Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to have a peen if only to see what it’d be like to scratch my balls.

Then I remember how fond I am of boobs and quickly strike such thoughts from my head.

I am an anomaly.

For reasons beyond my understanding, saying this out loud to the public makes me uncomfortable. To put it honestly it feels like I’m not supposed to.

Except I’m half white too. But because the other half is black, no one really cares too much.

At the end of the day, I’m just black.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am damn proud of my heritage… but I am sick and tired of feeling like it’s wrong to be proud of my white side as well. It started back in middle school when they told me I should just register as black, instead of “other,” because it’d help me with schools down the line.

A) Don’t even get me started on that. It’s an entirely different post for a whole other day. B) What the fuck was so wrong with acknowledging that my mama is white?!?!

She gave birth to me! I know her half of the family better than the other!

But anyways. I’m veering off the point here.

As the title of this post indicates, I really like white guys. I’ve never dated one or much of anything else.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of my skin color or because I’m not a size 2 or simply because I have no damn idea how to get the ball rolling with someone who isn’t ethnic.

I can’t really figure out why I feel like this attraction is such a big deal. It’s not like I’m not attracted to other races (cuz holy hell I’m an equal opportunist).

So why’s it feel like such a huge issue?

To be frank, if they’re good looking and kind of gruff with manly-man hands, I pretty much start drooling immediately.

I don’t like prissy dudes who worry too much about their clothes.

Get over it, it’s just cloth.

I don’t like egotistical maniacs either.

Trust me, your shit does stink.

I definitely can’t get down with anyone who has severe emotional problems.

I have zero tolerance for unnecessary drama.

Regardless of what color they are, I like ‘em tough and a lil’ rough around the edges. If I’m willing to get under my own car to change my oil, they better damn well be too.

But still. White guys are hot. Maybe the whole thing is intriguing because of the “unknown” aspect of it all.

Or something.

Y’all might remember a teeny weensy little crush I had on a dude by the name of Brian. Y’all may also remember that I took a giant leap off of a cliff and wrote him one huge letter explaining these feelings. There’s a very good chance it was a big ball of mush. There’s an even likelier chance that I made 50 thousand people read it to assuage my fears that it was just a big pile of crap.

Thankfully, it wasn’t.

Unfortunately, I still shouldn’t have sent it.

The whole thing went up in flames and I suddenly found myself willingly cut off from him and an entire crew of people I was quite fond of. In the end, I just felt like a complete dolt and wished I’d never embarrassed myself as deeply as I did.

I fucking hate embarrassing myself. It sticks with me for ages, sometimes years, before I can shake it off and just chalk it up to a lesson learned.

Well, for whatever stupid reason my heart still refuses to let this shit go. Even while dating Aaron I just couldn’t stop thinking about him. And maybe that was a clear indicator that the relationship just wasn’t going to last. And maybe I should’ve been more fair about it all and stopped it when I knew it wasn’t going to go much further. And maybe I shouldn’t have tried so hard to make my heart feel something it wasn’t going to. 

And maybe I’m just one big ball of stupid.

Either way, I found myself wide awake this morning after one very clear dream involving The Brian. I won’t get into details because I loathe reading blogs about peoples dreams – they really bore me to tears.

Suffice it to say it was like an electrical jolt to the system. 

I’m sick of it. I’m tired of feeling like a teenager about the whole thing. I’m not in the mood to keep hanging on to this crap. I wish I could just let it all go.

Why does the heart have to be such a ridiculous organ?

Those who will be future Veterans

Those who are currently Veterans

And to those that are fallen Veterans

May peace be with you and courage stay in you. Your service to this country can not be mollified with words and I am truly honored to be related to one of you.

As you can see, I have a fine array of make-up. On the top left are the eyeshadows, to their right are my mascara items and blushes next to those. Below the blushes are my eyeliners, powder, concealer and foundation. At the bottom you can see my brushes (they’re awesome) and the shit ton of lip glosses, chaptsticks and lipsticks I own. My collection of lip care may even be borderline obsessive. But whatever. You say poh-tay-toe, I say poh-tah-toe

Last night I decided I needed to organize every bit of cosmetics that I have and it didn’t even include my box set of eye-shadows. Apparently it’s been eaten by wolves. Or mayhaps just my closet.

More importantly, I have all of this stuff and I very rarely use it. Don’t get me wrong, I used to. Which is why I have it at all — but somewhere along the line I became a lazy git. 

I’ve decided it’s time to reinstate the use of these items. I miss them. Especially playing with eye-shadow.