Office Planks (and, no, that's not Asian for "office pranks")

Justice for all. Liberty remains undecided.

Contrary to common belief, as expressed by embossed lettering on the metal framing a license plate, Karma is not a bitch. She’s a very just woman. And I deserve every bit of justice she will condemn upon me.

Monumental orange hypocrisies

Suckle Advertising & Design employs monumental displays illustrating their message to residents of the Denver metro area. Those massive orange fire hydrants better somehow be recyclable - or, I'm calling bullshit on this entire series of monumental orange hypocrisies. http://www.sukle.com/

Homosexual? Fine. Heterosexual? Fine. Bisexual? Fine. BUT ASEXUAL???? Really???

Tonight I read an alarming statistic...

"It's estimated that 1.5 percent of the population are asexual."

WHAT?

Yeah.

What exactly does that mean?

"Those who describe themselves as asexual say that there is a distinction between celibacy, which is a choice, and asexuality, which is an asexual orientation. Many say that while they may want relationships and love, they don't feel desire and don't want sex."

What the fuck kind of twisted, masochistic bullshit is this????

The primary benefit of a relationship/love IS sex.

In fact, I don't even believe in love without sex.

Nonsense!

dk

Addicted to stimulus. And it's never enough.

Read a study about addictive personalities. Yup. Sounds about right.

These are qualities I'm attracted to in the opposite sex. And, all qualities that I value about myself.

• Impulsive behavior, difficulty in delaying gratification, an antisocial personality and a disposition toward sensation seeking.

• A high value on nonconformity combined with a weak commitment to the goals for achievement valued by the society.

• A sense of social alienation and a general tolerance for deviance.

• A sense of heightened stress.

Yup. Sounds about right. Now it all makes sense.

dk

Of course, that could just be PMS again.

Despite the fact that a language barrier hindered our already muffled communication, I liked him. He was intelligent. Artistic. Perceptive. And, kind. He understood me inherently. Without explanation, he understood my character.

Of course, that horrified me.

If I liked to live out in the open, why then would I spend so much time carefully placing each brick upon the other in order to fully barricade myself from the potential of emotional intrusion by blasphemous infiltrators (i.e. humans)? Well, I wouldn't.

So, I did what I normally do: this.

But, there's evidence that a hole has been drilled, a brick stolen, something is different this time. My wall is failing to do it's job. I feel badly. And he's not the only one. I felt bad for another one I text broke up with earlier this week too. There's something wrong with me lately. I think I have emotions this week. Of course, that could just be PMS again.

Goodnight,
dk

I want to color outside the lines, ALWAYS!

In line with the recurring recommendations from my therapists
(my therapists being most of my friends, my sister, my self-help books - and, one professional consultant, a therapist by trade, a Psychologist by title), I have - during the last several months - employed a more "productive" approach to life.

In the last several months, my life has attempted to walk a straight line. One hesitant step in front of the other (my neck aching from the backwards turn that seeks even just a glimpse of my more adventurous past). Baby steps. A path of stability. A grown-up life.
I'm gonna be mature, you see.

I got a job.
I stopped taking my morning tea with whiskey.
I smile. And, make small talk.
I sit in a cube.
I date men who call back.
I've replaced rendezvous in dark parking structures with wholesome dinner dates.
I sleep before 4am.
And wake to an alarm,
I got a job.

See... I told you.
I implemented goal-setting approach to life.
One that provides me an agenda - goals and objectives. Aspirations, if you will. But, I won't.

I must say...
I'M BORED THE FUCK OUT MY DAMN SKULL.

dk

**Right, ask an alcoholic to walk a straight line and spot him while he falls.
Fuck lines. I want to color outside them. Always.**

" U " and " i " are never going to work out. NEVER.

By 8:06am, my desktop illuminated my cube to remind me how much I loathe Mondays.

By 9:06am, my iPhone illuminated my cube to remind me how much I loathe men.

Not all men...
But, ABSOLUTELY, those who do not dignify my abundant generosity (providing them the series of digits that would allow them the pleasure of contacting me) by at least devoting the minuscule amount of time required to compose a coherent sentence - those who expect that I interpret a vowel as a word. I can't handle this kind of nonsense at 9am, and on a Monday?!

Good grief. And good night!

Xo!
dk

" Celibacy or Bust "

And if I were to marry the fat end of a Sharpie to the interior of a flattened cardboard box, if I were to create a protest poster for this strike I'm about to embark, it would read:

" Celibacy or Bust "

But, I won't.

Not because I don't enjoy the theatrical approach of creating overstated opinions - whether rurally announced upon what once was a box, or boorishly denounced from the stage of a soap box - certainly, I do. But, these words I will not combine to communicate my stance.

Mostly, well entirely, because I fear the implication. "Celibacy or Bust" might lead one's mind far, far astray. I am, I am certainly, as of today, as of right this moment, engaging a monk-like approach to the opposite gender - but I dare not insinuate a Priest-like approach to the same gender. I'm no longer in pursuit of what Adam gave Eve... neither am I in pursuit of the apples she provided him, from beneath her leaf brassiere.

On second thought, my poster, should I create one, will simply read:

" Celibacy. "

Triumphantly, I will cap the Sharpie. There.


And, with an ink-dipped needle point of a safety pin, I will provide honesty in the only place it is found; in the finest of fine print, I will scribble my one-word disclaimer, "lie."

Good. Good bye, Cupid.

Ok... this time, I'm serious. I'm kicking the online dating habit. For good.
For my own good.

Goodnight!
dk

No hang over gets in the way of my superficiality.

If I had the slightest clue what happened last night, trust me, I'd tell you. All I know is drinks were courtesy of, well, I'm not quite sure. And my car's lost someplace in Hollywood. Behind a doughnut shop, I think. But, it's a lovely Saturday morning so far, my nails are hot pink! I had an hour of illegitimate rest before I woke to paint my nails.

No hang over gets in the way of my superficiality.

Xo!
dk

Seduce me. Trick me. Tease me.

It's Tuesday.

And, I just realized I have a commitment this evening. I never make commitments. NEVER.

Fucking Persian. Somehow he's got me making (and here's the real shocker: keeping) commitments. I just now realized it's been two weeks since we went out and now I'm compromising, playing nice, relinquishing control. Yup. I lust him in a dangerous way.

Hypnotize me. Seduce me. Trick me. Tease me. In other words, play me.

An everlasting game. Please.

I love every minute of him.

Xo!

dk

Vogue Italia: Belle Vere

Oh, sure, sure... yes, yes... I know...
we can argue the objectification of women here.

Fine, I get it. I get that argument. I'm familiar with it.
Whatever.
At least now the objectification is not limited to size 00 models.

I'm a fan of this photography.
And of the female body in any size.

Relax your erection, boys... that wasn't my way of coming out of the closet to fulfill your twisted girl-on-girl glam fantasies. But I do certainly mean to convey my conviction that the female form is a beautiful, elegant, graceful luxury to be appreciated as art - in its every shape and size. I'm definitely a fan of Vogue's work here:



http://www.vogue.it/en/vogue-curvy/seen-in-vogue/2011/06/belle-vere

Pyro seeking Gyro

Look. I tried. Several times.
To date guys who aren't Middle Eastern.

But, it doesn't work.

And, I know I shouldn't go near them.
I know they're trouble, Middle Eastern men.

But, I can't help it.
I love playing with fire.

I'm the matchstick looking for a Middle Eastern man against which to strike - and ignite a flame that I can't tame. In that sense, I'm a pyromaniac of sorts. And, when I finally post an ad to Craig's List - in the sleezy personals section - searching for my perfect mate, it will read:

"Pyro seeking Gyro."

Let's do this.

Xo!
dk

I look great in leggings, you won't.

Newsflash: I'm 5'8" and a size 2.

So many women are trying to maneuver themselves in to slinky dresses, tight leggings, low rise denim... why? WHY? This is a phenomena I've never understood. So many girls want to quote raid my closet unquote - why? Most of these women would look like trash if they tried to wear my clothes. Listen, I'm not going to lie... that stuff - my stuff - all looks fucking fantastic... on ME!

But...
that's because I'm built for it.

Try putting me in something that showcases cleavage, not gonna happen. Never. I haven't the tits. Try putting me in any elegant, fitted skirt. Nope, not a chance. I haven't the hips. Try putting me in some sexy one-piece swimwear. Oh, that's a good one. Please, I dare you. Try putting me in a dress fitted at the waist. Waist? What waist??

I have no tits. No hips. No shape.

So, if you do...
LOVE THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR SHAPE!!!
And work it!

Fashion trends should not dictate your style; your shape should! So stop trying to wear leggings - or whatever the flavor of the season might be - just because retail window displays have decided to make them all the rage. Bullshit.

While I'm over here belting my midsection, to the point of suffocation, in a pathetic effort to conjure even the faintest suggestion of a waist distinct from my hips... you're hiding yours! DON'T!

While I'm over here spending upwards of $50 on a band of lace that supports two cups inflated by padding (be that regular padding, air pockets, water sacks or whatever the fuck the latest Victoria's Secret confidential may be) to lift, squeeze, plump and enhance my bustline... you're hiding yours! DON'T!!

While I'm over here wearing the tightest possible pants in a miserable attempt to highlight that there is indeed a small protrusion that distinguishes itself as my ass... you think yours is too big. Are you freaking kidding me?? STOP THAT!

And, stop wearing leggings.
Start wearing what's right for you!

Let's be serious for just one moment... it's obvious that, for the most part, I might just be posting this because I'm outlandishly selfish and loathe the notion of sharing my clothing - and, would love for people to STOP asking. Despite that selfish benefit... I want you to wear what looks great on you. And what makes you feel sexy - or comfortable or sporty or feminine or cute - or, whatever look you're going for. Just appreciate your you!

Because you're you is your perfect you.

Xo!
dk

"We help [plus-size women] dress fashionably. We say: It's pointless for you to buy leggings, take this because this will look good on you. We help them choose. We don't talk about diets because they don't want to be on a diet, but it's not a ghetto. Why should these women slim down? Many of the women who have a few extra kilos are especially beautiful and also more feminine."

-Franca Sozzani (Vogue Italia)

Women's Wear Daily's interview with Franca Sonzzani's

#usatodayhaiku

USA Today

Truly this is so absurd

And, fucking stupid

The Onion: Online Dating

As an expert in the field of online dating...
I'd say, yeah, they about nailed it.

('nailed it' - ha, I didn't even intend such perfect word choice - bonus!)

http://personals.theonion.com