Like a Bad Episode of "16 and Pregnant"

One of the top sentences that you do not want to hear your brand-new sex partner say as soon as they are done having sex with you: "The condom broke."

That happened to me last night.

I had come across an actual sexy fireman (FM) on Tinder, the kind that seem to only exist as stereotypes on screen and in fundraiser calendars.  Except, here he was, a real guy, just looking for casual sex like the rest of us.  Even though the county he works in is an hour away without traffic, he lives locally.  He may be the closest sex partner I've ever had, inasmuch that I could theoretically walk to his place if I was dying for sex (I have actually walked from my place up to his general neighborhood before, difficult but not impossible).

When we initially communicated, FM thought I wasn't interested in meeting him in person.  Because I sooo don't want to get naked with a hot fireman, right.  Dude is crazy.

Trying to coordinate schedules to hook up wasn't entirely easy.  Obviously, dating is my current social priority, so most of my free time is reserved for going on dates.  His work schedule is unconventional because he has to work weekends and graveyard shifts.  He tried to get me to come over on the evening of Valentine's Day, but that seemed to be too cheesy in my mind.  We finally, if impulsively, settled on Ash Wednesday (clearly, the condom breaking was punishment from God for having premarital sex).

The sex was absolutely fantastic.  Honestly, if FM had gone down on me, he would have been right on par with CG.  There was loads of amazing foreplay, including moments of me being able to marvel at and enjoy just how cut the man is.  He also kept telling me how sexy I was, which is always nice to hear.  And when he finally started fucking me, he kept hitting my g spot, so it was absolute heaven.

Until he finished.  And uttered that damn sentence shortly after.

This is the first time FM has ever had to deal with a broken condom, which meant that he was freaking out big time.  I, on the other hand, snapped into crisis control mode and calmly made a plan to get Plan B the next morning...alone.

Despite freaking out, FM said everything that a man should say in the situation.  He first asked if I wanted us to go get Plan B together, thereby offering moral and emotional support.  He then offered to at least defray the cost of Plan B because $50 is a lot of money (not nearly as much as an abortion though).  Finally, he told me that he felt wholly to blame for the situation because it was his condom that broke (takes two to tango, but nice of him to not blame me for any part of it).

Earlier today, he did text me to apologize for freaking out and to thank me for reassuring him that it was all going to be okay.  Aaaand he also said that he wanted to have sex with me again.  Nice to know that the line of communication is still open and that he didn't just completely disappear after last night.

The absolute downside to all of this is that I'm now faced with the waiting game to see if I'm pregnant or not.  As well as the dramatic increase of hormones that has me super fucking emotional right now and the paranoia that has me lost down a Google rabbit hole looking at the possibility of ending up pregnant despite taking emergency contraception.  A huge part of me just wants to have FM hold me and tell me that everything will be okay and that we're dealing with this together, but let's be realistic.  It was a casual no-strings-attached encounter, meaning that I have to fly solo right now.  Welcome to the reality of having to be a strong, independent modern woman.

If Only Everything Could Be Solved by Consulting Strunk and White

Some days,  my job has me just staring at my computer screen, wondering how the people whose writing I'm editing have managed to graduate from even high school with their lack of basic mastery of the English language.  Sure, I have to be a grammar Nazi (and even my grammar is less than ideal at times), but it can get to the point where I am thisclose to wanting to smack them over the head with a copy of Strunk and White's Elements of Style (the Bible of grammar and punctuation for the English language).  Today has been particularly hard because I've been distracted by my personal life.

#1 The Recent Ex

I finally came to my senses two weeks ago and dumped an asshole that I wasted six months on.  He never even tried to avoid treating me like shit when I was the perfect girlfriend.  I even spontaneously baked sausage-studded biscuits for him once, despite the fact that he never did anything for me.  Instead, he dumped me three times.  Being the idiot that I am, I took him back each time on his word that things would improve (they never did).  Finally, I had enough of his immature, narcissistic apathy, and I dumped him.  I spent the next day getting drunk on screwdrivers and fat on raw cookie dough at my best friend's house (I'm sure I set a great example for her two young children that day).

Of course, the recent ex refused to see things from my point of view.  He admitted that I was correct inasmuch that he did treat me like shit.  However, he claimed that he could change, yet refused to even give me a token sign that he was capable of changing.  I even went so far as to offer him a chance to prove to me in person that he could and would change, and treat me better, which was quite generous of me, all things considered.  Naturally, he turned his nose up at this offer, demanding to know what he would be changing for before he would even consider changing.  The man even had the audacity to suggest that there was nothing wrong with treating me like shit, that I deserved to be treated like shit simply for existing.  When he texted me that this past weekend, it made me feel like I was back in middle school and high school and being targeted by the mean kids (mostly girls, but some of their male friends got in on the action, especially when spreading rumors that I had gotten expelled one time for allegedly being a racist...one of the boys "misheard" a comment that I didn't say and tried to get me kicked out of school) for no reason whatsoever.  Obviously, he lied when he told me that he loved me.

#2 The Man Who Refused To Kiss Me

I'm a nice person who doesn't mind being friends with her exes, so long as they aren't total douchebags.  So, even though the guy who wouldn't have sex or even kiss me (I mentioned him back in April) cheated on me and we broke up in May, he was apologetic enough that I agreed to try to be friends with him.  Well, that didn't work out because he still wanted to get back with me.  I finally laid it all out for him that he was reading too much into me not being a total bitch to him via email this weekend.  I really hope that I didn't break his heart.

#3 The Kid

After wallowing for two weeks, I decided to get back out and start dating this past weekend, instead of just flipping through Tinder while in sweatpants.  My first date was with a Tinder match who just happens to be 24.  He's a hot nerd type, Clark Kent-style glasses with a muscular body builder frame (without looking like a 'roid head) and tattoos covering certain parts of his body (let's just refer to him as Clark Kent).  I figured that he would be the perfect rebound.  My plan was to meet him for a drink, have him fawn all over me so I'm reminded that I'm gorgeous and fabulous, and then go fuck his brains out.  While all of that happened, I wasn't prepared for CK to actually develop a crush on me.  He's 24, active on Tinder, and hot (with a voracious sexual appetite to match mine), so I assumed that he would be looking just for a one- or two-night stand from me at most.  Instead, he's hinted at wanting me to be his girlfriend multiple times, and asked me twice now.  Sure, we fucked two nights in a row and engaged in sexting a few times now, but that's hardly enough to make me want to commit myself after having only known him for 5 days.  He is sweet, though, and we can talk for hours about things other than sex, but sex is the main theme in our interactions.

My attraction to him was enough for me to meet him after having a first date with another guy on the second day.  This other guy (Italian Rockstar) is way cooler than me though.  He's an Italian (total yummy accent) from Turin, and he's here to get his MBA.  However, back in Turin, IR is known for being the singer of a metal band that has had some success in Asia because one of their songs is featured in a popular Japanese video game.  We went to a punk rock concert, which was a lot of fun.  He wanted to go out after the show, but I already had plans to go get laid after.  I have a feeling that IR and I will go out again in the near future.

Like whenever I throw myself into Tinder, I have acquired a ton of new matches and am still in the process of going on a series of first dates.  Thus, I really can't commit myself to CK anytime soon because that would be unfair to the other matches that I have been talking to, but haven't met yet.

Suffice to say, my love life is definitely a mixed bag of different feelings and experiences.  It's wholly distracting, but better than not having a love life at all.

Biting the Bullet

So I did it. I dumped the boyfriend.  It really became obvious that I needed to dump him when he was talking about the near-ish future, and it was clear that while there was a space for me, I was intended to just stand at the sidelines and cheer.  There was no consideration as to us growing as a couple or any hints of more commitment than just "boyfriend girlfriend" for the foreseeable future.  Maybe he will want to get married someday, but clearly not to me.

I personally don't believe in stringing someone along, and that's exactly what he was doing to me.

That was the breaking point for me, when I realized that I was being delusional by thinking that maybe someday he'd really love me (instead of just giving me lip service) and treat me as well as I treated him. I was just being another stupidass girl.

It may have taken some time, but thank God I came to my senses before I wasted any more time on him.

Moral Dilemma

I am suffering from a moral dilemma of sorts, and I cannot quite figure out what to do.  You see, it involves cheating of the sexual variety.  Normally, I am absolutely opposed to even the notion of cheating, but this is a very odd situation (aren't they always?).

Me: I do have a current boyfriend.  He and I have been together off-and-on since late June, so almost 7 months now (longest relationship I have ever been in).  However, during that time, he has dumped me 3 times, refused to talk to me for over a week during the holidays (more on that later), and made me cry countless times.  Oh, and we still have yet to have sex.  He tried to fuck me exactly twice: on our first date when he tried to invite himself around to my place after he got drunk at the bar, and when I invited him around to my grandparents' house when I was house-sitting (and yes, he was drunk then too).  I have attempted to make plans to fuck him, but he broke up with me the night before the first time, and he had just recently started talking to me and made no attempt to revive our plans the second time (and shot down any of my attempts to revive our plans...I really shouldn't have invested in special underwear just for the occasion, ridiculously frilly shit that makes me want to vom but that he'd like because he's conventional like that).  He stopped talking to me because he had a paternity scare with his ex, who he had post-break up sex with less than a month before our first date, meaning that I am more or less the rebound from his pregnant ex (the baby isn't his, by the way).  He still refuses to claim any role in having ended up in his paternity scare ("it could happen to anyone"...yet he had sex without a condom, and when a man has sex [especially without a condom], he runs the risk of getting a woman pregnant).  This all tells me that he isn't really mature enough to be having sex, since he can't deal with the consequences, and he may very well not want to have sex with me unless he has beer goggles on.  There's also a ton of other shit that points to him being socially immature, and he never demonstrates his alleged love for me (choosing, instead, to demand that I provide evidence that I love him to prove that I love him as much as he claims to love me).  I do love him, and no one is perfect, but I don't know if I want to wait around for 5-6 years for him to get his shit together enough to be father-of-my-children material.

Really, I should dump him, but I have put so much damn time and energy that I dislike having to leave without seeing anything in return for my investment.

Potential Partner: Here's the thing that makes it truly a difficult decision.  The potential partner in this adulterous scenario is none other than Fresno Boy.  Now, I haven't fucked him in a year, not since our plans in April fell through, but he contacted me in late October/early November asking for sex (incidentally around the time of my third break up).  He is sexy, and the sex is fantastic, but that alone isn't enough to convince me to hop into bed with him.  However, the fact that he clearly needs to get rid of his current psychotic girlfriend (as evidenced by her social media accounts) has led me to think that he may need a sextervention.  I almost feel guilty, like if I had managed to fuck him in April, he wouldn't have been so desperate to end up with her (he contacted me around the time that she posted a picture of them as a couple on her Facebook...so clearly she hasn't been enough for him since the beginning).

It is only sex, there is never anything emotional involved really, beyond a basic level of trust, with the minimal level of caring that goes along with knowing that person can trust you.  I highly doubt that she knows about his fetish either, and fetishes are always itches that need to be scratched at least once in a while.

So, there I am, in a problematic situation with no easy answer, really.  Do I stay in a miserable relationship, just for the sake of praying for the boyfriend to eventually grow up and maybe find me sexually desirable and worth loving someday, and continue to be the faithful girlfriend, do I dump the boyfriend and engage in sex with Fresno Boy, allowing him to realize that he doesn't have to be shackled to a psycho to get laid, or do I cheat?

Drinking to cope?

I am currently buzzed, not drunk, despite what my mother chooses to believe.  Ever since my 28th birthday 2 weeks ago, life's been something of a shitshow.

My birthday was uneventful, except my friend gave me a vibrator for my birthday.  I'm a strictly hands-only kind of woman when it comes to masturbation, so this is my first sex toy.  However, it's still in the box.

I spent the beginning of last week in LA.  Finally experienced bottle service for the first time in my life, courtesy of my friend's cousin's boyfriend (isn't that always how some of the craziest events happen, through 6 degrees of separation).  It was kind of a post-Coachella party deal, and the first time I saw a club completely packed all because people were legit fans of the DJs spinning and facing towards the DJs/taking pics and video of said DJs.

On the way back, I was supposed to get laid for the first time in MONTHS, but I started my period that day...and the guy was too much of a pussy to have period sex.  It's been almost 3 months since I've gotten laid.

And, of course, I am now "exclusive" with a guy who so severely regrets losing his V-card and is so emotionally fragile that he shouldn't have sex with anyone before he's engaged/married to them.  So sex is off the table, out of the room, completely not in the same zipcode as me unless we get hitched or until we break up.  The totally stupid-ass shit I endure just so long as there is the slightest possibility of getting married.

Being sex-free is making me into a royal bitch.  I hate being me.

#whateverfatass

Whenever I take sex and booze (for the most part) out of my life, I go one of two ways: I either become a total control freak and focus on becoming really fucking skinny through anorexia, or I binge eat like no tomorrow and basically become my version of those obese beached human whales that like to populate fast food joints (which means that I get dangerously close to hitting 110 pounds [my suicide weight, aka the weight at which I'm too fat to let myself live]).  Lately, it's become the latter, an incredibly depressing reality.

Why no sex?
I've fallen into a dating rut.  I'm non-exclusively dating a very sweet guy (Gentle Giant because he's 6'5", I wear heels all the time around him and still feel like a midget), but I've kind of lost my drive to date other guys because they aren't as sweet as the Gentle Giant.  When a guy orders your favorite cereal online because he can't find it in any grocery stores near him and he gets a coworker to mail him a gift card from your favorite quick service restaurant in LA because you can only get them in person at the location, all just to make you smile, how can any woman not melt?  However, I'm pretty sure that the Gentle Giant is a V because we've been on like 10 dates and usually the most physical contact I'll get from him is a hug at the end of the date.  One time, I spontaneously hugged him, and he seemed to freak out.  Thus, I'm worried that if I attempt to even hug him again, he might dump me for getting too physical (is he gay and suppressed???).  The simple solution seems to be to just have casual sex on the side, but that's a whole 'nother problem.

I've become increasingly picky about who I will bang just casually.  I completely blame that on the fact that over the past 2 years, I've been able to score some very nice tail.  The hotter the partner that you've been able to get in the past, the hotter the partner you will pursue in the future.  After all, who's going to be satisfied with fucking a lardass with serious backhair problems when they have gotten used to fucking male models?  Only problem with that is there are virtually NO single guys around here that are that hot and dtf (and disease-free...sexual health is CRUCIAL!).

Why no alcohol?
I haven't completely given up alcohol, but I have cut back on it.  Not that I was a lush before, but it's always good just to check your drinking every once in a while to get back to remembering what life is like on the weekends when you don't have a hangover.  Also, my oldest brother's wedding is coming up at the beginning of May, and I have to look hotter than the bride (so no beer gut, no matter how tiny).  I prefer to refer to the fiancee as the bitch in law, simply because being a bitch is such a natural thing for her that it integrates itself into the very fiber of her being so that even when she thinks she's being nice, there still a bitchy undertone to it.

I am working out every day to combat the binge eating, but I need to mentally switch on the pro-ana feelings and thoughts.  Therefore, my goal for next week is to do what I used to do in high school, which is supplant breakfast and lunch with liters of water (1 liter for each meal).

Drinking and Heartbeats

First, happy repeal of of the Volstead Act (80th anniversary today...imagine how wasted this country was 80 years ago today).  Unfortunately, I'm at home suffering from the remnants of a nasty cold (likely picked up on Black Friday), which is a double shame because I finally have the perfect 1930s-style evening dress.  I swear I'll go out next year, especially since it'll be on a weekend.

I have my own personal reason to get wasted tonight, which I'm doing at home.  The standard vodka and a mixer tonight.  My damn uterus has been desperate to get pregnant for years now, and this time I really thought it had succeeded.  After all, I was supposed to start bleeding on Saturday.  However, the pee stick said no (I always use First Response, this time splurging for the digital display so there;s no way I'd be confused).  Last week was the shittiest week I've had in years, and Sunday and Monday saw me flat on my back thanks to this damn cold.  Sometimes, it just takes me getting wasted as fuck to start bleeding.  One memorable pregnancy scare happened in New York, which was understandable because at the end of that week, I was going to my friend's shotgun wedding.  The night before I finally started, I was so wasted that I engaged in my first act of public urination since I was tiny.  Happened at the edge of Central Park on the UES edge (I'm classy like that).  Then, in the morning, I noticed some blood, and by the time I got to the airport by midday, I was changing my tampon like normal.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to take a second test in the am, just in case 6 hours wasn't enough of a wait for the hCG hormone.  Either way, the booze won't do my womb harm because I'm just going to have an abortion.  I do want kids someday, but I can't financially afford to be a single mom at the moment.  These days, unless you're in a serious, committed relationship, you shouldn't expect your partner to help raise their offspring.  The important part about abortion is to keep tabs on when you have sex and when you are supposed to ovulate and when you're supposed to bleed.  After you can detect hCG through a home pregnancy test, you have a whole month to get an abortion before a heartbeat even develops and you can get the abortion pill, which is a lot less scary/invasive/risky than the other abortion treatments out there.  The way I see it, if we use a heartbeat to measure whether or not a human is alive, then why not use it for a fetus?

Anyways, back to focusing on drinking...and watching Carrie Underwood in The Sound of Music.