November 08, 2003

A Complete Lack of Concentration

Last night, one and a half bottles of red wine down and having watched “Ghost Ship” on DVD (“Um…why did you watch that?” you may ask. My reply: “I seriously have no idea, it seemed like a good waste of energy at the time.” Key words there: Waste of energy).

So Partner Unit goes up to bed and Helen the insomniac stays downstairs. A fire is roaring in the fireplace, the lights are low, and I am more than a bit drunk. TV sucks a clown’s ass, and I was a bit too far in the cups to appreciate a good book. I was bored. I needed something to do. So I decided to do what all adults do when they are bored, tipsy, and need to go to bed.

Yup. Time to play with myself.

I went into my briefcase and grabbed my travel-size little helper (hey-you never know when you will have a self-relations emergency. I like to think I am prepared). I walked back into the living room and lay down on the couch, pocket rocket at the ready.

I started to have a quick rub around down there and got some material ready. What would I like to think about…hmmm…

I clicked on the toy and started to think about a beautiful lush hotel room. Candles, champagne, roses. An enormous bed with a lover there, waiting for me, waiting to make love to me all night. I want the picture of Paris outside the window. The last time I was in Paris, I was alone on a business conference. The meeting was rough, actually, and it was held with some customers that asked a lot of demanding questions. They were good questions, but I really had to test my knowledge. I left the meeting so tired that I-

Damn it! I just got sidetracked. Focus, Helen, focus! Stop thinking about work and play with yourself now!

OK, what should I think about? Mmm, start thinking about meeting up with John Cusack. Then get seriously annoyed he is wasting his remarkable intellect on Britney Spears, so switch. I think about meeting Don in a hotel bar. It would be love at first sight, I am sure, and he would whisk me upstairs, where he would magically start to undress us both without it seeming the least bit weird. I try to picture him, and start to think about what he would look like. Would he be furry? That’s important. Oh God, what if our bits didn’t align? That could be awkward. How would his blog start the next day? “After meeting Helen and finding pure fireworks, it only became the biggest and greatest disappointment of my life once I realized that I like my women to fit me like Twiggy. It was possible that I made a mistake, since Helen seemed to fit me more like Ziggy.”

Fuuuuuuck. Realize that I lost focus again and the toy slipped down and is vibrating somewhere along my upper leg. Re-position the toy and try again.

Now I think about Mr. Y, which is always a guarantee to work. I think about the fabulous pillowcase episode, the incredible orgasms that Igot from that whole evening. I picture his face between my legs...then start to imagine his face between another woman's legs, since he and I are not together anymore (obviously). God, I miss him. I mean, losing him was so horrible. Isn't it the case that you go crazy imagining the one you loved with someone else after the breakup? It's a case of "I am not going to fuck you anymore, but I don't want you to fuck anyone else, either"! I mean, is he missing me in bed, too? Isn't it a tragedy we can't be together? God I'm so down, I-

Oh, come on! Why can't I do this? My libido has dried up. I not only can't focus at work due to Judgement Day, I can't even focus at something I am really good at! I give up and slam my toy on the table. As I do so, the battery case comes open and a little battery rolls out. It's the kind with the little strip on the side, to test the charge left in the battery. In my drunken state I manage to test it, and I find almost nothing.

Oh. Looky there. The battery is dead. OK, well I'll replace it. I get up, get a new one, replace it in the toy, and decide to give it one last go. I line it up on the right spot, turn it on...

...and am nearly blasted into the dining room by the power of my victorious race to the finish line, which came like lightning after three seconds of contact with the full-battery operated toy. Ahhhh....I needed that.

Not only can't I concentrate, I can't even remember to change batteries.

Think I will give up playing with myself until after I hear the verdict of Judgement Day. I clearly have too much on my mind. My mind is best focused on surviving 10 more days to hear the outcome.

Oh, who am I kidding. I could never go 10 days without playing with myself.

And, in the meantime, I have "Double-AA batteries" on my next grocery list.


PS-Blimey. I won the writing contest at Guinness' place.

Posted by Everydaystranger at November 8, 2003 10:19 AM | TrackBack

Hi Clancy,

I knew it was her from the photo. There is no doubt.

I found the site through being bored one day at work, having romantic musings about H and putting a certain search string (that is connected with her) into Google. There it was - everydaystranger - I couldn't beleive it.

Posted by: Mr 'Y' at November 10, 2003 05:40 PM

Ahhhh, Come-on H! You must tell us about the two factors. I'm rooting for Mr. Y!!! Well, maybe - as long as he isn't already married, beats you or has a substance abuse problem. If any of the above is true, then perhaps a hot night in DC with Don can make you forget...

Either way, we're all curious (or at least I get the sense that it's not JUST ME that's curious).

And you too Mr. Y. How'd you find the site? When did you realize it was her???

Posted by: Clancy at November 10, 2003 04:18 PM

Hiya KS-nope, you haven't missed a post. I have never posted about our break-up (yet). I always figured I would do, but had no idea I would get short-circuited by being "found" by Mr. Y...

Posted by: Helen at November 10, 2003 09:24 AM


2) The 2 factors that were the cause of our bust up are still in place.

Did I miss a post? These two are...?

Posted by: Kindred Spirit at November 9, 2003 02:22 PM

No, it really is him. This is not a Writer's Noose stunt (besides, the lovely Becky in WN was dead. Mr Y is very much alive). I have known his whereabouts for some time, but haven't contacted him since:

1) I have fuck-all willpower when it comes to Mr. Y and absolutely can't resist him.
2) The 2 factors that were the cause of our bust up are still in place.
3) See #1.

He sent me a mail and we have had some dialog. I have told him it's ok with me to comment on my blog, so hopefully he will.

This is real, folks, and not a figment of Helen's imagination. It really is him. So real, I was moved to drink a whole lot of alcohol last night (after wasting two hours of my life on "Matrix Revolutions"). You must think my life is so full of drama. And the answer is...yes, it is.

Er...Suz, what's that other substitute?

Posted by: Helen at November 9, 2003 12:13 PM

..Mr Y? No way. That is far too.. Hollywoodesque in its coincidental nature.

Spiffy, though.

Posted by: Jamie at November 9, 2003 09:54 AM

I know exactly what you mean, Helen, about the ability to concentrate when you have so very much on your mind. I, too, suffer from this very debilitating affliction from time to time. But I have found an interesting substitute. Trust me when I say it makes all the difference....

Posted by: Suz~ at November 9, 2003 05:24 AM

Well, well. Mr. Y himself. Welcome to the "Helen's comments club." Those of us who are regulars can't wait for you to regale us with stories of Helen from years past. Please, do share!

Posted by: Howard at November 9, 2003 12:00 AM

(Mr. Y?!? Holding breath...)

Posted by: Layne at November 8, 2003 09:20 PM

Yes, you won. But what am I to do now? The winner of the first contest was finally awarded her prize last night. She took an alternate five drink tokens instead of the stated RoCo T-shirt prize. I'm all about providing an alternate.

You won G.

Won what?

Wet T-Shirt contest mother-fu*&er.

Whaterer on that.

Posted by: Guinness at November 8, 2003 09:01 PM

batteries are good. yes.

but really? mr y? hehe...hi mr. y, we've heard so much about you! :-)

Posted by: kat at November 8, 2003 07:59 PM

Oh my God. Oh my God.

It is him. It is HIM! Only one other person in the world knows what that number means.

Oh my God.

Posted by: Helen at November 8, 2003 05:51 PM

Hmmm. That first comment smacks of Writer's Noose. WTF?

Posted by: Joey at November 8, 2003 04:51 PM

H baby! It’s ‘Mr Y’ here. I miss you bunches and remember the events you write about so well and long for them so much. It seems like forever since we were together.

I had no idea you masturbated to thoughts of me. I’m honored but confess I do the same!

Sorry to surprise you like this. I have been following your blog for a bit now – I stumbled across it by accident and complete fluke but can tell you about it someday if you want.

Maybe we could get together sometime soon in the next few weeks and, if you are up for it, re-live those events of days gone by. I have an idea of how we could make it work.

I know you know how to contact me if you would like so I’ll leave my mail off the bottom of this comment. If you don’t, I’ll understand and leave you alone.

Really hope to hear from you very soon.

Mr. Y.

How do you know it’s me? Does this number mean anything to you: 311000? It means a heck of a lot to me.

Posted by: Mr.Y at November 8, 2003 04:21 PM
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