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So I’m currently at the gym and just finished a workout. I haven’t been here in months, so this felt good though way overdue. I did a decent variety of stuff. Treadmill, abs, elliptical, rowing, sit-ups/crunches/etc, and some yoga. Wishing I could get Irish here again soon. He’s the reason I joined this expensive-ass gym anyway. But with his shoulder still out of commission, he can’t do anything, he claims. Apparently the list of things he can’t do involves more things than I expected and includes many of my favorite activities. Sigh.

Well if he’s not gonna get me sweaty, I suppose I should do it myself. Hence, the gym time.

Anyway, I should be getting off this couch in the locker room lounge and getting home while power hour is still happening. It’s a excuse to polish off that delicious meatloaf I made last night. Mmmm…. With steamed broccoli and mashed red skinned potatoes. Oh man. Forgot that I didn’t eat yet today. Better go do that cuz now I’m starving. Peace.

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I admit I’ve been wanting more sex recently, and understand if you’re in some pain so aren’t totally up for it, but is it really too much to ask for you to cuddles? Even just being affectionate in general would be nice. And some boyfriendship. Ugh. What happened to your A game? Step it up, dude. Cuz I’m getting tired of this B game crap. I’m your girlfriend, who lives with you. I’m not just some roommate. So start acting like you understand that and just cuddle up to me, dammit.

Holly posted a bunch of questions for men that I’ve always wanted to know the answers to, and I was reading it off to Irish the other day. Surprisingly enough, he started answering the questions. I wish I had written down his answers, since my memory is terrible about these kind of things. But I know it was fairly enlightening, and totally unexpected. Usually he doesn’t answer any of my questions, especially without sarcastic remarks.

So I tried again. There was an episode of How I Met Your Mother where the concept of how every relationship has a reacher and a settler. Marshall was trying to get Lily to tell him which he thought they each were. It was interesting, and I tried asking Irish his opinion on it. I still can’t decide how I feel about his response. Fairly curtly, he said, “There’s no such thing. We’re perfect for each other. Shut up.” After many hesitations and attempts to respond, I finally put my arms around his neck, kissed his cheek, and said, “At least you admit it. And I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Not sure how I feel about it, but I know I don’t really wanna think about which of us is which. And who knows, maybe his snarky, sarcastic, blow-off response is true.

I’ve been reading a lot of the old posts of the Pervocracy (reading them in order, but I’m only on July 2008) over the last few days and realized how similar, yet different Holly and I really are. Ever since I started reading her blog, I’ve been saying how similar we are, but I’ve realized over the last few months of entries I’ve read that we are decently different too. I had never thought that her want to be dominated would ever bother me, considering I want the same thing, in a way and I also enjoy dominating, but sometimes she can take it a bit too far.

The main reason I say all this is that she fantasizes of being raped/beaten (it’s hard to explain here, but she means it in a controlled, someone-she-can-trust way, not the stranger-with-malicious-intent way). The problem I have with that is my personal past. I’ve been raped. Repeatedly. Mostly within a relationship that I was too weak to get myself out of until several months of this had happened, but luckily I eventually did get out of it. I can’t imagine fantasizing about being raped, considering I’ve already had it done for real. Holly does talk about rape a lot and that she doesn’t approve of it and she touches on all the feminist issues surrounding it, but still. Meh.

Anyway though, besides that bit, Holly and I still have plenty in common when it comes to tastes in men and our activities with them. Meeting her in real life would be pretty cool actually, but I’m not hitting Seattle anytime soon.

Side note: It’s really hard to write a blog while watching How I Met Your Mother on the DVR. Commercials must be skipped on principle!

Oh I’m sorry. The party that I had to throw at the last minute had very few attendees and didn’t get crazy and out of control. I thought you had fun. I know I did. Well I thought we did. You said you did. Fucking liar. Tell Boobs McGee and not me, when I’m your fucking girlfriend, not her. What the hell?! Luckily I held back the tears.

I knew this was going to end badly. AngryGinger better get here soon and save me. Hopefully. Ugh.

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