Oh right, the username.

Videogame nerd, and I always liked the Legacy of Kain games.  One of the settings was the Termogent forest, and I liked the way it sounded.  The spooky green fires lighting the way were a bonus, too.

Apparently it's based on a real word: termagant.  Something Europeans used to call the god they thought Muslims worshiped (presumptuous Europeans, who knew).  And then Shakespearean-era playwrights got a hold of it, using it to refer to villains in turbans.  It gets better: since men played most of these roles, and said villains wore robes, the audiences started thinking the characters were female, so the word came to mean a quarrelsome, scolding woman.

A bitch, basically.  Which I like, because...well I kind of am a bitch.  So there ya go, storytime complete.

UnFUCKINGbelievable

The idiot actually used his one phone call to try and get me to bail him out. 

Stupid, stupid fucker. 

I hate this holiday.

Yes, this is a Valentine's rant.  No, it isn't because I hate romance, or commercialization, or because I have a chocolate allergy.

It's because of my ex.  You remember me mentioning the restraining order?  Well, apparently he got a little too intoxicated and decided to forget about it.  And when I say "a little too intoxicated" I mean he was Wasty the fucking Clown.  Banging on my door, demanding I let him in, asking for money/cigarettes/sex, the whole deal.  At least I think that's what he was shrieking about, it was all drunk and incoherent by the time I opened the door for the police.

I think I'd gone through half a pack of cigarettes by the time they hauled Matt off.  I don't know, I was too busy trying to calm the fuck down.

Why the restraining order?  Three broken ribs, a concussion, and a sprained wrist and ankle, not to mention the bruises I stopped counting.  Matt was an abusive piece of shit, and I can't even understand how I put up with that crap for so long.  Although the therapist is certainly helping. 

The birds waking me up this morning, not so helpful.  It's like they were practicing for Radio City Music Hall or something the way they were carrying on.

I think this is enough ranting, I'm getting upset all over again.

Oh, right. About me.

Hi.  My name's Chris.  I like walks on the beach, romantic evenings, and waking up to birds in the morning.

Just kidding.

I hate mornings with a seething passion, I don't care for birds, beaches are covered in sand, and I prefer to spend my evenings dancing or drinking.  Or some combination of the two.  I love my big gay clubs, and getting lost on the dance floor surrounded by strangers and letting nothing but the beat keep me moving.  I also like poking around on the internet when I have nothing else to do, which is kinda why I started this little blog.  It's just for me.

If you're determined to stick around, you'll even get juicy ex-boyfriend stories.  I might even talk about the restraining order, if you're really lucky.  Or if I'm intoxicated enough. 

This is me being bored.

I don't consider myself a very good writer, and this is just for me anyway.  So if you're looking for something profound, or something that will rewrite the face of the internet, then I suggest you move on.

I really don't give a shit, I just wanna write for me.  That's enough, I guess.

So if you have a taste for inane ramblings, pop music whoring, and some nerdy shit, stick around.