Dirty Picture

Wow.

That's all I can say. That and I was pretty much eye raped like two hours ago. Haha, what happened, you may ask? Well friends, sit down and let me tell you a tale of complete WTF-ness and hilarity and complete creeperdom.

I was sitting there, reading an article on my MSNBC app on my iPhone. I was just scrolling through a highly informative and educational article about what is going on at the present moment in Libya (Very sad, indeed. My thoughts and prayers go out to the protesters and the people of Libya, all joking aside.), and my phone squawks at me and a picture message alert pops up. To anyone who has an iPhone, you know that the window that pops up is basically just the picture in a smaller form. I jump in surprise at the unexpected noise, and take a moment to look at the image and when I do, I'm just kind of disgusted and slightly amused.

This guy I'd been talking to before his traits of obvious creeperness had kicked in, had gotten this brilliant idea to send me a picture of him and his penis. Umm...okay. I had planned to meet up with this guy, a fairly normal individual who I knew back in the days of yore, aka high school, when he came back to Cleveland in the summer and hook up. Looking back, he had a thing with showing girls his junk back then too because I totally just remembered him doing that to me once when we were 17. Huh. Funny how I'd forgotten about that.

But anyway. I had made plans to hook up with him like three years ago, but I'd started seeing my Faux Ford Gangsta and I wanted to see where it might go. I didn't even give Señor Flasher a second thought, and three years go by. Well last Tuesday he sends me an IM on Facebook out of nowhere and we start talking and eventually texting. We get back on the topic of hooking up and I'm like yeah, sure, I'm down. All of a sudden he starts pestering me to send him naked pictures of myself, like constantly over the course of the two days we had been texting. I keep changing the subject, because I'd sent him a picture three years ago of myself and I'd made myself physically sick with worry after I'd done it.

During this entire time I start getting this queasy butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling, like something is seriously off. I finally tell him no, because I'm really uncomfortable with the idea of sending him any pictures like that. It'd be different if we were dating--we'd just started conversing for the first time in three years, and one of the first things he asked me was if my phone had video chat. Call me crazy since my warning bells went off. Well, after I tell him no, he kinda gets all pissy and throws a tantrum. His reaction makes me think that there was more to those pics than him just wanting to see me naked. He seriously gets mad at me, like I want him to beg me for the pictures or something. Nope, I don't want you to beg because I'm not taking any pictures. He was so petulant it was ridiculous. I briefly thought of a toddler not getting his way. He even sent me an indignant "Thanks" the next day, as if to try to guilt me into changing my mind.

I decided to block him from my Facebook page and consequently blocked his number from my phone. At first I wondered if I was overreacting, but I decided that most guys would not have reacted the way he did to my "no". I figured he'd be like "okay, that's cool, I completely understand"...it made me wonder how he'd react to no in other situations. It was quiet until tonight...I have to laugh at the picture message, though. It's kind of funny in a ridiculous sort of way.

He obviously figured out I blocked him, since I'm sure he tried to text me and can't see me on Facebook. It's just ridiculous that he thinks sending me a picture of his penis is going to make me want to unblock him. I'm sorry, I'm not going to forget the way he acted simply because he sent me a picture of his junk. How about sending me a picture of an apology--and I'm not accepting a naked body shot as an apology. That's like sending someone an apology card with a picture of some chick's vag on it.

Perhaps I'm overreacting, perhaps I'm not. All I know is that I deleted the picture (thank God he didn't send it when Nicky was playing Angry Birds...I think I would have unblocked him and cussed his ass out if that had happened), and I'm ignoring him until further notice. I have a little more self-respect than that, thank you.

Falling or Flying

I'd like to share that I am a deeply and vastly interesting person. I am also pretty humble and/or modest, if you haven't picked up on it yet. I am also pretty Narcissistic. I love me, dude. I am pretty awesome.

Through all that awesome deep and vast interesting humble Narcissistic modesty, I also have a weird fear of letting the people that matter in my life down. I am terrified I am going to be a loser and live for the rest of my days in my parents' house in the same bedroom I've had since I was ten and eschew shaving my legs and talk to myself in code. That would be kind of funny, actually--I just giggled a bit at the hairy legs and the muttering in code thing.

But yeah. I am a pretty neurotic person. I talk shit but I am pretty thin-skinned. I'm pretty naive.

I'm actually kind of worried that I really don't have a grasp on my future yet. I am also worried that I will become one of those people that worry endlessly about the future and wind up living in a fantasy world made up of nothing but tomorrows. I am a restless perpetual daydreamer and sometimes I prefer the imagined to the reality. I keep telling myself that I will be twenty-five in five months and I need to quit this Holden Caulfield bullshit and just decide what it is that I am going to do with the sixty or seventy-something odd years left in my life. I am better at spontaneity than I am at the long-term. That was fine and dandy back when I was seventeen and bored on a Friday night and came up with a crazy idea to kill time, but not now. I'm halfway to thirty for Christsakes. Time to grow up and join the adult world and...then what?

I'd like to get a book published but then I'd have to actually sit down and fucking write one and actually finish it. There are so many things I'd like to accomplish in this tragically brief span of life that humans have on this planet, but I get bored with them before I actually start them. Boredom is a bitch. I'd like to become a singer but I lack the money for a demo and I lack the actual time to perform, what between working like most of my day and then trying to make up for the time lost during the day at work with Nicky. I want to move out, but shit, I am scared. I won't openly or vocally admit it, but I am scared of living on my own and not having that safety net if something goes wrong.

I'm a tangle of knotted-up insecurities. I'm pretty self-confident, but I'm also pretty self-conscious. I'm a goddamned walking contradiction. I'm like Red Bull in your decaf coffee, although that sounds pretty gross. I'm not gross. Insecure, yes. Gross, no.

Emily Dickenson once said, "Forever is composed of nows." I suppose that my rambling diatribe is leading up to just that. My fear of falling or flying doesn't matter. My now is intrinsically part of my forever. I wish I could make that sound more coherent and less acid trippy, but I can't. I am trying to say that forever only matters when you're dead, and that now is what matters.