My waxed moustache
continues to rip bitter vengeance on me … It might be a good time to get a
tattoo there now, if I ever wanted one, as most of the upper lip area is
completely numb. Those poor little innocent tiny colorless hairs. What foul
have they ever done to anybody, except perhaps a little bit of pricking him or
a little bit of soup-catching? But it had to be done. No buts about it. General
is never as happy as when he is causing me tiny packages of excruciating
physical pain. Never a kiss without teeth, never a hug without a bite, never
sex without tearing, never a compliment without a razorblade hidden somewhere
in that apple. I wouldn’t love him any other way. And love him, fundamentally and
madly, I do. So how could I deny him the raw pleasure of ripping off 4/9ths of
my facial hair? Just so that he could hold me tight later, when I screamed and
cried baby tears?
So now, after the day of eye-watering burn and
another day of every pore being turned into a minute infected deep pimple, now
there’s numbness and big old ugly zits, purple and everything. You would think
that a third into a century old would be above pimples, but guess not. Was it naïve
of me to think I will look as smooth and beautiful if I ripped the seven layers
of my skin off, as pretty teenage ladies in commercial do? Maybe. But was my
beautiful husband happy? Oh, yes. Very, very much. And no. there is never
another fucking chance I ever wax anything else off me, ever again. God put
those hairs on me for a reason. Maybe he liked boys. I don’t know. But my tiny,
see-through, fuzzy little hairs are staying. I’m putting my foot down on that
one. Also, I watched Here Comes The Boom and can now overthrow a 250 pound man
who’s behind-choking me. I think.
The lesson out of this will be neatly served in
my writing. The difference between villains. In Gorgie, the General is
simultaneously the villain and the love interest of the lead character. How
fucked up is that? Just as fucked up as I like it, thank you. Welcome to the
other part of my psyche. He is the one doing most of the beating, most of the
scheming, most of the humiliating and most of the emotional scarring. He does
all the trampling on what remains of the heroine’s broken heart. He doesn’t
even think about it, because to him it matters none. Hence, he’s a villain, a
principle one. There are also those parts in which the true character of our
characters gets the chance to shine through, such as the lunatic that tries to
cut up Gorgo and then the clone who tries to dethrone General and the
occasional institution, such as Trinity,
which tries to belittle the good thing they have going with blatant greed. There
is, however, also the character of Majordomo – a very strong, very powerful
character, also very good looking, calm and successful. Tall, quiet – much like
the general. This isn’t a coincidence (or the fact that I like very large, very
tall men who don’t talk.) He’s evil. And unlike the General – whose mistakes
are all forgiven due to his emotional background, Majordomo has no such
excuses. He’s not mean because he doesn’t know better, he’s mean for sport. So
if I take a look at those two kinds of people now, having grown them so large
as to now have a pathos of their own, I see the main difference being - one
does little nasty things, but comes out righteous in the end, whereas the other
acts righteous overall, if extremely self-righteous also, but is dark and void.
Dunno. Is that passion? Do I forgive a violent
man, because his motive is passion? Am I
aroused by a wicket lover, because he grins with that gleam passionately?
Likely. Then again what’s hot wrestling/Socratic discussion/lovemaking without even
one little bruise?
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