Forwarding Address
http://purecollector.blogspot.com/ is where I've gone.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
OK...well..bye
You don't often get a neat ending in real life, not like in the movies. In real life, things drag on in an indeterminate way, characters missing their exits, crashing into each other and delivering lines that don't seem to relate to what went before.
I've just figured out that it's all over for me and this blog, and the groovy thing is, that if I end it now then the ending will be neat.
The thing is - I've just skimmed through all my posts since 2004 and I've changed. Dontcha hate that? When people claim they've changed and as far as you can see they're still the sad loser they always were, except now they've gone all smug? I haven't changed that much, I'm still desperate, confused and floating on a big raft of issues. Its just that I've lost my urge to have drunken sex with horrible men. It nearly kills me to admit what many have been whispering for years - I was only looking for love. You were right, you smart-arse wankers.
When I first made up my byline: "Sex Addiction Recovery Journal. Or if that doesn't work...Sex Addiction Titillation Tool" I was taking the piss. But with fabulous Hollywood neatness, I did recover although I didn't mean to. Thanks in part to all your virtual ears which I always assumed were sympathetic. And thanks as well to D who grew, Ugly Duckling style, from a horrible man into a top-grade ordinary bloke manly man with a big loyal fierce steady heart.
So its goodbye to Cheap Thrills, but hey, I'm only moving to a new blog round the corner. Just as soon as I figure out what to call it and what it should be about I'll let you know. I only hope it turns out I have other topics of conversation, now that my talent for inappropriate sex is fading.
Thank you so much for reading, you will never understand how much it has meant to me. I am sad to go. This blog will always have a special place in my heart as The First Thing I Ever Wrote. And darlings I will always remember you: My First Ever Readers.
love
Dolores
I've just figured out that it's all over for me and this blog, and the groovy thing is, that if I end it now then the ending will be neat.
The thing is - I've just skimmed through all my posts since 2004 and I've changed. Dontcha hate that? When people claim they've changed and as far as you can see they're still the sad loser they always were, except now they've gone all smug? I haven't changed that much, I'm still desperate, confused and floating on a big raft of issues. Its just that I've lost my urge to have drunken sex with horrible men. It nearly kills me to admit what many have been whispering for years - I was only looking for love. You were right, you smart-arse wankers.
When I first made up my byline: "Sex Addiction Recovery Journal. Or if that doesn't work...Sex Addiction Titillation Tool" I was taking the piss. But with fabulous Hollywood neatness, I did recover although I didn't mean to. Thanks in part to all your virtual ears which I always assumed were sympathetic. And thanks as well to D who grew, Ugly Duckling style, from a horrible man into a top-grade ordinary bloke manly man with a big loyal fierce steady heart.
So its goodbye to Cheap Thrills, but hey, I'm only moving to a new blog round the corner. Just as soon as I figure out what to call it and what it should be about I'll let you know. I only hope it turns out I have other topics of conversation, now that my talent for inappropriate sex is fading.
Thank you so much for reading, you will never understand how much it has meant to me. I am sad to go. This blog will always have a special place in my heart as The First Thing I Ever Wrote. And darlings I will always remember you: My First Ever Readers.
love
Dolores
Testing
Just checking to see I can still post here. I had a panic attack and tried to hide my rude blog, thinking someone I don't want to read it might read it. But it wouldn't go away. Just sat here like an old couch potato. And a copy of it went somewhere else. So instead it of hiding it I actually cloned it.
Realising that the blog has now developed its own personality and wishes to control me, I have surrendered and tried to interact with the freaking thing here.
So lets see if this works..
Realising that the blog has now developed its own personality and wishes to control me, I have surrendered and tried to interact with the freaking thing here.
So lets see if this works..
Friday, April 21, 2006
Here I am!
Sitting in the mobile home waiting for D to come back and fuss over me. Which may happen at any moment so sorry if I can't complete a full formal sign-off. Expect instead the sudden "whoops -bye" so beloved of my partners from the dark days of random shagging.
No point trying to fill you in on the minutiae of my life since we last spoke. Think of my silence as the merciful peace you get in the middle of a conversation with a chatty friend who has called you on the train back from Paddington.
He's back now but I'm gonna risk it and keep going while he puts my veg on and pours me my glass of oak-aged chardonnay. But if I don't like it he'll go out and get me another bottle.
This is hopeless, how can a person search their soul when their freaking boyfriend puts on VH2 and asks endless questions about food? Grrrrr, does requited love necessarily harbinger the death of creativity? Discuss. But sorry I won't be able to join in.
Bye
No point trying to fill you in on the minutiae of my life since we last spoke. Think of my silence as the merciful peace you get in the middle of a conversation with a chatty friend who has called you on the train back from Paddington.
He's back now but I'm gonna risk it and keep going while he puts my veg on and pours me my glass of oak-aged chardonnay. But if I don't like it he'll go out and get me another bottle.
This is hopeless, how can a person search their soul when their freaking boyfriend puts on VH2 and asks endless questions about food? Grrrrr, does requited love necessarily harbinger the death of creativity? Discuss. But sorry I won't be able to join in.
Bye
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
The Nearly-Nearly
A propos of nothing:
Ever had a nearly-nearly? So nearly-nearly a sexual encounter that it hurts. Curling your toes inside your shoes to try and hang on so you don't teeter over the brink and plummet into something all wrong.
Years ago, I had one here: The After Dark Club . People kept making me go to the 80s nights
there. God, 80s nights are piss-poor. Not as bad as 60s or 70s nights of course. I'm trying to think which decades would be good for me. 40s maybe, could wear a lovely floral dress, a jaunty hat and smoke fags without fear of cancer. Or 20s could be good, being spunky and gay without fear of persecution, and doing the Charleston at lightning speed till dawn, then leaving in a jalopy driven by a slightly tiddly chap called Bungy (I suppose it was only like that for posh people. But a 20s night based on the Depression would be a bit gruelling)
Anyway - 80s nights. What happens is, "Rio" by Duran Duran comes on, and everyone brightens visibly and says "I LOVE THIS" and swarms onto the dance floor. Then you are stuck there for the full 4 minutes, remembering that actually, though you could sort of see why other people loved it, you always found it a whinging drag and it was impossible to dance to even with big hair and in the years between then and now, things have got worse.
Just checking Dante's Inferno again, to see which circle of hell the After Dark most resembled but it is a mish-mash of several of the circles. The "panderers and seducers, running forever in opposite directions, whipped by demons" usually made an appearance. (8th circle, 1st ditch). The floor there was famously wet, black and sticky and I think I recall "the wrathful, fighting each other in the swamp-like water".(5th circle).
Enough Dante, already, I become obsessed.
So there I was, with Gorgeous Dale and a group of women whose identities I have mislaid (I don't mean you, Nix, I don't think you were there and if you were, I would no way lump you in with these losers x). Gorgeous Dale was the husband of a good friend of mine. All I can recall about the Forgotten Women is that they were the sort who really threw themselves good-naturedly into any given leisure scenario and were determined to have fun against all the odds. "Come on!!" they'd yell, "Dance!!!!!" "Hahaha", I'd go, "In a minute", while every fibre of my being cried "Piss off, piss off, piss off".
I never ever touched GD, but Jesus Christ, our eyes met a lot. Nice big fella, smart, funny, boyish good looks, lovely and blokey, careful readers will recognise him as the one who had to put his arm round me to direct my attention to obscure astral constellations.
I wonder is there was some genetic imperative behind our attraction, like our genes fused together had the potential to make a superbaby. I met his younger brother at a party once, a seriously attractive dude with that special little brother charm, and he went all courtly with me, playing me songs on his guitar, laughing like a drain, standing unneccesarily close, all that. Which was slightly uncool, because his wife was so pregnant she could easily have sprogged that very night, but I swear I wasn't even trying to wow him. He got wowed all by himself.
So GD and I in the After Dark, exchanging superior looks, because, let's face it, we are just too classy for this sort of retro nonsense. Then what happens. They only put on "Only You" by Yazoo, possibly the most perfect song ever. (Pause while I download it). So we sing it together like Sonny and Cher. For a refreshing twist on foreplay, gaze into someone's eyes and both go "Doo-doop, Duh-Doo-Doop, Duh-Doo-doo-doo-doop, Duh-Doo-doo-doo-doop, Duh-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doop". The song ends, the spell breaks, but our eyes can't let go. GD says "Oh God" in a low voice, bit like a growl, rarrrrr. "I know", I growl back.
Still remember how it felt. Rarrrrr. Nearly-nearly.
Ever had a nearly-nearly? So nearly-nearly a sexual encounter that it hurts. Curling your toes inside your shoes to try and hang on so you don't teeter over the brink and plummet into something all wrong.
Years ago, I had one here: The After Dark Club . People kept making me go to the 80s nights
there. God, 80s nights are piss-poor. Not as bad as 60s or 70s nights of course. I'm trying to think which decades would be good for me. 40s maybe, could wear a lovely floral dress, a jaunty hat and smoke fags without fear of cancer. Or 20s could be good, being spunky and gay without fear of persecution, and doing the Charleston at lightning speed till dawn, then leaving in a jalopy driven by a slightly tiddly chap called Bungy (I suppose it was only like that for posh people. But a 20s night based on the Depression would be a bit gruelling)Anyway - 80s nights. What happens is, "Rio" by Duran Duran comes on, and everyone brightens visibly and says "I LOVE THIS" and swarms onto the dance floor. Then you are stuck there for the full 4 minutes, remembering that actually, though you could sort of see why other people loved it, you always found it a whinging drag and it was impossible to dance to even with big hair and in the years between then and now, things have got worse.
Just checking Dante's Inferno again, to see which circle of hell the After Dark most resembled but it is a mish-mash of several of the circles. The "panderers and seducers, running forever in opposite directions, whipped by demons" usually made an appearance. (8th circle, 1st ditch). The floor there was famously wet, black and sticky and I think I recall "the wrathful, fighting each other in the swamp-like water".(5th circle).
Enough Dante, already, I become obsessed.
So there I was, with Gorgeous Dale and a group of women whose identities I have mislaid (I don't mean you, Nix, I don't think you were there and if you were, I would no way lump you in with these losers x). Gorgeous Dale was the husband of a good friend of mine. All I can recall about the Forgotten Women is that they were the sort who really threw themselves good-naturedly into any given leisure scenario and were determined to have fun against all the odds. "Come on!!" they'd yell, "Dance!!!!!" "Hahaha", I'd go, "In a minute", while every fibre of my being cried "Piss off, piss off, piss off".
I never ever touched GD, but Jesus Christ, our eyes met a lot. Nice big fella, smart, funny, boyish good looks, lovely and blokey, careful readers will recognise him as the one who had to put his arm round me to direct my attention to obscure astral constellations.
I wonder is there was some genetic imperative behind our attraction, like our genes fused together had the potential to make a superbaby. I met his younger brother at a party once, a seriously attractive dude with that special little brother charm, and he went all courtly with me, playing me songs on his guitar, laughing like a drain, standing unneccesarily close, all that. Which was slightly uncool, because his wife was so pregnant she could easily have sprogged that very night, but I swear I wasn't even trying to wow him. He got wowed all by himself.
So GD and I in the After Dark, exchanging superior looks, because, let's face it, we are just too classy for this sort of retro nonsense. Then what happens. They only put on "Only You" by Yazoo, possibly the most perfect song ever. (Pause while I download it). So we sing it together like Sonny and Cher. For a refreshing twist on foreplay, gaze into someone's eyes and both go "Doo-doop, Duh-Doo-Doop, Duh-Doo-doo-doo-doop, Duh-Doo-doo-doo-doop, Duh-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doop". The song ends, the spell breaks, but our eyes can't let go. GD says "Oh God" in a low voice, bit like a growl, rarrrrr. "I know", I growl back.
Still remember how it felt. Rarrrrr. Nearly-nearly.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
The 7th Circle of Hell - Revealed!
I have mentioned being on the 7th circle of hell at least twice in this blog, and several thousand times IRL (In Real Life). I was suddenly gripped by a fear that the 7th Circle of Hell might actually be a nice place to be, so, being in a scholarly & Googly type of mood, I looked it up. You can read about it here . For those of you that tire of my hyperlink madness I will just give the highlight :
The violent, the assasins, the tyrants, and the war-mongers lament their pitiless mischiefs in the river, while centaurs armed with bows and arrows shoot those who try to escape their punishment.
What a great image. and even better, it turns out I was using the phrase correctly. I'm always metaphorically lamenting my pitiless mischief in the river! And those centaurs are a bloody menace. Must find out more about this Dante dude.
The violent, the assasins, the tyrants, and the war-mongers lament their pitiless mischiefs in the river, while centaurs armed with bows and arrows shoot those who try to escape their punishment.
What a great image. and even better, it turns out I was using the phrase correctly. I'm always metaphorically lamenting my pitiless mischief in the river! And those centaurs are a bloody menace. Must find out more about this Dante dude.
Proper Blogging
I just remembered how it was in the dawn of blogging! The whole big-thing-point about blogs was that we should fill each post with hyperlinks to other places.
You don't want to read about silly old me! Go read Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About instead. It is soooo funny.
While I'm in this traditional frame of mind, another site I love is http://www.slowwave.com/ . Dreams submitted by readers of the site are presented in comic strip form. Be warned though, at first you may not see what is so damned brilliant about it. It takes a few before you are caught up in the crazy magic and laugh yourself ill. I've submitted a couple of dreams to this site but unfortunately they weren't interesting enough. Wow, I had a mad dream last night but it is not suitable for drawing. I dreamt I was being hunted by the gestapo, who kept annoying me by knocking loudly on the front door while I was trying to fold washing that had just come out of the tumble drier. I fooled them by hiding behind the sofa a few times, though I was surprised that they did not suss that this was what I was doing. Eventually I decided to escape to some deserted farm buildings, along with 2 or 3 hundred other hunted people. Before leaving I had a brilliant and practical idea and hid a large stack of credit cards and library tickets up my vagina.
Any psychology graduates have any idea what this dream can possible mean ?
You don't want to read about silly old me! Go read Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About instead. It is soooo funny.
While I'm in this traditional frame of mind, another site I love is http://www.slowwave.com/ . Dreams submitted by readers of the site are presented in comic strip form. Be warned though, at first you may not see what is so damned brilliant about it. It takes a few before you are caught up in the crazy magic and laugh yourself ill. I've submitted a couple of dreams to this site but unfortunately they weren't interesting enough. Wow, I had a mad dream last night but it is not suitable for drawing. I dreamt I was being hunted by the gestapo, who kept annoying me by knocking loudly on the front door while I was trying to fold washing that had just come out of the tumble drier. I fooled them by hiding behind the sofa a few times, though I was surprised that they did not suss that this was what I was doing. Eventually I decided to escape to some deserted farm buildings, along with 2 or 3 hundred other hunted people. Before leaving I had a brilliant and practical idea and hid a large stack of credit cards and library tickets up my vagina.
Any psychology graduates have any idea what this dream can possible mean ?
Monday, March 13, 2006
Where the hell have I been?
"With a friend I can smile,
But with a lover I can hold my head back and really laugh, really laugh"
Nice idea there from Joan Armatrading, but shouldn't it be the other way around? Of course, for it to work, you do need a lover or else you haven't got anything to laugh, really laugh about with your friend.
I've just spent 2 hours in the pub with SSA taking the piss out of Ade. Wow, dysfunctional! And such a snobby tight-wad! I want to go on a double-date with them as a bold social experiment.
Got to type fast because these are stolen moments with my blog, D due any moment. May Whoever Is In Charge strike me down for my disloyal bitchiness, but could it be that the New Improved Loving D is just a teeny tiny bit, well, clingy, actually?
D and "clingy" in the same sentence? Who could have forseen that? Imagine what your life will be like in 12 months time. Sorry.. you're wrong. In 12 months time you will be doing something that your wildest dreams haven't even hinted at. You'll be going "Just think, 12 months ago, I never even realised I had an affinity with elephants". Or something.
What a great thing that is. The opportunities afforded by simply being alive. You don't even have to be interesting or bold, random forces will pick you up and dump you down somewhere miles from home. You can fight to keep things the same and you can try to purposely move in a particular direction, but I don't think its going to work. Might as well just shut your eyes and hope for the best.
Enough of that. Here's my clingy bf.
Night XX
But with a lover I can hold my head back and really laugh, really laugh"
Nice idea there from Joan Armatrading, but shouldn't it be the other way around? Of course, for it to work, you do need a lover or else you haven't got anything to laugh, really laugh about with your friend.
I've just spent 2 hours in the pub with SSA taking the piss out of Ade. Wow, dysfunctional! And such a snobby tight-wad! I want to go on a double-date with them as a bold social experiment.
Got to type fast because these are stolen moments with my blog, D due any moment. May Whoever Is In Charge strike me down for my disloyal bitchiness, but could it be that the New Improved Loving D is just a teeny tiny bit, well, clingy, actually?
D and "clingy" in the same sentence? Who could have forseen that? Imagine what your life will be like in 12 months time. Sorry.. you're wrong. In 12 months time you will be doing something that your wildest dreams haven't even hinted at. You'll be going "Just think, 12 months ago, I never even realised I had an affinity with elephants". Or something.
What a great thing that is. The opportunities afforded by simply being alive. You don't even have to be interesting or bold, random forces will pick you up and dump you down somewhere miles from home. You can fight to keep things the same and you can try to purposely move in a particular direction, but I don't think its going to work. Might as well just shut your eyes and hope for the best.
Enough of that. Here's my clingy bf.
Night XX
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Just In Case I Am Making You Sick...
I am having a retro day, Die is taking a holiday from perfection and has gone on a bender. I keep turning my phone off in case he calls, and then turning it back on again in case he calls. The fucker.
I just ate a packet of luxury shortbread while I considered which aspect of my mental torment to address.
Think we're going to have to go back to the Lost Weeks, the Pre-Perfection Days, The Dark Ages, ie Christmas.
[Picture of worried woman in basement goes all blurry and then whites out. Spooky children's voices are heard singing "Silent Night" and fake snow falls as same worried woman gets out of an inappropriately cheerful Nissan Micra. Her eyes have gone all funny from crying and we watch her approach a darkened mobile home and knock on the door. A binbag, overflowing with empty Carlsberg export cans, reminds us that it is Christmas eve. Dolores, for it is she, is holding some white envelopes, and receiving no answer, puts one through the door and then turns to leave. She then puts one under the windscreen wiper of a battered drug-dealers BMW, and one under the wiper of a badly resprayed BT van, before getting back into her cute car and driving away.
Time passes. Inside the mobile home our eyes get used to the dark and gradually become aware that a human figure is under a pile of Carlsberg Export cans on one of the chairs. With a frightening suddenness, the figure says "Fucks Sake" and stands up, making the dog yap. He lurches to the door and opens a white envelope. Turning the light on, he reads Dolores' message and lets it fall to the floor, before opening the fridge and getting out a can of Carlsberg Export.
Lucky it fell face uo, because now the camera can zoom in and read it. It says:
Dear Die,
Here are some things you need to know:
1. You are wrong. I can’t even flirt with other men because I am obsessed with you. The idea of being with someone else makes me sick.
2. You have given me the worst Christmas of my life. You have destroyed me and I will never get over it. It would have been better if you had killed me.
3. I love you forever but I can’t be with you because you are so cruel to me. If you loved me, you could not do this to me.
4. I will send you this letter every day until you let me know that you have read it.
You don’t know anything about love. You have ruined my life.
Dolores
So that was something a bit different for Christmas Eve. Heh, I like to do something different at Christmas. I tell you what though, things got worse after that. Tell you some other time.
I was planning to counter all that with a cheery anecdote, but I can't with my babe out and about with a shower of wankers. I actually don't mind him drinking way too much just so long as I don't have to listen to his views on life afterwards. He's not an aggressive nasty drunk, he's an idiot pain-in-the-arse drunk. What scares me is that he will start smoking dope and get his paranoia back. He gave it up on Boxing Day and has been wonderful ever since.
Oh what's the point in fretting? Going to lose myself in the internet.
Night X
I just ate a packet of luxury shortbread while I considered which aspect of my mental torment to address.
Think we're going to have to go back to the Lost Weeks, the Pre-Perfection Days, The Dark Ages, ie Christmas.
[Picture of worried woman in basement goes all blurry and then whites out. Spooky children's voices are heard singing "Silent Night" and fake snow falls as same worried woman gets out of an inappropriately cheerful Nissan Micra. Her eyes have gone all funny from crying and we watch her approach a darkened mobile home and knock on the door. A binbag, overflowing with empty Carlsberg export cans, reminds us that it is Christmas eve. Dolores, for it is she, is holding some white envelopes, and receiving no answer, puts one through the door and then turns to leave. She then puts one under the windscreen wiper of a battered drug-dealers BMW, and one under the wiper of a badly resprayed BT van, before getting back into her cute car and driving away.
Time passes. Inside the mobile home our eyes get used to the dark and gradually become aware that a human figure is under a pile of Carlsberg Export cans on one of the chairs. With a frightening suddenness, the figure says "Fucks Sake" and stands up, making the dog yap. He lurches to the door and opens a white envelope. Turning the light on, he reads Dolores' message and lets it fall to the floor, before opening the fridge and getting out a can of Carlsberg Export.
Lucky it fell face uo, because now the camera can zoom in and read it. It says:
Dear Die,
Here are some things you need to know:
1. You are wrong. I can’t even flirt with other men because I am obsessed with you. The idea of being with someone else makes me sick.
2. You have given me the worst Christmas of my life. You have destroyed me and I will never get over it. It would have been better if you had killed me.
3. I love you forever but I can’t be with you because you are so cruel to me. If you loved me, you could not do this to me.
4. I will send you this letter every day until you let me know that you have read it.
You don’t know anything about love. You have ruined my life.
Dolores
So that was something a bit different for Christmas Eve. Heh, I like to do something different at Christmas. I tell you what though, things got worse after that. Tell you some other time.
I was planning to counter all that with a cheery anecdote, but I can't with my babe out and about with a shower of wankers. I actually don't mind him drinking way too much just so long as I don't have to listen to his views on life afterwards. He's not an aggressive nasty drunk, he's an idiot pain-in-the-arse drunk. What scares me is that he will start smoking dope and get his paranoia back. He gave it up on Boxing Day and has been wonderful ever since.
Oh what's the point in fretting? Going to lose myself in the internet.
Night X
