Friday, November 07, 2008

Di Crabtree, back in the gutter in record time

When depression reared its ugly head a week or so ago, I felt a renewed spirit to write, and wondered if "Diana Crabtree" would return to it's mental health oriented roots, but overnight, I have gone from a post about love, and loneliness, back to the theme that dominated "Diana Crabtree" for so many years- ACTION!

I got bangs, and I think I look damn cute. Its time for change America! I am happy to say I am verified "Lice Free" from my infestation from the children's home in India (did I ever write that story on here?) and that is quite a relief. After my haircut I went to some airline friends' house, and had drinks and played board games. Two male pilots were there, a man from New Zealand (you know how I am a sucker for accents) and a sort of douchebaggy, but nice pilot I have flown with before.

I ended up drinking an entire bottle of wine. How did I do that? Wine is weird. I drink it, but don't notice I am getting drunk until I am already drunk. Even then I can't tell as much. Well I came on to this kiwi pilot like gangbusters. He was Buddhist and left wing, but kind of condecending about it. I was excited to meet a Buddhist in my city, because I want to find a sangha, but he proceeded to explain Buddhism and the world to me, which was annoying and boring, but I didn't care, because I would have made out with him even if he was a gun enthusiast, the way I saw it, if he passes, I will go for the douchebag, who I assumed was a sure thing, and, he was.

We were supposed to just make out, but he took all his clothes off in like, zero to sixty in 4.2 seconds, and eventually I obliged his silly hopes. There was no sex, but things were fully inappropriate, and I feel just fine about it. I am hurting. I feel lonely in my life right now, and having my childhood crush be so flirtatious and unavailable was really hard for me to deal with. I just felt like I deserved a good makeout session. Maybe I do deserve sex (yes I do) but not in my friends' living room.

The douchebag was the perfect victim for my mojo-recharging lust. He is not an actual douchebag, he is a dork, really. He is a nice guy, and yet not very crushable. My only regret is he is Italian, yet has removed all the hair from his chest and privates. What the hell is up with that? My lust for the Mediteranian, Middle Eastern & South Asian men is not for their abnoxious patriarchy, it is for their lucious dark chest and arm hair. The room was dark anyway, but I made sure to mock him for it anyway.

So now I am home. I left the apartment at 6AM. It started snowing and visibility was so bad I pulled into a community college parking lot and took a nap. I am glad I left, I was not sleeping well, and it just feels right to leave the scene of the crime. I feel confident that he will be a gentleman about it and not tell anyone. Again, he is only douchebaggy by appearance, inside he is a nice, but goofy guy. I am quite grateful for the favor of letting me take out my sexual frustration on him, I am sure it was quite the sacrifice.

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