Yeah, I got flaked on today by a model, in case you didn�t figure that one out. I basically scheduled my entire day around this one event for nothing. *sigh* I really thought she�d come through for me.
See? This is another reason why I *REALLY* need to become successful: access to models. Either I�m ridiculously rich and can pay for them, or I�m so damned popular that they volunteer. Yeah, I know... Paying for them it shall be. But still, I think I�d love to offer a few hundred bucks per session. You know how more comfortable I�d feel if I didn�t have to rely on the charity of others? That�s what it is, you know.. charity. I fucking hate charity.
Richard made an insightful comment today, basically, and this is paraphrased of course, he said �If I relied on women for my happiness as much as you do, I�d have shot myself a long time ago. But hey, it says something for your stamina.�
He�s got a point. My expectations are way too high.
I blame being raised by women. Women were the only quasi-nice thing in my life for... well, nearly all of it. I guess I have come to rely on women too much. My expectations are too high. I expect them to be these honest and beautifully thoughtful and sensitive creatures, because that�s what I was conditioned to believe.
Yup, I can still hear grandma telling me how as long as I was honest, kind, and above all, a gentleman, women would never do me wrong. Hah! Little did she know. That just gets �DOORMAT� stamped on my head.
True, women still have a power that all but a very few of them will ever understand, and I so adore them, and likely always will, but right now I�m just too brokenhearted.
Yes, that�s a good word for it. It�s like telling a child that Disney Land is this incredible magical place with all these great things and then years down the road when the kid finally gets the chance to go, he finds it to be one long line of cranky people after another, pockmarked by overpriced capitalist shops trying to cut up and sell their magic for $22.50 a pop.
Yes, that kind of brokenhearted. I�ve been bamboozled.
Not only does Santa Claus not exist (which actually turned out to be a good thing since when my mom forgot it was x-mas one year, I thought Santa hated me and I cried for days straight, it�s nicer to know that my mom was just a complete fuck up rather then some mythical figure running around cursing my name while dispersing wonderful gifts to other children), but women aren�t these universally wonderful creatures. (Thinking about this, it explains why I�m so crushed when a woman is unkind to me, verses when a guy is. Hrmph.)
They are human, just like me.
Hah, in hindsight, I should have known women weren�t the �be all to end all� nice creatures, looking at my mother�s lovely examples. Maybe it was just because she never physically hurt me. Who knows?
Okay, I�m done with my misogynistic ranting. I�m over it. (Mean bitches!)
Anyway, in other news... I�ve got a pain that started under my right bicep, close to my arm pit, and it is slowly spreading down my entire arm. How fucking cool is that?
God damn, what a contrast from last night? I was all happy-happy and now I�m all whiney. Wha! Or, as Joyce would like to think I say... �Quwha!�
Because, you know.. I whine like a duck, or something. Quwha!
I almost forgot, last night (the good night), I also got $300 gift cert. for renting a Harley. So yes, next weekend, I�m renting the Harley and skipping town. I�m not fucking telling ANYONE where I�m going. Just packing up my camera, a spare t-shirt and pair of jeans (okay, I'll bring underwear and some socks too.. I'm such a shitty 'harley guy'), and I�m off. (Well, I�m not telling anyone besides the people I�ve already told, but I�m just being snotty right now. It�s my right, damnit!)
Quwha!
-G