Weekly Update #2

This week was awful. Oh, so awful.

Half of it I spent in my bed, moaning in pain and delirious with fever, running around the house and screaming like a madwoman, even. Yes, I do that when I have a fever. It’s sooo embarrassing. And when I wake up I don’t remember a thing, but my stupid brother does and makes fun of me. Stupid gay-in-denial. Stupid incestuous-cousin-fucker-gay-in-denial. Alas, it was not the H1N1 virus, so I’m not complaining, ah. And I’m better today. Even got dressed and put on some make up just for the hell of it. Yay.

Now, on to the more interesting stuff. Or at least mildly interesting stuff, yes. So last week I kissed some girls at the pride parade after-party thingy, right? And guess who was in the lot? Miss We-Just-Kissed-Once-But-Now-I-Really-Like-You-And-Want-To-Marry-You. Yes, she’s like that with EVERYONE. It’s like a local joke. And now it’s my turn, Crush told me this Wednesday. It could’ve happened sooner but I never gave her the time of day while sober because she’s, well... scary. So yeah, now I’ll have to be a kind girl and tell her NO in a very, very nice and very, very, VERY, clear way. Because she’s also a bit... slow. Poor thing. There, there. At least I didn’t go further than a couple of kisses. Can’t say the same about Crush, though. Now that was a real problem. I hadn’t realized I had a crush on her when they were “dating” – as in Miss Drama-Addict thinking that they were REALLY dating but really, they weren’t, Crush was just needy and she was there – so I could enjoy the comic side of the situation. It was quite hilarious, indeed. But then, at the time I was always asking Crush “When are you going to just be honest with her? She’s so not your type.” so I guess I’ve just been trying to deny the fact that I might like someone. Really like someone. Gosh, that seemed impossible to me just a couple of months ago. I’m still not sure if it’s real or just my needy self teaming up with my stupid imagination. Or it’s Brigitte. Ooooh, Brigitte is dangerous.

Speaking of Brigitte, I’ve got two ongoing projects right now. I’m going to start knitting (don’t laugh, please, I want new scarves for this winter) and I’m going abroad to do some volunteer work, as I’ve said before. I’ve found this really awesome Sending Organization in my country and now I just need to fill some papers and they’ll find me some Hosting Organizations. I’d like to go to London. Or Amsterdam. Or Brussels, Berlin, Paris... I like cold cities, yes. Big cities, too. I’m sick of my tiny village and the type of volunteer work that I want to do is more needed in big cities, anyway, so I guess I’m safe. Oh, I can’t wait! I’ll be interrupting this upcoming year of College for 6 months and I’ll probably have to do it all over again, but I honestly couldn’t care less. It’s my dream and I’m not quitting. Yes, Brigitte is not a quitter.

And as you might see, this week was mostly uneventful. I did some thinking, sent some text messages when my brain wasn’t too overheated to properly function and latter proceeded to eat a huge box full of chocolate cookies when I finally got better and my throat stopped hurting. The only thing that I’ll miss from this horrible week? My mom’s pampering. And baby food.

I desperately want to get out of this place.

But that’s no news. Everyone who knows me, knows that my biggest dream is to go abroad and do something useful with my life. Like travel around Europe with a backpack, doing odd jobs here and there so I won’t starve or something. But I don’t have the money, eh.
I’ve tried to get a job, but luck doesn’t seem to be on my side. Yes, I live in one of those countries where you don’t get a job, ANY JOB, even though you look for it EVERYWHERE. Go figure. I swear to God that if there was clientèle, I would be a whore. A lesbian whore, of course. I mean, men are gross but I love women. Thin, fat, tall, short, young, old, more or less pretty… I really wouldn’t be disgusted. And making lonely ladies happy? Hell, that’d be more of a hobby than a job.
Alas, that’s not going to happen. Women don’t hire whores, men do, couples, too, I think. And I sure as hell won’t put my hands on a cock. Had my fill of it for the rest of my life, really. That’s right, I’m one of those dykes that tried to have a relationship with a guy. And failed. I fail at heterosexuality. Take that, mum and dad.
So then I had this really cool idea. I thought about volunteering. There’s this program where you go abroad to do some volunteer jobs and they pay you the transportation and other expenses, etc. And my country, my good-for-nothing country, actually participates in it. I’m amazed.
I’ve just sent an e-mail. Hope they respond, or else I’ll be back to stage zero, which is just NOT ON. I’m getting ready for another year in college and I’m like ‘Get me out of this fucking nightmare!’. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not dumb or (too) lazy, but I’ve been stuck in this place for so long that I just want to run away from everything. From everyone. I love my friends but sometimes you just have to distance yourself to actually miss something.
And now I’ll tell you a secret: the main reason of Brigitte’s existence is to push her sedentary creator into doing something for her life. So there! Brigitte is working, and will keep existing as long as there’s hope… and hot girls.

Weekly Update #1

Oh, the joys of pride parades. And lesbians.
Except when those lesbians are two of your best friends, one of them your biggest crush since that guy that played Harry Potter and you were 10, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, and all they can seem to do is talk about their first time. Together. Took them long enough to finally succumb to the pleasures of the sapphic lovemaking, but alas, one of them should be ME – even though I’m definitely not Virgin Mary, here. Yes, I’m a dyke in distress, thanks for asking.
So I spend the whole week planning my attack. Crush, as I call her in my Twitter, had already suggested that we could hook up just for the hell of it while sniffing poppers and listening to Miyavi, so I was like “Yay, she wants to fuck me, does it mean she likes me?” Wrong. The problem with falling for a friend is that usually the other part just wants to keep things… friendly. But I didn’t know it yet so I thought a lot about it, planned to dress for the kill and even made a list. A FUCKING LIST. In my head, of cour—ok, Bri, who are you kidding? I made a list on notepad. Looking at me you wouldn’t say I do such a lame thing as lists on notepad, but I do. And I’m not ashamed of it!
BUT, a couple of days before the pride parade and after-party, Crush sent me a text message saying that she and Friend had ‘unvirginized’ each other, as she put it. And I was like “Well, fuck off.” but she had no idea. No. Fucking. Idea. Because I’m basically a pussy. In all meanings of the word. So there I was, all fabulous at the pride parade, holding a poster in which I supported Free Yaoi, Gay Rights and Crush’s favourite gay couple, the characters of her gigantic original fiction about gays, music, drugs and Japan. A bloody original fiction. We’re like SOULMATES. The only thing that could make her even more perfect would be if she shipped Harry/Draco, but I didn’t complain. At least she’s not like Friend who ships Draco/Hermione. Just, ew.
Ok, I’ll stop fandom-ing all over you. On to the story. So I was there in the pride parade and Crush and Friend were snogging like they did the rest of the day. While feeling sorry for me. Oh, gee, thanks a lot, your pity is what I need the most when you’re cuddling all over me! I had a lot of fun, nonetheless, my boys gave me all the love I needed to at least put a smile on my face and the afternoon went on. Did I say that I just love gays? I think I did, but I’ll say it again. I LOVE GAYS. They’re my anti-depressive, they’re my drug, they make me feel fabulous and they love my clothes. I couldn’t ask for more.
Speaking of gays, my best friend arrived latter, before we went to the after-party. He’s going to be the father of my kids, just so you know. He’s that awesome. And he’s so fucking awesome that he brought a bottle of this really good wine – my country’s wine kicks royal ass – and I had another one in my bag so we basically got totally wasted in the middle of the street with our own alcohol, because that’s what we always do. That’s what you learn when your old high school mates are a bunch of junkies with no money to spend in alcohol. Gosh, I still love those guys.
When I finally got to the after-party, Crush, Friend, Best Friend and the rest of My Fags in tow, the first thing I did was head up to the bathroom and change. Ah, that’s right, did you think I would forget my plan? I was in for the kill – like that ginger singer who’s really hot and has DYKE written all over her face. La Roux, yes. So I took off my collants, put on a pair of heels, a crocheted top and this really short skirt with a lovely high waist. Best thing about being really thin and looking like a little girl when you’re actually overage? You’ll never look like a whore, even if you’re almost naked. But where did it went wrong? First, I was too fucking wasted to be flirty. When I’m wasted I’m loud, I’m always dancing and I’m not worried about what everyone thinks of my stupid dance moves. Advantages? I’m not afraid of asking people I know for a snog or two so I actually snogged Crush. 3 or 4 times. And it was heaven. A bittersweet heaven. Disadvantages? No one takes me seriously, I might feel a bit sick if I don’t eat before getting pissed – which was what happened yesterday – and I actually care more for the dancing and cheering than the snogging. But the DJ gave me EIGHTIES and I fucking LOVE eighties so I was basically crazy on the dance floor, so crazy that I had to change into my trainers again.
My favourite part? It was actually sitting on the stage, cheering for everyone who was dancing and sending this lascivious looks to all the pretty girls that I caught staring at me. Gosh, I love to do that. But it’s the only thing I can do. I honestly fail at taking first steps. Even when I’m totally drunk and screaming the lyrics of ‘Bad Girls’ by Donna Summer.
By the end of the night I was completely wasted and Friend had to basically babysit me. I thank her for being a total Seme in that occasion, even if I’m not quite so fond of the idea of her being Seme all over Crush. We finally got out of that noisy place when the music was getting worse and I lost some coins so I didn’t have enough money to go back home. Yeah, I’m totally broke. Always. So one nice guy gave me some coins and I gave him a hug and all went well... except for the part when Crush and Friend go away without so much as a goodbye. Holding hands. Cute.
That’s when I had my Cassie!moment, basically consisting of me laughing hysterically over Gay Best Friend #2’s lap when I actually just wanted to cry like a baby. I actually did cry later that morning over my cereal, which only makes it more ridiculous. I’ve been feeling bloody ridiculous lately. And more random than ever. I think that’s what it means being Brigitte. I’m finally getting my own personality, which is nice. Even though my personality is only a little bit more daring than Hers, so I’ll eventually start exploring my huge range of alter-egos. From Lola, the flirt to Carmen, the whore. I know, I don’t make sense.
Meanwhile, on my way home by train, one of those flaming queers that I’ve always thought of as mindless and completely futile had this really awesome conversation with me about love, relationships and whatnot, very enlightening. Then Gay Best Friend #2, who is a sweetie and one of my favourite people in the whole world, sent me a text message saying that Crush and Friend were quite impolite and that I was a dear, my inner compliment!whore finally overpowered the self-pity one and I could go to sleep. When I woke up I remembered that I had sent Crush and Friend a text message saying that I was sorry I had gotten so drunk, and then realized I was not that sorry. And that they hadn’t even answered yet.
Well, fuck it.