Addicted To "Love"

It has been months, hasn't it? Sorry it's taken so long, you've probably forgotten about me. No? You want to try again? I should tell you about my relationships then.

I have had a terrible time with my boyfriend, the only time he says "I love you" is when I slip him ecstasy. He would say it pretty regularly, but now his dick is soft and he's started doing heroin. While he's awful cuddly there's not a whole lot of "me" time. I'll be like "honey, let's go to the mall!" and he'll be like drooling with his eyes rolled back into his head. Boys are weird!
My favorite part of that story is that I am with a drug addict... better than a "rug addict", which is what I typed before I realized I forgot the 'd'. Have I ever told you about the time I was in love with a rug addict?

Michel was an arms dealer with a penchant for fine floor coverings. We met at a small patisserie in the West Nile when I gave up on Atkins (AGAIN!). There he was, in a chair uncomfortably close to a young family, hunched over a catalogue filled with- what else: breast implants. I saw my chance... I sauntered over, casually eating flakey croissant- I leaned over the family of three and whispered "I hear the Vatican is hiring a new Pope." As my intelligent, albeit ill-informed, words showered wet bread all over his grey, mustard stained sweatshirt I noticed his eyes fixate on my exposed chest. "Those are some AK-47 tit bags you have!" I loved him, right then. I knew he loved me too, because I slipped him ecstasy and I felt so pretty.

I am a bit of a health person, so having all these drug addict boyfriends really stumps me. I decided to take myself off the market for quite awhile, until I meet someone famous and trick them into loving me. I am sure I will love again, but he has to be famous, because I will not date another man who is unaccountable... or a rug addict.

Valentines Day: Funny Because It's True

Oh boy, oh boy! Valentine's Day is upon us again kids, marking the anniversary of when that black doctor had a dream. I don't know about his sleep patterns, but if I were a black doctor (show idea), I would be dreaming about a special boy on Valentines Day. This boy would have a functioning penis, some initiative and enough energy to love me. The last dreamboat I set sail upon was more like a tug boat and it just sputtered out before even leaving the harbor, but somehow managed to cause enough damage to kill every living thing in my heart. That was until yoga the other day when my dream was rekindled by a man's toned, perfect body across from me. He looked at me and smiled, which was weird because he was in downward dog... I guess if I were in downward dog as well and not snapping pictures with my camera phone... it wouldn't be as odd (keep yoga weird, right?). The teacher did prompt us to "yell out all of the joy in our hearts through a silent smile!". Still, I think he was smiling just for me. Just like the Sun that shines just for me.

So anyway, I followed him home and as good as I can tell (after 96 consecutive hours), he doesn't have a girlfriend or a dog... so he might be my soul mate.

Valentine's Day is celebrated differently in other cultures. In the East they celebrate it in the Spring with baskets and colorful eggs. India celebrates nothing because they are so impoverished. I think of India when lamenting boys who couldn't love me and the parents who set those patterns in place. I think what would have happened if I were born in India? I probably would have been made a beggar and later a prostitute. However, as I got older (and more beautiful) a childhood friend would fight the odds to become a Millionaire and buy me away from my abusive drug czar boyfriend and we would all win a bunch of Oscars.

So whatever Valentine's Day means to you remember that India has a dream and so should you, but it should be a better dream, because chances are you have more money.