Resolution Update #3 (and stuff)

          So, I didn't post on Wednesday like I usually do.  I'm sorry (ish).  I was too busy having a mental breakdown.  I'll post about that later, once it becomes funny.  But to make up for my absence, here's a long-ish post:  

Big day in femme land: I found the perfect little black dress!  Thanks White House Black Market!

Then, still high on the dress victory, I visited Sephora.  I always enter that store hesitant at first and then end up dazzled and disoriented by the very friendly black-smocked Martians with their acrylic talons and glittery eye shadow.  How do they fit so many shades in the space between their lash line and eyebrows?  Sunsets don’t have that many colors. 

But what’s even more impressive than the Martians themselves is their collective power: if you walk into a Sephora not wearing makeup (or just not wearing enough makeup by Martian standards) within just a few minutes you feel like an ugly invader duckling.  That little tiny zit that popped up next to your ear lobe yesterday suddenly triples in size, your split ends reach out, away from your zitty head like angry medusa snakes and your once full lips become sad little gray worms.

Hopefully this intro will explain, at least in part, the events that followed...

I bought something.  It’s really hard to leave that store empty handed.  But this particular something is pretty special.  It’s definitely of questionable taste and may pose a health risk.  Hello lip plumper!  This product was clearly made for masochisty femmes like myself.  I tried it in the store and initially didn’t feel anything.  I started to get impatient and began to wander around.  Then I felt a tingle at my lip line, which quickly became an all-over burn.  I looked in the mirror.  Success!  My lips were fuller and definitely pinker. 

Downside: the discomfort kinda turned me on.  But I’m on day 19 of my New Years Resolution so most things turn me on.  My, that’s a handsome 5 o-clock shadow/backho/ice cream cone you have there.    So, no more lip plumper for me until I break my resolution and re-enter the world of sex.  Haha, enter.

Things that turn me on after 19 days of no O’s (this is not an exhaustive list):

1.     Stretching.  It’s a kind of discomfort and a kind of release but it’s just so terribly not quite satisfying.

2.     Chocolate cake.  (or any cake, or cupcake)  When I see cake in any form it reminds me that I’m not allowed to have it and that in turn reminds me what else I’m not allowed to have.  Then I cry.

3.     Cartoon super heros.  You know, the ones with inverted triangle torsos and grotesquely large jaws.  I’m not into cisdudes (even the cartoon kind) but they look so...mmm… virile!  I bet their little cartoon spermys have identical jaws. 

4.     Pine.  The smell of the forest my pup and I hike in every weekend now reminds me of manly mountain (trans)men.  I’m hoping there’s one in a rainbow loincloth hiding in a treehouse just waiting to scoop me up Tarzan style and save me from my self-imposed suffering.  This would of course involve a bear skin rug and an obscenely large strap-on hidden magically beneath the teeny loincloth (the queer equivalent of Mary Poppins’ carpet bag). 

5.     Pants.  No really.  It’s really hard to wear tight jeans when you haven’t o-ed in  NINETEEN DAYS.  When you sit down there’s that delicious little pressure…right…there.

6.     Vocabulary that wouldn’t normally be dirty like red velvet, oscillate and man hole cover.  Not sure what that last one means… 

7.     Curvy things.  This was the biggest surprise of all since I’m normally into ridiculously masculine beings.  Maybe I’m just into anything that looks butt-plug-ish.  That includes an unidentified root vegetable I saw at a roadside produce stand, a soft boiled egg sitting in an eggcup and, of course, lightbulbs.*   

8.     PAIN.  I knew I was a masochist but geez.  I guess I’m more hard up than I realized.  I stubbed my toe the other day and had a transcendent experience. 

9.     Muscles.  On anyone, anywhere, doing anything.  My brain now sees muscle movement in slow motion like a super sexy deodorant commercial.

10.     Handkerchiefs.  Any and all.  I immediately think of the hanky code.  As in: ooo, that hippie lady working at the produce stand on the side of the road has a malachite handkerchief in her left pocket! What does it mean?  Daddy?  Uniform top?  Into opera singers or jello wrestling or competitive chess?  Wait!  She’s pulling it out!  What’s she going to do with it? 

Oh, right. 

She’s using it to wipe off her pocket knife after chopping up samples of agave sweetened carob balls.   

       Damn.

Changes

My roommate is a cisdude.  He is approximately 8 feet tall and looks like a lumberjack.  I found him on Craigslist.  I kinda thought this setup might be weird or awkward at first since its just the two of us and our pups, but I had a good feeling about him and I had just been screwed over by the former roomie so I needed someone fast.  I went for it.

As it turns out, CisRoomie is perfect!  We have completely opposite schedules and never see each other.  I work a regular 9-5 and usually go to bed by 10:30 on weeknights.  He sleeps late, goes to school and then works the closing shift at a bar so he gets home around 1 or 2 every morning.  I haven’t seen him in at least a week, which has become the norm.  I’ve actually forgotten his dogs name.

In fact, I’m so confident that I’ll never run into him that every morning I get up, hang my outfit for the day in front of the heater vent in the hall, turn on the heat and change in the hallway, in front of the vent.  CR has lived here three months and has never caught me. But this blissful illusion of solitude was shattered this morning.  I hit the snooze on my alarm and heard CisRoomie get up and go to the bathroom during the time that I would normally be…naked right outside his bedroom door.

Shitballs.

 So I did what any sensible ladyface would do: I waited for him to go back to his room then grabbed my days outfit and my glow-in-the-dark underwear* and changed in the hall heater closet.  It was dark and difficult, but still preferable to freezing my ass off trying to change in my very chilly bedroom.  If CisRoomie continues with this annoying morning peeing habit I may have to work on my closet changing skillz, or hunt down some glow-in-the-dark business casual. 

I wonder if Suze Orman changes in her heater closet too…

*the underwear are purely sentimental (until today!!!) My first girlfriend stole them for me from the drugstore.  A true romantic.