just put me out of my misery already
9/28/2004 10:56:20 AM
My boyfriend's mother asked him to send her a picture of me. Since I look slutty or ugly in all pictures, I told him to send her a picture of Estelle Getty (Sofia on "Golden Girls") instead. He did, with the caption, "I told you Karina was a little bit older than me ..."
Sunday was our Month-a-versary. We lay in bed for a while trying to remember how to say "month" in Latin, but eventually gave up and went out for $4.95 five-course Indian lunch special. Every time the waiter brought out a new plate (cost: $.99), my boyfriend looked so happy it made me want to cry.
That night we played Scrabble. I beat him by 87 points - it would have been 71, but he let me get away with "Jung" on a double word score, the sweetheart. I gave him a blow job for that. Then we fucked and I came twice.
And that's all I got. Punish my happiness with your voting finger. Please.
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a puzzle for the fans
9/22/2004 9:35:00 AM
help me out with this one: my boyfriend calls me “sweetheart” and “darling” and “sugar”, and I in turn address him as "dreamboat" and "creamsicle" and "babycakes" - with an almost completely straight face. If rock beats scissors, irony gets conquered by love.
So ... what beats love? What can we slide in the analogy in place of paper?
Go to it, kids.
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the numbers game
9/13/2004 2:39:50 PM
I look pretty cute today. I know this because as I was leaving Café Orlin this morning, I bumped into Drew Barrymore and that Stroke she fucks, and they both smiled at me. If I learned anything in 17.5 years of living in Los Angeles, it’s that celebrities don’t acknowledge mere mortals unless they like what they see.
But even at my cutest, I’m still dating someone cuter than me, and that’s a problem. I’ve always believed that we should pair bond with people who are exactly as good-looking as we are. And I’m okay. I’m in like the 75th percentile of hotness. But Musical Theater … Christ. I’m really in trouble with this one.
I thought at first that he didn’t know. When my friends wanted to hear all about this new guy I just started seeing, I would open the discussion by saying, “He has absolutely no idea how good-looking he is.” But he does. He totally does.
Last night I got him to admit it. Okay, first of all, I’d like to say that I don’t think Drunk Karina and Musical Theater mix. And I had had a few martinis. Martinis turn me into a cunt.
He was tired. I had dragged him out of bed, made him get dressed and come in the kitchen with me for a cigarette. I don’t know what I expected him to say. It’s pretty shitty to drag someone out of bed so you can say to them, “You totally know how attractive you are. You pretend like you don’t, but you do.”
He answered my accusation like this:
Yeah, I know. I mean, I’ve always thought so. I’ve always thought I was good-looking.
I’m fucked. I’m totally fucked. If he knows how good-looking he is, then that means he knows how good looking I am. And that means, he knows he can do better.
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9/9/2004 3:05:06 PM
I am officially off the market. Last night Musical Theater told me that he changed all of his internet profiles to say "in a relationship", so I guess it's time for me to do the same. Which is awesome. But it doesn't seem real. I've been single for so, so long (since February 2003), and now I've found someone who actually likes me.
I just keep forgetting how to breathe.
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for those who blinked
9/5/2004 4:44:28 PM
So I've been practicing in front of the mirror -
Well, you know. Every girl keeps a diary. I just get paid to keep mine. And to publish it on the internet. (head down, eyes up; flutter eyelids, gently bite lower lip)
- but it's not working.
If you blinked, you probably missed yesterday's blog, in which I wrote all about My New Quasi-Boyfriend, aka UltraCrush©, aka Musical Theater. After hours of practice last night and this morning, I've come to the conclusion that I simply don't have the balls to tell this guy about this blog. So I've decided to just keep him out of it.
Would he be that upset if he found out? I don't know. But writing about him makes me feel like a cunt. It feels like I'm doing something wrong. So I think that's a pretty good indication.
I like this guy a lot more than I like blogging. Blogging makes me feel sick to my stomach, and not in a good way. Writing about him doesn't make me happy, it doesn't really help anything in any way. So it would be stupid to continue, when doing so could ultimately cost me this relationship.
Put it this way: the Hooksexup blog isn't gonna spoon me when I get dumped. But if you guys throw me off the blog-a-log island, chances are Musical Theater will.
So this doesn't mean I'm going to stop blogging - I'm just not going to write about him. This way, when he eventually finds out, hopefully he'll read this post and know that I have enough respect for him so as to not exploit whatever it is we're doing to serve the needs of my bullshit internet semi-celebrity.
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9/2/2004 11:59:42 AM
My cheeks are rubbed raw from kissing. My brain is spinning and, like, flashing lights, there’s like a fucking carnival going on in my head. And I’m not quite sure what my stomach is doing, but it seems to no longer function as a bottomless pit of empty dread.
I am deep within the throes of crush. The weird thing is that it’s totally mutual, and it’s not weird or fucked up or passive-aggressive in any way - we just really, really like each other.
I need some time to figure out what I want to say about this. If I want to say anything at all. More later.
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