying to figure a lot of myself out.

I thought we were friends. Good friends. I thought you really cared about me. But I don’t care about you now. I told you three weeks ago that we couldn’t have sex anymore because I was starting to like you. You wouldn’t stop–every day you’d flirt with me.

You’d put your hand up my skirt, in the rare moments we were alone in the office! Don’t pretend it never happened. You prevoked me because you knew I liked you. You used my emotions to get what you wanted from me: sex. Friends don’t do that. Friends don’t take advantage of other friends vulnerabilities.

Who else were you doing this to? How many other girls in the office were you fucking in the massage room? You fucking jerk-off! I ABSOLUTELY DESPISE YOU!!! If I didn’t care about this magazine so much–if I didn’t dream about it every night, and plan for it every day–if I didn’t love it so much, and want so much for it to be successful, I’d never talk to you again.

Get the fuck out of my office and out of my face. We are no longer friends. My friends don’t hurt or use me. I can’t think of a more disrespectful thing you could do, than flaunt another co-worker in my face, and tell me: I didn’t mean to hurt you.