this christmas was good to me. i got a ginormo bottle of my official signature scent miss dior cherie and the luxury body creme. which, in case you were wondering, is better than the body lotion, according to my roomate nicole, because it has a higher concentration of the perfume oil. wow, that is like the gayest fact ever. she is even faggier than i am! the perfume isn’t ridiculously expensive for someone who makes any money, but you are not talking to that kind of person. i specifically got a credit card to buy my first bottle of it, because this shit smells amazing! i get compliments every time i wear it, mostly from men, but whatever. apparently butch lesbians do not appreciate fine fragrances. that’s cool ladies, but really, don’t i tell you when i really like how you smell of cigarettes and Dial soap? it’s nice to be noticed, just sayin’. so anyway, now that i have two bottles i am going to wear it more because it’s my signature scent and money is no object perfume goes bad. yikes, but i have so many fragrances to choose from! for a while i curbed my makeup addiction with perfume, you know, like retail methadone, but then i had another problem on my hands.
someone once told me that you aren’t supposed to spray perfume on your wrist then rub it against the other or against your neck like mom (and soap operas) always taught you. it “bruises” the fragrance. i don’t know what that means, but imagine my delight when i went to spray my miss cherie one 
morning last week and saw this bruise. i love briuses, always have. there is something tough and sexy about them, and trashy. this one looks like i have been up to something very naughty. i guess this all sounds kind of wrong cause that bruise also looks like i may be a battered woman, but everyone has their kinks. truth be told i have no idea how i get most of my bruises. they just appear and i can enjoy them for a while until they disappear, so quickly.
there was one time i had this bruise that took forever to go away. it was after a night of partying years ago, when i used to work at the theatre. we were hanging out there one night drinking and there was this weird old guy who was a friend of someone who wasn’t even there. i was nineteen and fairly wide-eyed, even if i didn’t know it. after a while this guy started following me around. i had always been a bit of a masochist, and i guess he heard me bragging to john and christine about how i was into pain, kid stuff, but i thought i was tough. there’s a bunch of weird shit in between, but basically he tried to molest me in the basement right in front of those other two. i just sat there as he put his hand up my thigh. i have an uncanny ability to leave my body when things get scary or interesting, allowing me to never fully experience pain or joy. it rules.
i just kind of went away from myself during the whole time. he didn’t do much other than cop a feel in the basement, but then he followed me into the bathroom. he cornered me coming out of the stall and got in my face, asking me, did i like it rough. i was mostly numb. i was standing there, watching myself, wondering what was going to hapen next, when he punched me square in the jaw, snapping me back into reality. i don’t remember much after that, reality bores me.
point is, i spent the next few weeks with a bruise and what felt like a ping pong ball on the left side of my jaw. it didn’t hurt, it just itched. it was like, itchy and i wanted to rip my skin off. i was upset because i got myself into such a stupid situation, upset because i could barely remember it even though i wasn’t even that drunk, but mostly i was upset because in that moment, i wasn’t all that scared, and that was really scary.
holy shit amanda