I am a mess.

beautiful, fuckable Welsh man
March 17, 2004 @ 1:23 a.m.

Lots to ramble on about tonight.

First of all, I'm glad that my mother is getting more comfortable discussing and hearing about my drinking. I value communication, especially with my mother and especially of late. It's enjoyable that I get to talk to her about it, because I want her to get more comfortable with the idea and I want her to be more trusting of my judgement. It seems to be working. I really like the dialogue that has come about because of it.

Secondly. I noticed how much of my conversation with men is witty banter and poking fun at them. I think it's my fallback, what I do because I'm not particularly funny or flirty, so I have to be scathingly intelligent and see if they follow. It seems to serve two purposes: let me see their intelligence, and how they react to my picking at them, and keeps me from having to be uncomfortable. And it's not like I'll ever really get into trouble from doing it, either -- it's not like someone will be so upset by me doing it that they'll take advantage of me, or somesuch.

This is probably painfully naive of me, but I've never been afraid of my safety. Most girls don't walk alone at all at night -- those that do fear the shadows, and listen, and tremble. I don't. I really never have. I trust in my unattractiveness enough to know that if I do get grabbed, it will never be for sexual favors. If anything, they'll just want money, which I don't have anyway. I've accepted the fact that I am not a pretty girl. As Ani DiFranco says, "I'm not a pretty girl; that is not what I do. I ain't no damsel in distress, and I don't need to be rescued."

So there's that.

Also, tonight was chock-full of Ioan Gruffudd goodness, as his new show "Century City"'s debut was tonight. He was also on Craig Kilborn, and looked positively...well...dashing. I want to have his babies. A picture for you, my pretties, to pass the time or perhaps masturbate to:

Oh. My. Orgasm. I don't really know what his best feature is. I don't know if it's the fact that he has curly -- curly! -- hair, or gorgeous eyes, or dimples, or that fucking gorgeous Greek nose, or that strong jawline. He's just a beautiful, fuckable Welsh man.

Revel, bitches. I'm off to bed.

Feeling: sleepy.

Listening to: the Offspring's "Hit That" is in my head

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