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.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
You know things are bad when the boss starts showing up in suspenders and french cuffs...
We've all had those moments when we want to pound our heads against our desks because of an impossible boss. Right now, I'm pretty sure that I'd be in the ER if I had acted on the amount of skull pounding that I've wanted to do recently.
The "boss" that makes me want to turn my skull into powder was hired a couple of months ago (shortly before my 1 year anniversary at the company) to take over some of the work from my old boss because the old boss was being stretched too thin. Everything ran rather smoothly while the new boss was still terrified over stepping on the wrong toes, and I had no complaints. Sure, I'd sometimes look over my shoulder (our cubicles face each other) to see him watching Youtube videos or "working" while listening to stuff on his headphones, but it wasn't my problem to deal with.
However, now that said boss has gotten more comfortable with his position, he's been slowly morphing into a Bill Lumbergh type: ineffective, impossibly demanding, and rude while appearing to be friendly. He sends out "team" emails (that literally start with "Hey Team") whenever he has an "update" for us or a need for more information from us to "help" other departments "understand what we do" (quite frankly, I think he's just gathering the information in an effort to stage his own mental game of "Survivor"). He also likes to constantly remind us that we should be focusing on quality, not quantity. Recently, though, he bitched at me for not working fast enough. Then, when I did work faster, he bitched about the quality of the work. Before he was hired, there was no question of speed, only quality, which was fine with me because I'd rather take the time to do something right than turn out some half-assed shoddy work. This all just leaves me incredibly confused and with a strong desire to punch him in the face for confusing me.
In a way, it's good to have an asinine boss because it motivates me to find a new job somewhere else. I need a better job with a living wage (so I don't have to depend on my parents to pay my cell phone bill, health insurance, and other basic costs and I can start planning for retirement) and upward mobility. I'm also on the verge of needing to move too, but where depends on the metaphorical flip of a coin.
The "boss" that makes me want to turn my skull into powder was hired a couple of months ago (shortly before my 1 year anniversary at the company) to take over some of the work from my old boss because the old boss was being stretched too thin. Everything ran rather smoothly while the new boss was still terrified over stepping on the wrong toes, and I had no complaints. Sure, I'd sometimes look over my shoulder (our cubicles face each other) to see him watching Youtube videos or "working" while listening to stuff on his headphones, but it wasn't my problem to deal with.
However, now that said boss has gotten more comfortable with his position, he's been slowly morphing into a Bill Lumbergh type: ineffective, impossibly demanding, and rude while appearing to be friendly. He sends out "team" emails (that literally start with "Hey Team") whenever he has an "update" for us or a need for more information from us to "help" other departments "understand what we do" (quite frankly, I think he's just gathering the information in an effort to stage his own mental game of "Survivor"). He also likes to constantly remind us that we should be focusing on quality, not quantity. Recently, though, he bitched at me for not working fast enough. Then, when I did work faster, he bitched about the quality of the work. Before he was hired, there was no question of speed, only quality, which was fine with me because I'd rather take the time to do something right than turn out some half-assed shoddy work. This all just leaves me incredibly confused and with a strong desire to punch him in the face for confusing me.
In a way, it's good to have an asinine boss because it motivates me to find a new job somewhere else. I need a better job with a living wage (so I don't have to depend on my parents to pay my cell phone bill, health insurance, and other basic costs and I can start planning for retirement) and upward mobility. I'm also on the verge of needing to move too, but where depends on the metaphorical flip of a coin.
Friday, September 13, 2013
The lengths some people go to....
So Mohawk Man just told one helluva lie to get rid of me. Instead of being an actual grown-up and simply saying he was no longer interested, MM claimed that he was checking into rehab today. The only vice he has is drinking, and it never appeared to get to the point of where it was truly debilitating his daily life.
Having dated a (at the time) recovering drug addict, and having met other recovering addicts through that ex, I am familiar with the lengths people usually push themselves before finally realizing that they do have a problem. Since I have not seen this present in his life, what little of it that I was exposed to, I honestly can't believe Mohawk Man when he claims that he is going to rehab, even with giving him the benefit of the doubt. Addiction is a truly terrible thing, and it should never be treated lightly. Thus, it should never be used as the basis for a lie to get out of something.
That someone would go to such lengths just to avoid having to deal with me in the future seriously makes me wonder what the fuck is so damn horrible about me. I'd like to think that there's something fundamentally wrong with him for going to such extremes, but obviously the root of the problem is me. If I wasn't such a horrible person, then Mohawk Man wouldn't feel the need to go to such extremes with his lie. This, of course, just leads to the eternal question of why the fuck am I still alive if I'm such a waste of molecules?
Having dated a (at the time) recovering drug addict, and having met other recovering addicts through that ex, I am familiar with the lengths people usually push themselves before finally realizing that they do have a problem. Since I have not seen this present in his life, what little of it that I was exposed to, I honestly can't believe Mohawk Man when he claims that he is going to rehab, even with giving him the benefit of the doubt. Addiction is a truly terrible thing, and it should never be treated lightly. Thus, it should never be used as the basis for a lie to get out of something.
That someone would go to such lengths just to avoid having to deal with me in the future seriously makes me wonder what the fuck is so damn horrible about me. I'd like to think that there's something fundamentally wrong with him for going to such extremes, but obviously the root of the problem is me. If I wasn't such a horrible person, then Mohawk Man wouldn't feel the need to go to such extremes with his lie. This, of course, just leads to the eternal question of why the fuck am I still alive if I'm such a waste of molecules?
Thursday, August 29, 2013
If you fall, you're bound to hit the concrete...
As previously mentioned, I attempted to break things off with Craigslist Guy because I was starting to care about him.
It's been almost 3 weeks, but he's still under my skin and in my head. I have been doing everything I can to completely obliterate him from my mind, including fucking another guy who lives closer. After all, the best way to get over one guy is to get under another.
However, this new guy (sourced from Tinder) doesn't quite measure up. Sure, he's got a good-looking face and a mohawk (Mohawk Man, MM for short), and he's on the tall side at 6'3" (an inch shorter than CG's 6'4"). However, Mohawk Man has a typical Midwestern body (a little on the soft side with the slightest beginnings of a beer gut), so it's a little disappointing when I've gotten so used to cut bodies and six-pack abs. The sex is great, but it isn't OMFG amazing. Rather, it's more on the level with the Boy Toy, but minus the clitoral abuse (fortunately). The whole substitution of Mohawk Man for Craigslist Guy is a bit like switching from a top shelf call drink to strictly well. In the end, it'll do the trick, but it doesn't taste nearly as delicious.
With Mohawk Man being the option that I chose to use to get over Craigslist Guy, is it really any wonder why I committed the cardinal sex sin the last time we had sex? That's right, I fantasized about fucking another man while fucking MM. More to the point, I fantasized about Craigslist Guy, the very man I've been trying so hard to forget.
It started off, innocently enough, when Mohawk Man kissed me while we were in missionary position. For some reason, I thought I smelled a scent that I had only ever associated with Craigslist Guy at the very second that he kissed me. It was very strange, considering that there was nothing anywhere in the room that would be the source of the scent. I tried to push Craigslist Guy out of my mind and lose myself in the moment, but his eviction from the metaphorical bed was short-lived. A few minutes later, Mohawk Man had me on my stomach and was fucking me from behind when I started fantasizing that Craigslist Guy was the one pounding me from behind. The amount of detail that I had memorized about Craigslist Guy's appearance was slightly terrifying, if only because that is a lot of brain power I could have used memorizing something that is actually important. Even worse, the sex actually seemed to get better with this fantasy.
Although I was thinking of someone else during sex, Mohawk Man was clearly thinking of me. Right when he was about to climax, MM actually said my name. That was the first time any guy has ever said my name during sex. I immediately felt guilty about not being in the moment and actually thinking about someone else during the act of sex. Nobody deserves that.
I'm going to Manhattan next week for 5 days. I hope that new scenery will help me completely get Craigslist Guy out of my system for good. At this point, all I can do is hope because I'm on the verge of being seriously screwed.
It's been almost 3 weeks, but he's still under my skin and in my head. I have been doing everything I can to completely obliterate him from my mind, including fucking another guy who lives closer. After all, the best way to get over one guy is to get under another.
However, this new guy (sourced from Tinder) doesn't quite measure up. Sure, he's got a good-looking face and a mohawk (Mohawk Man, MM for short), and he's on the tall side at 6'3" (an inch shorter than CG's 6'4"). However, Mohawk Man has a typical Midwestern body (a little on the soft side with the slightest beginnings of a beer gut), so it's a little disappointing when I've gotten so used to cut bodies and six-pack abs. The sex is great, but it isn't OMFG amazing. Rather, it's more on the level with the Boy Toy, but minus the clitoral abuse (fortunately). The whole substitution of Mohawk Man for Craigslist Guy is a bit like switching from a top shelf call drink to strictly well. In the end, it'll do the trick, but it doesn't taste nearly as delicious.
With Mohawk Man being the option that I chose to use to get over Craigslist Guy, is it really any wonder why I committed the cardinal sex sin the last time we had sex? That's right, I fantasized about fucking another man while fucking MM. More to the point, I fantasized about Craigslist Guy, the very man I've been trying so hard to forget.
It started off, innocently enough, when Mohawk Man kissed me while we were in missionary position. For some reason, I thought I smelled a scent that I had only ever associated with Craigslist Guy at the very second that he kissed me. It was very strange, considering that there was nothing anywhere in the room that would be the source of the scent. I tried to push Craigslist Guy out of my mind and lose myself in the moment, but his eviction from the metaphorical bed was short-lived. A few minutes later, Mohawk Man had me on my stomach and was fucking me from behind when I started fantasizing that Craigslist Guy was the one pounding me from behind. The amount of detail that I had memorized about Craigslist Guy's appearance was slightly terrifying, if only because that is a lot of brain power I could have used memorizing something that is actually important. Even worse, the sex actually seemed to get better with this fantasy.
Although I was thinking of someone else during sex, Mohawk Man was clearly thinking of me. Right when he was about to climax, MM actually said my name. That was the first time any guy has ever said my name during sex. I immediately felt guilty about not being in the moment and actually thinking about someone else during the act of sex. Nobody deserves that.
I'm going to Manhattan next week for 5 days. I hope that new scenery will help me completely get Craigslist Guy out of my system for good. At this point, all I can do is hope because I'm on the verge of being seriously screwed.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
The Art of Lying
Anyone who has ever told a lie (which is anyone who is capable of speech) knows that it isn't always the easiest thing to do, and that to lie successfully does require some skill. However, there are people out there who are so adept at lying that they almost raise it to an art form. These people are truly fascinating to watch, but they so often make the mistake of building their lives around the lies that they tell to the point of where they start to get sloppy with their lies and then get caught. Some examples: Frank Abagnale Jr. (of Catch Me If You Can" fame), Christophe Rocancourt, Bernie Madoff, and, of course, Charles Ponzi. Moral of the story, keep your lies small and don't let them dominate any part of your life.
Everyone finds themselves in a situation every once in a while where a lie is necessary because honesty would otherwise destroy civilized interactions. Only this morning, I found myself lying to get out of a scheduled interaction with Mr. Merkin that was to take place tomorrow evening (I really am too nice sometimes). I now don't have to endure his company and unpleasant sexual actions, and his ego is still intact without having to hear the brutal truth. So, here are a few tips on telling a successful lie:
1) Always base every lie in some truth. In the event that the person that you are lying to does not believe you at all, you can have some evidence to show you are telling some variation of a truth.
2) Let yourself believe that your lie could be an actual possibility. Following point 1 makes it easier to believe the lie because it could be a possibility in an alternate universe. By believing the lie to be a possibility, you can make it sound more convincing and your body language will reflect the potential of truth.
3) If you have a shit poker face, lie only via text (email, letter, text message). You don't want your body language to betray you.
4) If you are lying via text, then send it at a time when the receiver will not be able to read it right away, which will give you more time to engage in point 2/come up with a fully fleshed out story to cover your ass.
Everyone finds themselves in a situation every once in a while where a lie is necessary because honesty would otherwise destroy civilized interactions. Only this morning, I found myself lying to get out of a scheduled interaction with Mr. Merkin that was to take place tomorrow evening (I really am too nice sometimes). I now don't have to endure his company and unpleasant sexual actions, and his ego is still intact without having to hear the brutal truth. So, here are a few tips on telling a successful lie:
1) Always base every lie in some truth. In the event that the person that you are lying to does not believe you at all, you can have some evidence to show you are telling some variation of a truth.
2) Let yourself believe that your lie could be an actual possibility. Following point 1 makes it easier to believe the lie because it could be a possibility in an alternate universe. By believing the lie to be a possibility, you can make it sound more convincing and your body language will reflect the potential of truth.
3) If you have a shit poker face, lie only via text (email, letter, text message). You don't want your body language to betray you.
4) If you are lying via text, then send it at a time when the receiver will not be able to read it right away, which will give you more time to engage in point 2/come up with a fully fleshed out story to cover your ass.
Friday, August 16, 2013
LA, Love You/Hate You
I went down to LA this past weekend just to relax. On the way down, I spent the night in Fresno in a shitty Motel 6 room with a fairly new fuck buddy (because of the distance, it was only the second time I hooked up with him). I let Fresno Boy pick the hotel room since he was paying for it, and we had joked about getting a crappy hotel room just so we can trash the hell out of the place. We kind of did trash it in the end...I clogged the toilet and he pissed in the shower without bothering to rinse it out afterward (nothing says "you're my bro and there are no romantic feelings" quite like tolerating the scent of urine emanating from the bathroom at 6:30 am when you're standing at the sink brushing your teeth). For the record, I will never stay at another Motel 6 unless it's life or death, I'm not a princess but I prefer it when the bedding is adequate enough to keep me from staying awake all night due to freezing my ass off. Anyways, we ate fast food, drank beer, and fucked three times. The sex was as good as the first time, except it didn't seem to last as long...which could be an issue in the future. Fresno Boy is damn hot with a seriously ripped body, so his lack of stamina this time won't be enough to kick him off the casual sex list.
So I left Fresno Boy behind and drove straight to Craigslist Guy's place (4 hours in a car with no shower...not fun). If Craigslist Guy had noticed that I still faintly smelled of Fresno Boy's cologne, he didn't say anything. Sex with Craigslist Guy reminded me why I hadn't gotten rid of him in the past 2 years, so many positions and orgasms on my part. As always, Craigslist Guy made promises to fuck me later in the weekend as I was leaving.
I booked a hotel room at the Thompson Beverly Hills (no more shitty motel rooms for me) and headed over there for a much-needed shower (sex with 2 different guys in less than 24 hours demands a long hot shower). On the way over to the hotel, I accidentally rear-ended a Fresh Off The Boat elderly Asian man who is now suing me for severe neck and brain injury (yeah right buddy, I barely damaged the back up sensor that was sticking 2 inches out of the back of your minivan). The guy even tried to steal my license and insurance card because apparently they were his to take now that I had rear-ended him. Hell. Fucking. No. Biatch. I snapped into my bulldog lawyer mode and was like "I can tell you right now that you did not suffer any injury to your physical person and that if you bring this into court you will not recover a single penny because your irrational behavior will demonstrate to the jury that you are not capable of having perceived the situation in a manner that is believable, so your testimony will be deemed worthless." But, of course, he sees a white chick driving an SUV and immediately thinks that he can swindle all sorts of money from me. God, I hate being stereotyped.
Got tan from spending a ton of time by the rooftop pool. Went to The Edison alone, which was fun, but just reminded me that being attractive is a real cockblocker sometimes. I'm old-fashioned in that I believe that a guy should make the first move. And while there were a few brave souls, I just wasn't interested and they were too easily deflected (one guy actually used a classic pick-up routine that I had recognized from hanging out in pick-up artist circles online for years, and I gave him an honest legitimate answer that was totally not one of the routine answers that they tell the user to anticipate...as one of my guy friends likes to say "mind = blown").
Most of my plans to get laid did not pan out because even though Fresno Boy said he would come down for the weekend, he bailed and texted me late Saturday night that he was having car issues on Friday (hello, you could have told me on Friday, or even Saturday during the day). I then had definite plans to hook up with Craigslist Guy on Saturday at 9 pm, which he blew off without telling me, and texting him at 10 got a response that he was busy at his sister's but would be leaving soon...which turned out to be bull-fucking-shit.
Finally, at midnight on Saturday, the Back-up Plan finally declared himself to be dtf, but that I'd have to drive to his place. I was already out with a mutual friend, so I told him I'd be there shortly after I had spent a little more time with the friend. Well, he kept texting about how tired he was and asking how much longer he would have to wait. Super annoying because I was going out of my way to make it convenient for him and he was only ever the back-up plan. Anyways, I finally was heading to my car and bluntly asked him if he still wanted me to come over (which of course he did, not picking up on my pissed off attitude). So I went over, and he was all, "You have to be super quiet" (which just annoyed me more).
We get to his bedroom and start fucking while he has Pandora going on his computer. Then, that annoying-as-fuck song about shopping in a thrift store came on, which nearly killed my sexytime mood. I get playing music to set the mood, but everything should be tailored to sound sexy and annoying hipster rap isn't sexy. I got a feeling that he didn't even remember my name, which is insulting, and then he made a comment about me being on the Pill, which is even more insulting because I'm not and he and I have discussed this before. If you're going to fuck multiple people, at least keep the basic facts straight, or you can't handle sex with more than one partner. He also seemed genuinely amazed at the fact that I do shave down there and am tight (he actually asked me how I made my vagina so tight).
After the actual intercourse was over, he then proceeded to go down on me. Normally, I love being eaten out, but at that point it felt like overkill, since it was late, he had already bitched about being tired, and I had already gotten off enough during the actual intercourse. I finally get him to stop and tell him that I'll be leaving in a few minutes. This prompts him to launch into a monologue about how he has a no sleeping over policy because girls just can't take a hint to leave in the morning. What. The. Hell. First, I had just said that I wasn't spending the night. Second, I have never stayed past me welcome with him before, so I have proven myself to not fall into that category. Third, the ONLY time I spent the night was when he asked me to because he was a hardcore cuddler and actually wanted to sleep with me. LA makes every non-SoCal native a jaded asshole after a while, I swear.
Sunday morning found me by the hotel pool once again. I honestly could not shake being annoyed at being stood up by Craigslist Guy, which made me realize that I wanted a little more reliability and accountability than he was giving me. Reliability and accountability are things that only a girlfriend gets when there's sex involved, so I knew I had to end things. I tried to, but Craigslist Guy misunderstood and apologized for not warning me that he was blowing me off. I attempted to re-explain things and haven't heard from him since. 2 years and not even goodbye, despite me apologizing profusely for fucking up by wanting more. I was doing him the damn favor by not forcing him to suffer through an awkward period of me acting too "relationship-y" (he told me that he's kicked another woman to the curb for acting that way) before kicking me to the curb. He could have thanked me, but no. It really does hurt like hell, but whatever. It couldn't have lasted forever...
So I left Fresno Boy behind and drove straight to Craigslist Guy's place (4 hours in a car with no shower...not fun). If Craigslist Guy had noticed that I still faintly smelled of Fresno Boy's cologne, he didn't say anything. Sex with Craigslist Guy reminded me why I hadn't gotten rid of him in the past 2 years, so many positions and orgasms on my part. As always, Craigslist Guy made promises to fuck me later in the weekend as I was leaving.
I booked a hotel room at the Thompson Beverly Hills (no more shitty motel rooms for me) and headed over there for a much-needed shower (sex with 2 different guys in less than 24 hours demands a long hot shower). On the way over to the hotel, I accidentally rear-ended a Fresh Off The Boat elderly Asian man who is now suing me for severe neck and brain injury (yeah right buddy, I barely damaged the back up sensor that was sticking 2 inches out of the back of your minivan). The guy even tried to steal my license and insurance card because apparently they were his to take now that I had rear-ended him. Hell. Fucking. No. Biatch. I snapped into my bulldog lawyer mode and was like "I can tell you right now that you did not suffer any injury to your physical person and that if you bring this into court you will not recover a single penny because your irrational behavior will demonstrate to the jury that you are not capable of having perceived the situation in a manner that is believable, so your testimony will be deemed worthless." But, of course, he sees a white chick driving an SUV and immediately thinks that he can swindle all sorts of money from me. God, I hate being stereotyped.
Got tan from spending a ton of time by the rooftop pool. Went to The Edison alone, which was fun, but just reminded me that being attractive is a real cockblocker sometimes. I'm old-fashioned in that I believe that a guy should make the first move. And while there were a few brave souls, I just wasn't interested and they were too easily deflected (one guy actually used a classic pick-up routine that I had recognized from hanging out in pick-up artist circles online for years, and I gave him an honest legitimate answer that was totally not one of the routine answers that they tell the user to anticipate...as one of my guy friends likes to say "mind = blown").
Most of my plans to get laid did not pan out because even though Fresno Boy said he would come down for the weekend, he bailed and texted me late Saturday night that he was having car issues on Friday (hello, you could have told me on Friday, or even Saturday during the day). I then had definite plans to hook up with Craigslist Guy on Saturday at 9 pm, which he blew off without telling me, and texting him at 10 got a response that he was busy at his sister's but would be leaving soon...which turned out to be bull-fucking-shit.
Finally, at midnight on Saturday, the Back-up Plan finally declared himself to be dtf, but that I'd have to drive to his place. I was already out with a mutual friend, so I told him I'd be there shortly after I had spent a little more time with the friend. Well, he kept texting about how tired he was and asking how much longer he would have to wait. Super annoying because I was going out of my way to make it convenient for him and he was only ever the back-up plan. Anyways, I finally was heading to my car and bluntly asked him if he still wanted me to come over (which of course he did, not picking up on my pissed off attitude). So I went over, and he was all, "You have to be super quiet" (which just annoyed me more).
We get to his bedroom and start fucking while he has Pandora going on his computer. Then, that annoying-as-fuck song about shopping in a thrift store came on, which nearly killed my sexytime mood. I get playing music to set the mood, but everything should be tailored to sound sexy and annoying hipster rap isn't sexy. I got a feeling that he didn't even remember my name, which is insulting, and then he made a comment about me being on the Pill, which is even more insulting because I'm not and he and I have discussed this before. If you're going to fuck multiple people, at least keep the basic facts straight, or you can't handle sex with more than one partner. He also seemed genuinely amazed at the fact that I do shave down there and am tight (he actually asked me how I made my vagina so tight).
After the actual intercourse was over, he then proceeded to go down on me. Normally, I love being eaten out, but at that point it felt like overkill, since it was late, he had already bitched about being tired, and I had already gotten off enough during the actual intercourse. I finally get him to stop and tell him that I'll be leaving in a few minutes. This prompts him to launch into a monologue about how he has a no sleeping over policy because girls just can't take a hint to leave in the morning. What. The. Hell. First, I had just said that I wasn't spending the night. Second, I have never stayed past me welcome with him before, so I have proven myself to not fall into that category. Third, the ONLY time I spent the night was when he asked me to because he was a hardcore cuddler and actually wanted to sleep with me. LA makes every non-SoCal native a jaded asshole after a while, I swear.
Sunday morning found me by the hotel pool once again. I honestly could not shake being annoyed at being stood up by Craigslist Guy, which made me realize that I wanted a little more reliability and accountability than he was giving me. Reliability and accountability are things that only a girlfriend gets when there's sex involved, so I knew I had to end things. I tried to, but Craigslist Guy misunderstood and apologized for not warning me that he was blowing me off. I attempted to re-explain things and haven't heard from him since. 2 years and not even goodbye, despite me apologizing profusely for fucking up by wanting more. I was doing him the damn favor by not forcing him to suffer through an awkward period of me acting too "relationship-y" (he told me that he's kicked another woman to the curb for acting that way) before kicking me to the curb. He could have thanked me, but no. It really does hurt like hell, but whatever. It couldn't have lasted forever...
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Bad Sex...Part 2
...and then he immediately goes down on me, which means that I get a few minutes of blissful silence, a break from the constant commentary. At first, it's not bad because, unlike a lot of men, Mr. Merkin actually knows his way around down there. However, it rapidly becomes apparent that this guy is a one-trick pony and continually assaults my clitoris as if it isn't the most sensitive part on a woman's body. After a while, an abrasive tongue against a delicate nerve ending starts to be really uncomfortable, like rough clothing rubbing against a bad sunburn. But I, ever polite and not wanting to hurt Mr. Merkin's feelings, pretend to continue to enjoy the assault while praying that it will end soon.
Eventually, he does come up for air and leaves my poor clitoris to recover a little...and immediately insists that I start blowing him again so that he can get hard enough to fuck me. I comply to Mr. Merkin's demand, if only because I know that it will keep his face from out between my legs. He gets hard again after several minutes of more explicit instruction on how to handle his cock (because, obviously, it's been forever since I've blown him that I need to be reminded for what he likes and doesn't like). We begin fucking, and Mr. Merkin starts throwing out odd requests, like wanting me to breathe out so that he can inhale my breath and wanting me to press my nose against his closed eyes. The odd requests threw me off, which prevented me from being able to truly relax and enjoy the sexual experience. Piece of advice, if you want to engage in anything that might be considered kinky, then clear it with your partner first instead of just assuming that they will think it's the sexiest thing ever.
At this point, I am already having difficulty with getting into the sex because of the weird requests (though saying that they were requests is something of a misnomer because they were more like instructions similar to the blow job instructions). Then, it got worse. Just as I was starting to build up to a climax (I am one of those lucky bitches that can get off on vaginal intercourse alone), Mr. Merkin pulls out. And he does this almost every single time that I get close to an orgasm. What. The. Hell. It's almost as if, subconsciously, he doesn't want me to actually find the experience pleasurable. All of my pleas for him to go faster and harder so that I could actually get off are completely ignored. When Mr. Merkin finally orgasms, he talks about how great the sex was (smile and nod, people, just smile and nod) and how rare it is that two people are so into the sexual act and each other for it to be that crazy good/powerful (clearly, I deserve an Oscar for my convincing portrayal of someone who isn't completely not turned on at all, or really having any fun).
The rest of the post-coital talk leaves me wanting to look for an emergency exit. First, Mr. Merkin keeps talking about his rising comedy career in a way that I feel any moment he's going to ask me to buy stock in it. Total fucking sales pitch that could have been told to any random person walking down the street. Following his attempts to sell me his career like a time share (was I supposed to whip out a check book or have him come with me to the nearest ATM?), Mr. Merkin went on and on about how I was completely his type (ummm...okay?), how hot it was that I was so skinny (really, dude should be spending at least some time running a pro-ana website), and how hot it was that I was seven years younger than him and enjoyed pointing out how old he was when I was essentially in jailbait territory (someone clearly has suppressed pedophile fantasies).
Much of the rest of our time together continues like this, alternating between bad sex and awkward conversation, with a number of moments where I stated that I should go only to have him refuse to let me leave sprinkled throughout. It finally becomes light enough where I can see him more clearly, and he goes down on me in a last ditch effort to keep me from leaving. Well, the fact that it was finally light out really screwed Mr. Merkin over. I looked down between my legs at his naked body...
...only to see a thick patch of curly body hair on his lower back. No other noticeable body hair was present anywhere on his back, ass, or thighs from what I could see. It was so completely random that it looked like someone had super-glued a merkin down there (hence the nickname). Now, whenever I think of the guy, all I can picture in my mind is that weird patch of body hair.
Anyways, fast forward a few days later. Mr. Merkin wants to meet up again. I ask if he'd be willing to meet up for coffee (anything where I wouldn't have to see the body hair patch). This wouldn't work for him, apparently, because "when we meet in person, we fuck." Thanks for the total lack of freedom, wannabe sex dictator. Mr. Merkin also commented that he noticed I didn't orgasm. If you think your partner NEVER climaxed the ENTIRE TIME you had sex, and that sex involved multiple rounds and you giving oral sex....do you think they loved having sex with you and that it was the most amazing sexual experience that they ever had to the point of where they're dying to repeat the experience as soon as possible?
I have honestly never wanted to get naked with a person for a second time less than with Mr. Merkin.
Eventually, he does come up for air and leaves my poor clitoris to recover a little...and immediately insists that I start blowing him again so that he can get hard enough to fuck me. I comply to Mr. Merkin's demand, if only because I know that it will keep his face from out between my legs. He gets hard again after several minutes of more explicit instruction on how to handle his cock (because, obviously, it's been forever since I've blown him that I need to be reminded for what he likes and doesn't like). We begin fucking, and Mr. Merkin starts throwing out odd requests, like wanting me to breathe out so that he can inhale my breath and wanting me to press my nose against his closed eyes. The odd requests threw me off, which prevented me from being able to truly relax and enjoy the sexual experience. Piece of advice, if you want to engage in anything that might be considered kinky, then clear it with your partner first instead of just assuming that they will think it's the sexiest thing ever.
At this point, I am already having difficulty with getting into the sex because of the weird requests (though saying that they were requests is something of a misnomer because they were more like instructions similar to the blow job instructions). Then, it got worse. Just as I was starting to build up to a climax (I am one of those lucky bitches that can get off on vaginal intercourse alone), Mr. Merkin pulls out. And he does this almost every single time that I get close to an orgasm. What. The. Hell. It's almost as if, subconsciously, he doesn't want me to actually find the experience pleasurable. All of my pleas for him to go faster and harder so that I could actually get off are completely ignored. When Mr. Merkin finally orgasms, he talks about how great the sex was (smile and nod, people, just smile and nod) and how rare it is that two people are so into the sexual act and each other for it to be that crazy good/powerful (clearly, I deserve an Oscar for my convincing portrayal of someone who isn't completely not turned on at all, or really having any fun).
The rest of the post-coital talk leaves me wanting to look for an emergency exit. First, Mr. Merkin keeps talking about his rising comedy career in a way that I feel any moment he's going to ask me to buy stock in it. Total fucking sales pitch that could have been told to any random person walking down the street. Following his attempts to sell me his career like a time share (was I supposed to whip out a check book or have him come with me to the nearest ATM?), Mr. Merkin went on and on about how I was completely his type (ummm...okay?), how hot it was that I was so skinny (really, dude should be spending at least some time running a pro-ana website), and how hot it was that I was seven years younger than him and enjoyed pointing out how old he was when I was essentially in jailbait territory (someone clearly has suppressed pedophile fantasies).
Much of the rest of our time together continues like this, alternating between bad sex and awkward conversation, with a number of moments where I stated that I should go only to have him refuse to let me leave sprinkled throughout. It finally becomes light enough where I can see him more clearly, and he goes down on me in a last ditch effort to keep me from leaving. Well, the fact that it was finally light out really screwed Mr. Merkin over. I looked down between my legs at his naked body...
...only to see a thick patch of curly body hair on his lower back. No other noticeable body hair was present anywhere on his back, ass, or thighs from what I could see. It was so completely random that it looked like someone had super-glued a merkin down there (hence the nickname). Now, whenever I think of the guy, all I can picture in my mind is that weird patch of body hair.
Anyways, fast forward a few days later. Mr. Merkin wants to meet up again. I ask if he'd be willing to meet up for coffee (anything where I wouldn't have to see the body hair patch). This wouldn't work for him, apparently, because "when we meet in person, we fuck." Thanks for the total lack of freedom, wannabe sex dictator. Mr. Merkin also commented that he noticed I didn't orgasm. If you think your partner NEVER climaxed the ENTIRE TIME you had sex, and that sex involved multiple rounds and you giving oral sex....do you think they loved having sex with you and that it was the most amazing sexual experience that they ever had to the point of where they're dying to repeat the experience as soon as possible?
I have honestly never wanted to get naked with a person for a second time less than with Mr. Merkin.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Bad Sex
It's been about a year since I had actual bad sex, but yesterday's encounter has left me scarred enough that I don't think that I'm going to be looking for a new sex partner anytime soon.
It all started on Tinder, which is the magical app that lets you be as shallow as you want without any repercussions (basically coming off as a shallow bitch that is just looking for another trophy notch).
So this guy (let's call him Mr. Merkin...you'll see why later) appears to be physically attractive in his photos, which were not "MySpace angles" (yes, I did just age myself there), and so I swiped right. Well, we were matched up immediately, and within seconds he sends a really stupid opening that he must have copied verbatim out of a "How To Bang Jailbait" guide:
"Well so far I'm most interested in you and not going to just F-off and say stupid shit. Basically your attractive,seem sincere and look down to earth about expectations On what you want out of life. "
Uh, you just did say stupid shit by pretending to think all of that by a few pictures. Nobody can tell that a person is "sincere" and "down to earth" just by seeing a few pictures of them that don't involve them doling out food to emaciated kids in Africa or chilling with Mother Teresa. So let's apply a translation:
Seem sincere = you seem like you're clingy/pro-monogamy enough to be hitting me up for sex more than once after the first time
Look down to earth about expectations = you will go for a guy that is seriously ugly because you aren't that shallow so I will look hot compared to the other guys you've banged in the past, meaning that you will be grateful that someone as attractive as me is actually willing to get naked with you
On what you want out of life = you will understand that this is just casual sex and not want/expect/demand that I do anything for/to you but stick my penis into one of your orifices only when I feel like it
I decided to give Mr. Merkin the benefit of the doubt and go along with it because I wanted to find a new local sex partner and he did appear to be physically attractive. We keep chatting and he says that he's a former pro BMX rider, which is kind of sexy (Googleable names are always sexy because they are extra bragging points), especially when I looked him up and realized that I must have seen him compete at the X Games when I was 13 (additional sexy factor for being someone that my young self thought was a totally enviable badass at the time). At this point, I'm pretty much dtf, even though our conversation never actually veers toward sex and he keeps dropping lines like this:
"I want to meet you but am willing to be patient. I have a feeling about you that you're worth it."
And this:
"I like how Introspective you are and you're very detailed. I think that we will enjoy each other's company and have great conversation."
Which, to be honest, seriously made me cringe. Seriously, did Mr. Merkin think he was trying to seduce a "wait until marriage" virgin?
After about 32 hours of this, Mr. Merkin drops the act and essentially says that he's tired of pretending to be interested in the boring shit I've been droning on about, that he's proven by this point that he's not an asshole because he's put up with it for so long, and that I should hop in his penis asap to reward him for his good behavior. Fuck you very much for wasting all this time before getting to the point and thinking that I'm a gullible bimbo that will fall for your obviously cheesy lines (I don't take it well when people assume that I don't have two brain cells to rub together just because I have spent so much time, money, and energy into becoming somewhat educated). Normally I'd bail, but he backpedaled and said that he really was being sincere about everything else he said (says every wannabe player that crashes and burns on a regular basis). Plus, I'm really making a concerted effort not to be as much of a jaded bitch as I have been for the past decade or so.
So then it's just whatever, I'm not opposed to getting it on eventually, but there was no way in hell I was just going to hop into bed with him. And we're texting, but Mr. Merkin keeps pushing to meet up that night, despite the fact that I'm already in bed and half asleep. I cave because I know that if I didn't, my phone would be inundated with texts from him (probably all of them conveying the same general angry message with lots of name-calling), and I need to have the volume up on my phone when I go to sleep because that serves as my alarm. I told Mr. Merkin that there was no way in hell that he would be coming over to my place (I'm not going to give my address to a guy that is already waving red flags like he's a freakin' marching band dancer), but that I'd be cool with meeting in a neutral location. Well, this pissed him off because he thought that I should just trust him. Fuck that, it's a complete stranger from the internet, and I didn't want to be the first victim of the Tinder serial killer. Once he calmed down (take a damn Xanax dude), Mr. Merkin agreed to meet me in a park within walking distance of my place (and across the street from a police station).
I show up before Mr. Merkin without any make-up on because I didn't give a shit about making an effort with my looks for an asshole that dragged me out of bed. When he finally shows up about 15 minutes later, Mr. Merkin immediately starts shoving his tongue down my throat in an aggressive make out session. My vagina overruled my mind and I just went along with it. After a few minutes, Mr. Merkin suggested that we go to his car, and I agreed, though only to get out of the cold. Once we sit down in his car, Mr. Merkin then showed me the "cool" feature of his Honda family car (I definitely felt my attraction level drop a little more when I saw that car), which was that all of the seats lay down completely flat. Really smooth right then. A cop car went rolling by, so we did have to move the car because nothing says fun like being arrested for indecent exposure in public.
Mr. Merkin then parked the car a few blocks away along one of the busier streets in the area, and then he proceeded to strip naked and told me to suck his penis. I obliged, if only because it would make him very hard that much quicker. He then began to instruct me on what to do, when to do it, and how to do it, and this was how it was for the rest of the evening. It felt like a stage director telling an actor exactly how to play the scene rather than anything remotely sexy, which is weird coming from me because I love being somewhat submissive. However, I learned at that moment that there's giving a gentle command because you're the dominant one in the situation, and just completely disconnecting from enjoying the experience to essentially instruct someone as if you're a teacher and someone is trying something for the first time on a dildo and you're helping them learn just what to do. I finally get him off... To Be Continued. ;)
It all started on Tinder, which is the magical app that lets you be as shallow as you want without any repercussions (basically coming off as a shallow bitch that is just looking for another trophy notch).
So this guy (let's call him Mr. Merkin...you'll see why later) appears to be physically attractive in his photos, which were not "MySpace angles" (yes, I did just age myself there), and so I swiped right. Well, we were matched up immediately, and within seconds he sends a really stupid opening that he must have copied verbatim out of a "How To Bang Jailbait" guide:
"Well so far I'm most interested in you and not going to just F-off and say stupid shit. Basically your attractive,seem sincere and look down to earth about expectations On what you want out of life. "
Uh, you just did say stupid shit by pretending to think all of that by a few pictures. Nobody can tell that a person is "sincere" and "down to earth" just by seeing a few pictures of them that don't involve them doling out food to emaciated kids in Africa or chilling with Mother Teresa. So let's apply a translation:
Seem sincere = you seem like you're clingy/pro-monogamy enough to be hitting me up for sex more than once after the first time
Look down to earth about expectations = you will go for a guy that is seriously ugly because you aren't that shallow so I will look hot compared to the other guys you've banged in the past, meaning that you will be grateful that someone as attractive as me is actually willing to get naked with you
On what you want out of life = you will understand that this is just casual sex and not want/expect/demand that I do anything for/to you but stick my penis into one of your orifices only when I feel like it
I decided to give Mr. Merkin the benefit of the doubt and go along with it because I wanted to find a new local sex partner and he did appear to be physically attractive. We keep chatting and he says that he's a former pro BMX rider, which is kind of sexy (Googleable names are always sexy because they are extra bragging points), especially when I looked him up and realized that I must have seen him compete at the X Games when I was 13 (additional sexy factor for being someone that my young self thought was a totally enviable badass at the time). At this point, I'm pretty much dtf, even though our conversation never actually veers toward sex and he keeps dropping lines like this:
"I want to meet you but am willing to be patient. I have a feeling about you that you're worth it."
And this:
"I like how Introspective you are and you're very detailed. I think that we will enjoy each other's company and have great conversation."
Which, to be honest, seriously made me cringe. Seriously, did Mr. Merkin think he was trying to seduce a "wait until marriage" virgin?
After about 32 hours of this, Mr. Merkin drops the act and essentially says that he's tired of pretending to be interested in the boring shit I've been droning on about, that he's proven by this point that he's not an asshole because he's put up with it for so long, and that I should hop in his penis asap to reward him for his good behavior. Fuck you very much for wasting all this time before getting to the point and thinking that I'm a gullible bimbo that will fall for your obviously cheesy lines (I don't take it well when people assume that I don't have two brain cells to rub together just because I have spent so much time, money, and energy into becoming somewhat educated). Normally I'd bail, but he backpedaled and said that he really was being sincere about everything else he said (says every wannabe player that crashes and burns on a regular basis). Plus, I'm really making a concerted effort not to be as much of a jaded bitch as I have been for the past decade or so.
So then it's just whatever, I'm not opposed to getting it on eventually, but there was no way in hell I was just going to hop into bed with him. And we're texting, but Mr. Merkin keeps pushing to meet up that night, despite the fact that I'm already in bed and half asleep. I cave because I know that if I didn't, my phone would be inundated with texts from him (probably all of them conveying the same general angry message with lots of name-calling), and I need to have the volume up on my phone when I go to sleep because that serves as my alarm. I told Mr. Merkin that there was no way in hell that he would be coming over to my place (I'm not going to give my address to a guy that is already waving red flags like he's a freakin' marching band dancer), but that I'd be cool with meeting in a neutral location. Well, this pissed him off because he thought that I should just trust him. Fuck that, it's a complete stranger from the internet, and I didn't want to be the first victim of the Tinder serial killer. Once he calmed down (take a damn Xanax dude), Mr. Merkin agreed to meet me in a park within walking distance of my place (and across the street from a police station).
I show up before Mr. Merkin without any make-up on because I didn't give a shit about making an effort with my looks for an asshole that dragged me out of bed. When he finally shows up about 15 minutes later, Mr. Merkin immediately starts shoving his tongue down my throat in an aggressive make out session. My vagina overruled my mind and I just went along with it. After a few minutes, Mr. Merkin suggested that we go to his car, and I agreed, though only to get out of the cold. Once we sit down in his car, Mr. Merkin then showed me the "cool" feature of his Honda family car (I definitely felt my attraction level drop a little more when I saw that car), which was that all of the seats lay down completely flat. Really smooth right then. A cop car went rolling by, so we did have to move the car because nothing says fun like being arrested for indecent exposure in public.
Mr. Merkin then parked the car a few blocks away along one of the busier streets in the area, and then he proceeded to strip naked and told me to suck his penis. I obliged, if only because it would make him very hard that much quicker. He then began to instruct me on what to do, when to do it, and how to do it, and this was how it was for the rest of the evening. It felt like a stage director telling an actor exactly how to play the scene rather than anything remotely sexy, which is weird coming from me because I love being somewhat submissive. However, I learned at that moment that there's giving a gentle command because you're the dominant one in the situation, and just completely disconnecting from enjoying the experience to essentially instruct someone as if you're a teacher and someone is trying something for the first time on a dildo and you're helping them learn just what to do. I finally get him off... To Be Continued. ;)
Friday, May 10, 2013
Sacrificing myself for your love
Part of growing up is giving up things that make you hold onto your reckless youth, the items and bad habits that defined you as immature.
I'm currently on the path to becoming a proper girlfriend to a guy that, like all of the other men I've been in proper relationships with, is way more into me than I am into him. However, it's a potential shot at getting married and having kids, so I'm sticking with it. How else am I supposed to find someone willing to marry me? I wouldn't be the first woman in the history of the world to settle massively just to get a husband and kids.
The real tragedy though is that I will have to give up Craigslist Guy. I don't mind giving up my other fuck buddies, especially since I'm getting bored. One I've only fucked twice, so that's easy enough, and the other is being too clingy, wanting to have "things" with me as if I'm his girlfriend (he didn't want that, so he doesn't get any perks). But Craigslist Guy....
If we're still in contact by the end of July, that'll be 2 years, which is a long time. It's already the longest, and admittedly healthiest, nonfriendship I've ever had. Hell, it's more positive than some of my friendships. However, I do have an emotional attachment to a certain extent to him in part because there is mutual trust and respect, and I'm more open and honest with him than with anyone else. My friends that I've consulted (I'm a girl, we consult the tribe on every major decision) have said that I should just try dating him, but I don't think that's what Craigslist Guy wants. He's already rejected another fuck buddy for wanting a relationship that he banged while he was screwing me. It just blows, but he's coming up at the end of the month, so I can end things then...and grow up a bit.
I'm currently on the path to becoming a proper girlfriend to a guy that, like all of the other men I've been in proper relationships with, is way more into me than I am into him. However, it's a potential shot at getting married and having kids, so I'm sticking with it. How else am I supposed to find someone willing to marry me? I wouldn't be the first woman in the history of the world to settle massively just to get a husband and kids.
The real tragedy though is that I will have to give up Craigslist Guy. I don't mind giving up my other fuck buddies, especially since I'm getting bored. One I've only fucked twice, so that's easy enough, and the other is being too clingy, wanting to have "things" with me as if I'm his girlfriend (he didn't want that, so he doesn't get any perks). But Craigslist Guy....
If we're still in contact by the end of July, that'll be 2 years, which is a long time. It's already the longest, and admittedly healthiest, nonfriendship I've ever had. Hell, it's more positive than some of my friendships. However, I do have an emotional attachment to a certain extent to him in part because there is mutual trust and respect, and I'm more open and honest with him than with anyone else. My friends that I've consulted (I'm a girl, we consult the tribe on every major decision) have said that I should just try dating him, but I don't think that's what Craigslist Guy wants. He's already rejected another fuck buddy for wanting a relationship that he banged while he was screwing me. It just blows, but he's coming up at the end of the month, so I can end things then...and grow up a bit.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Seriously?
You ever have one of those days when you feel like the world is intentionally messing with your head and you don't know what you did to deserve to feel so royally screwed over? Today is one of those days for me.
It really started on Friday. To begin with, I have had a massive crush on Lance Bass since I was 12. I still would love to have that man's babies even though the whole world knows that Lance Bass is gay.
Anyways, I was down in LA for the week, and I had bugged my friend into setting me up on a blind date of sorts (I was going to meet him, his girlfriend, and my blind date for drinks) because I'm sick of sucking at dates and figured that since I could get away with never seeing the blind date again and couldn't expect much (given the distance) I could be as awkward as I wanted to and maybe work out some kinks in my game.
Well, my friend sent me a picture earlier in the day on Friday of him and the blind date. All I could think of was "Holy shit, this guy looks like a dark-haired version of Lance Bass." My friend obviously does not know of my deep-rooted obsession with Lance Bass (I still have a number of magazines with him on the cover from my teenybopper days), or he never would have set us up. Not only did this guy look exactly like Lance Bass (just different hair/eye color), but he was funny, sweet, smart/educated, and mentally stable (or appeared to be, which is good enough). Basically everything that a woman could want in a man. We hooked up that night, and yes, the sex was fantastic. So, I got to live out my long-held teen fantasy of doing Lance Bass (except, y'know, a straight version). Dating was obviously not an option, but he was fine with me holding onto his number and letting him know the next time I was heading down to LA.
Then, I found out yesterday (less than 24 hours ago, actually) that he's 4 years younger than me. Now, dating wouldn't even be an option even if I was living in SoCal because he's too young. Plus, I now feel like a washed-up old cougar getting with someone so much younger than me.
Shitty thing #2 that happened was that I got a call from Central Casting today asking if I could work tomorrow on a tv show. I had signed up with them almost 2 years ago when I was working in SoCal, but had never actually gotten any jobs through them. However, today I got called because production had selected my photo (meaning that they wanted me, not just a general type) and they wanted me to work Union ($150/8 hours), which is a big deal considering I'm non-union. Of course I couldn't do it since I'm not currently in LA.
FML
It really started on Friday. To begin with, I have had a massive crush on Lance Bass since I was 12. I still would love to have that man's babies even though the whole world knows that Lance Bass is gay.
Anyways, I was down in LA for the week, and I had bugged my friend into setting me up on a blind date of sorts (I was going to meet him, his girlfriend, and my blind date for drinks) because I'm sick of sucking at dates and figured that since I could get away with never seeing the blind date again and couldn't expect much (given the distance) I could be as awkward as I wanted to and maybe work out some kinks in my game.
Well, my friend sent me a picture earlier in the day on Friday of him and the blind date. All I could think of was "Holy shit, this guy looks like a dark-haired version of Lance Bass." My friend obviously does not know of my deep-rooted obsession with Lance Bass (I still have a number of magazines with him on the cover from my teenybopper days), or he never would have set us up. Not only did this guy look exactly like Lance Bass (just different hair/eye color), but he was funny, sweet, smart/educated, and mentally stable (or appeared to be, which is good enough). Basically everything that a woman could want in a man. We hooked up that night, and yes, the sex was fantastic. So, I got to live out my long-held teen fantasy of doing Lance Bass (except, y'know, a straight version). Dating was obviously not an option, but he was fine with me holding onto his number and letting him know the next time I was heading down to LA.
Then, I found out yesterday (less than 24 hours ago, actually) that he's 4 years younger than me. Now, dating wouldn't even be an option even if I was living in SoCal because he's too young. Plus, I now feel like a washed-up old cougar getting with someone so much younger than me.
Shitty thing #2 that happened was that I got a call from Central Casting today asking if I could work tomorrow on a tv show. I had signed up with them almost 2 years ago when I was working in SoCal, but had never actually gotten any jobs through them. However, today I got called because production had selected my photo (meaning that they wanted me, not just a general type) and they wanted me to work Union ($150/8 hours), which is a big deal considering I'm non-union. Of course I couldn't do it since I'm not currently in LA.
FML
Friday, March 22, 2013
2 useless degrees later...
Working part-time is frustrating now that I don't have the bar to study for anymore (at least for now). Once my work for the week is done by Thursday morning, I spend almost all of my time looking for a "grown-up" job, as in full-time with a livable salary and benefits. Being stuck living at my parents is horrific because it is infantilizing. For example, if I want to go out, I must inform them of where I am going and with whom, and I must return within the time frame that I give them for my excursion. If I do not tell them this information, that I will be subject to an interrogation and constant check-ins via my cell phone. I just want a job that pays enough for me to move out of my parents' house (again). But having wasted so much time on education has left my looking for entry-level jobs while people my age generally have already climbed the corporate ladder to the middle rungs and can apply for jobs that require experience.
Perhaps I should turn to writing romance novels, since my staid life is as dreary as any bored housewife's that is the typical fan of said trash...
Perhaps I should turn to writing romance novels, since my staid life is as dreary as any bored housewife's that is the typical fan of said trash...
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Have a fuckall New Year. :)
In my continuing downward spiral of self-pity, I spent New Year's Eve at an intimate gathering at my parents' friends' house. It was just me, 4 middle-aged couples, and one of the husband's elderly father making polite conversation while drinking wine and champers. No one got drunk, no one flirted, and I don't even want to think of the possibility of any of those people getting laid (EW! The only "old people" sex I want to see happen involves Johnny Depp... preferably solo). Most anti-NYE of all...the party ended at 10:30 pm (when you party with the "over the hill" crowd, regular bedtimes are regarded as unbreakable appointments). It was less than thrilling. At least I was the youngest, prettiest, and skinniest bitch there. :)
When I relayed all of this to the guy I'm currently non-exclusively dating (let's call him NED), his response was "I'm glad you at least did something. I was worried you'd just be stuck at home." Absolute sign that I am pathetic. I've honestly never liked NYE parties because it's always an overpriced, unsophisticated clusterfuck. Instead, my tradition is a bottle of champagne, a hoard of junk food, and a stack of DVDs (all movies that came out in 2012 that I kind of wanted to see but never got around to watching until NYE). Why wasn't I out with NED? It's not that he didn't invite me to tag along. However, I'm on the rag and, thus, my vag is unavailable for sex right now. That all means that NED was going to be on the prowl for a one night stand, if not also someone new to date. You know things are about as casual as they could possibly be if you aren't being asked for a proper date on NYE, but merely invited to be the "plus one" the day of, and a date doesn't happen unless sex is also going to happen (they aren't emotionally invested in you so that they want to spend time with you as a person by itself). We've been dating for almost a month, so by now he should have figured out if he wants to make the commitment to dating exclusively. I'm giving NED an additional week to make up for the fact that Christmas happened this month, and no one can expect to spend any quality time with someone new with all of the forced family time and other holiday craziness. Also, that way the end can coincide with one of my new-ish favorite bands playing in a nearby city. So, tell him to not text/call me anymore unless we both want just sex, and then go dance my ass off to a fan-fucking-tastic rock n roll band. Perfect Friday night. Followed by the next weekend when I'll be fucking Craigslist Guy for one last time (because it is kind of immature to continue on casual sex when I'm at a point when I need to get a rock on my ring finger and a baby in my uterus) and erasing the memory of sex with NED (which is pretty great, but no one's as straight-up amazing as CG...and every time is better than the last, mostly because we don't get to fuck that often and, therefore, can't wear each other out or get used to each other).
So here's to the new year. May your 2013 be filled with mind-blowing sex and entertaining drunk adventures. :)
When I relayed all of this to the guy I'm currently non-exclusively dating (let's call him NED), his response was "I'm glad you at least did something. I was worried you'd just be stuck at home." Absolute sign that I am pathetic. I've honestly never liked NYE parties because it's always an overpriced, unsophisticated clusterfuck. Instead, my tradition is a bottle of champagne, a hoard of junk food, and a stack of DVDs (all movies that came out in 2012 that I kind of wanted to see but never got around to watching until NYE). Why wasn't I out with NED? It's not that he didn't invite me to tag along. However, I'm on the rag and, thus, my vag is unavailable for sex right now. That all means that NED was going to be on the prowl for a one night stand, if not also someone new to date. You know things are about as casual as they could possibly be if you aren't being asked for a proper date on NYE, but merely invited to be the "plus one" the day of, and a date doesn't happen unless sex is also going to happen (they aren't emotionally invested in you so that they want to spend time with you as a person by itself). We've been dating for almost a month, so by now he should have figured out if he wants to make the commitment to dating exclusively. I'm giving NED an additional week to make up for the fact that Christmas happened this month, and no one can expect to spend any quality time with someone new with all of the forced family time and other holiday craziness. Also, that way the end can coincide with one of my new-ish favorite bands playing in a nearby city. So, tell him to not text/call me anymore unless we both want just sex, and then go dance my ass off to a fan-fucking-tastic rock n roll band. Perfect Friday night. Followed by the next weekend when I'll be fucking Craigslist Guy for one last time (because it is kind of immature to continue on casual sex when I'm at a point when I need to get a rock on my ring finger and a baby in my uterus) and erasing the memory of sex with NED (which is pretty great, but no one's as straight-up amazing as CG...and every time is better than the last, mostly because we don't get to fuck that often and, therefore, can't wear each other out or get used to each other).
So here's to the new year. May your 2013 be filled with mind-blowing sex and entertaining drunk adventures. :)
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