Confessions.of.a.NYC.Lezie

I will admit that sometimes I have a tendency to live my life in major extremes. I can be terribly motivated or not so much, satiated with joy or crushed by despondency, excitedly optimistic or absurdly pessimistic.

I think we can all be a little like what I described. Of course not in a mentally unstable way – of course, but in a way that can be entertaining. For example – One day I am convinced that I will never date another woman again, I will never speak to the Pearl or that I will die alone in my bedroom surrounded by paraphernalia or collectables that creepy old ladies have in their living rooms and no one will know that I even existed.

And then there are days where I am so optimistic about my future that I am mentally monogramming towels for the guest bathroom and planning perfect outings and the perfect outfits and being annoyingly cheerful about the romantic road ahead.

Take the Pearl (who, it is worth noting, called. Of course I didn’t pick up. The last time I heard from her was last week – Wednesday. Really.) Something about tall girls with blonde hair sends me into a state of frenzied hopefulness that lasts until something crazy happens – like she disappears for good, or another woman does something so terribly stupid that I lose faith in the entire gender or someone I know announces that they are engaged/pregnant and I start mentally counting how many years I have left until I get too old to “do it”.

I haven’t quite decided if optimistic or pessimistic is easier for me – on one hand I am somewhat of a hopeless romantic who does want to believe that there is someone out there for me. On the other hand, I have dated some of the least eligible women in the tri-state area, been lied to, emotionally misled, made to feel inferior by some and generally creeped out by others. I could choose pessimism, and who would blame me? Conversely, I could plug my fingers in my ears and ignore the mounting evidence against happily ever after for a little longer, choosing instead to default to the fairy tale stories that nurtured my dreams as a child.

I try to maintain a balance – hopeful enough to stay open to a relationship, but cynical enough not to fall for the first lady who buys me a beer and checks out my ass. But I am constantly teetering between WOE is me and one day my Prince(ss) WILL come.

…I’d miss going to work. Today was my first day back since I got sick and it feels amazing. It’s weird. Work is my escape in a way. I get to boss people around, I get to tell my intern to get me coffee and make 800 copies when I only needed one. I’m kidding. I am actually really nice to her. She bakes me cookies and brownies and I give her an extra 10 minutes for lunch. Pretty fair deal. I was an intern once; I know how cruel interning can be – getting coffee, making paper clip jewelry, staring at the walls, shopping online – interning can be a bitch.

This morning I actually woke up an hour before my alarm went off. I heard the birds chirping, and the sun creeping through my curtains and gently tickling my eyelids and I said to myself “what a wonderful world”. I kid you not.

I had set my clothes aside the night before like I always do. I hate rushing in the morning. So anyway, got in this morning and found a pile of things to do, which I am staring at right now with the “I kinda don’t give a fuck – but what the heck, It will give me something to do later”.

But anyway, no Happy Hours are scheduled for the next two weeks. Now that’s something I am not looking forward to. No social interactions, no steamy love making, no booze or cigarettes (I quit – FYI whatever happened to my lungs was not caused by nicotine, thankyouverymuch) and no more booze – fuck I already said that. No more yoga?!?!? My social skill points a la SIMS will probably be in the negatives starting tomorrow. So sad.

Ok now its time to go take my pills and two puffs of Abuterol. I am short of breath.

Gravity can mean a lot of things – sometimes absurd things like love. Gravity to me, at this point in my life means finding some sense and meaning to my life. I need gravity to keep me stable to the ground or I should say – sky. Sometimes I feel like I am not in reality and only seeing the world as a picturesque daydream.

I have this invisible metaphorical rope pulling me in every direction. Right now I feel like I am being pulled and tugged across hidden valleys, incredible mountains, across oceans and right back to solid grounds. What does it all means? Indecisiveness. Confusion. Lost.

I need that gravity. I need some sort of sign to lead me where I should be going. But honestly, what I am looking for is pulling against me in a way. The one thing I want the most has been taken, the least that I can do is pull myself away from it for now – forever. I feel like I am begging, begging to be heard but I can’t. I have never used gravity in a sense where it was my only hope. Gravity is my enormity.

The other night (in my dreams) she married her woman. For some reason I was there, standing next to her friends, crying as I saw my life crumbling before my eyes. In my pocket was a wedding ring- my grandmother’s. I stood among some guests as her woman made her way down the aisle, my eyes full of tears, which kept creeping down my face because I knew that she was no longer the one. Instead of me walking to the altar and hearing the wedding bells ringing and seeing her glorious face at the end of that carpet – I was a guest. I watched her waiting for the love of her life as I was waiting for my life to end.

My dreams are sometimes harsh. Sometimes they are so real and scary. But that wedding dream was a wake up call – literally. I was there, the ring in my pocket. I had my hands in my pocket to make sure that it was safe and I would play with it – running my finger tip along the edge of the diamond, circling it to the point where my finger burned. It just seemed nearly impossible to hold myself. She looked my way a few times and turned her eyes to her prize possession walking.

She was gone. Gone for good. It feels like once someone gets married your chance to carpe diem is lost. And so I fell back in my chair and watched her say goodbye to me with her “I do”. I nodded. I woke up hurt like it really happened. I cried.

I am not even too sure why I was there, but I was. The worst thing EVER was that she had no idea how I felt. She saw the tears as me being happy, she saw my eyes and never wondered. I think her not knowing hurt me even more.

I just need one gentle push. Instead of me wondering what I am doing so wrong I need that guidance. I don’t want to be the pilot with a broken heart, I want reality, I need time, I need to wake up and not have to worry about my dreams and what they really mean, I need gravity.

I am writing to you from my hospital bed. Since this is about me talking about myself and my misadventure full of madness - well this one.

Sorry. Im on the bberry. And im too lazy to check for spelling

I don't remember much of yesterday, but according to my sister and parents - i was a mess. They heard me cough from my room, what sounded more like a death cough and soon after they heard my puppy cry, which was strange to them. They ran up to my room and found my dog licking my face and sort of bitting my lip to try to wake me up. Let me tell ya, my parents are both docs and i guess when they have to deal with their own kids being extremely sick it puts another feeling in them. My dad picked me up and drove to the ER and i was awake at some point. - rememeber telling my nurse not to worry, let my mom do everythingn all the shots would be fine. Then my mother said that my entire body turned frigid cold and my completely white. Of course my dad freaked out and left my mom with me along with the other docs.

Fast foward (it was about 10am when i got to the ER) its 9pm and none of the meds are kicking in. It all started with an asthma attack - weezing, coughing, having trouble to breathe. But the docs were still unsure - my xrays pointed out some inflamation in my right lung and some major infection which may have cause some bacterial damage to my lungs. Which leaves me with just one lung to function. Last night i was intubated to the max. My parents were freaking out, the doctors were freaking out and i on the other hand, kept saying desperate housssewiiiife finale...fuck. Take me home.. Bring the oxygen, i'll be fine.

But in reality, i was shitting in my pants. My parents are very calm people, and seeing them all worried, my mom strocking my arm because i was in so much pain, and having my dad telling me that i am a champ. I teared, i teared alot.

I woke up this morning, with my mom next to me and a nurse trying to draw some more blood- now my freakin arm is blue. I am doing a lot better. I dont need all the extra oxygen, so im only on my nasal oxygen thingy, and every four hrs i have my treatments for my lungs. And 6 times a day i gotta have a lady check out my tits and vag - i am being violated.

I should be here for the next few days, my intern came in this morning so that we can work on my clients and my boss is being a dad and checking in.

I have to admit here, i have never been in so much pain in my life. But i am a big girls, and girls dont cry. Truthfully, i may be writing this now, and you dont see me because i am obviously very far away but behind me typing and telling you this, i am as scared as anyone would be.

Dont worry, im not dying -yet. Hahaha. The priest guy came in this morning and said a little prayer for my gay soul.

Btw, the nurses and docs kept asking if i were pregnant and my mother who was vry cranky said "my daughter is gay, she's'catholic, can we move on please!!!

Until then- ciao

A fter my extreme amount of champagne-filled night yesterday, I forced myself to the gym during my lunch break.

It always makes me feel better about myself when I work out instead of shoving down greasy cafeteria food down my throat at work. On the plus side, there are really good looking mid-town stay at home wives at my gym during the hours of 12 and 2p.

After my 40 minute workout, I run to the locker room and took a quick shower and came back to my spot to find a woman standing – naked, her crotch almost touching my shit to the point where I wanted to tell her to get her vag off my suit. But I didn’t. I made believe I was fixing my hair in the mirror and waited patiently for the exhibitionist to get away from my locker.

So wouldn’t you know it, I waited for 2 minutes and she didn’t move—she decided to apply lotion all over her naked body—it reminded me of that Demi Moore movie when she was a stripper and dressed as a teacher. I don’t know. It just did.

Now, I don’t think I look like a licker. Although many women showed interest in the locker room and during yoga…but this particular woman kept smiling at me..and I’m pretty sure she was smiling at me in a very inappropriate way. I looked directly her way and her eyes locked on mine. I am not shy, if someone smiles, I will smile back except…when I am rushing to go to work, PMSing, in the elevator at 530pm or reading at Barnes.

She was something else. She made me blush. It was probably the fact that she was greasing up her body or Demi’s movie. Not too sure. But I can’t remember the last time I blushed that noticeably. I could feel the redness creeping over my cheecks, and after quickly smiling back I looked away, afraid to sneak another peek. I seemed that shy!

There are times when I can’t handle when men or women catcall me or make stupid remarks and I get really upset when someone gets too close to me on the subway. But throw a cute all greased up naked girl my way and I’m a total loser.

E ven with the monsoon weather or what looked liked scenes from War of the World, the Writer and I managed to attend the event of the month. I can’t say event of the year, but there are so many other events that are much better than the Sex Museum Gala – like the Met annual costume ball.

The wind and the rain died around 6pm, which allowed us to look stunning for the night. I wore a plain little black dress with a skinny red and black belt and wore some killer (literally) red stilettos (my feet still hurt). The Writer looked amazing. She wore black tuxedo pants, black button down and red suspenders, and black stiletto pumps – it sounds so not hot, but it was.

So we marched in, showed our VIP tickets, grabbed some champagne and headed to the back where the majority of the celebs were. I always feel more confident with a glass in my hand/stomach. As soon as I walked in the VIP area, I saw Mr. Perez Hilton. He is probably one of my favorite Queens. I introduced myself and we chatted for a mere 2 seconds until his bitch – Dita Von Teese showed up and scooped him up and dragged him to the other D fucking Listed Celebs. She is amazingly hot but in a weird pin up chick way. Her performances were steamy and people could not keep their eyes off of them. Mine were set on a gorgeous pair (exposed) of breast. I was only focused on them and nothing else mattered. Come on, give me a break; the breast bearer wore a mesh dress!!!!

The Writer and I picked up our gift bags on our way out and we were flabbergasted at the “gifts”. Dildos and vibrators, lube and “other” accessories. I turned red as soon as the Writer gave me a “you wanna give these things a test ride” kinda look. But what she probably meant was “shit, I already have these!” either way, it was worth the blushing.

The night ended well for me, slightly buzzed, I hailed a cab and went home to my lovely, clean-sheeted bed.

This morning, my alarm must have rang for a long time because I don’t remember doing my usual 3 time snoozing. I got up at 730 and got ready in less than 20 minutes. No shower, same makeup from last night and I probably look like I’ve been to war.

I don’t care.

T onight is a big night in NYC. The Museum of Sex Gala. It is one of those events in NYC where C and D-listed Celebs will be there to grab free shit at the gift section in the VIP rooms where I will also be snatching up some goodies. I am crossing my fingers on some 7 Jeans.

I am staring out my office window and it looks like the horrible Tom Cruise movie "War of the World". I kid you not. I got a little nervous when I saw the bids flying away and heading north it must mean that they are running away from Aliens - right? There are ginormous black clouds and I can't even see Central Park anymore. It's terrifying because my hair looks amazing and by the time I will get home to get ready for the D-list party of the year, my hair will be an uncontrollable frizz ball. I don't know maybe it will be the new Hairdo for the summer.

Also, I just got a call from my brother who is home probably watching porn who told me that the tree in my front yard disappeared. So I said "What the fuck do you mean disappeared? like Harry Potter...Boom shakalaka Boom, uhh abracadabra??" then I realized I was making the subject worst then it already was. I hung up and said my sweet prayers of forgiveness. I don't mess with nature.

Now...I can't have my cigarette break on my walk to the subway because I will have to run to find shelter in this stormy weather and it upsets me.

In conclusion, I hate it when it pours and when my hair looks like crap!

Text from an ex (Let's call her Bible - she's the girl next door, hallelujah praise the Lord Amen church kinda girl but fucks like a pornstar):

"There's a bit of me that thinks we should have one big night and then call it a day and delete each others numbers from our phones."

Who the hell does she think she is? I hope she was high on crack, because she obviously has no idea who she is dealing with. what am I... a piece of meat?

First reaction: So all this time we've been having "pleasant" conversations about our lives, you've been wishing I'd shut up and/or initiate a bout of text sex? Well isn't that just lovely. You know what? maybe we should do that. Or maybe we should skip the sex and I'll just delete you anyway.

Second reaction: But then again, she is hot , in a serious i'mgettingmarried relationship, and she has balls to talk to me that way - it kinda turned me on - just a little.

Monday is Monday I.M. Madness. I made that one up. My mind stays alert on two important things – emails and I.Ms



Morning Instant Messages:

Me: Omg!!!! One of my boss’ clients totally just did the sex eye to me. I kid you not.
L.A. Dude: duh! You know you are a hot lezzie!
Me: She wasn’t cute though. Bag over her head type of sex
L.A. Dude: You are my idol.
Me: She’s not THAT pretty. Come over and see.
L.A. Dude: I’ll grab some coffee for the entertainment.

Afternoon Instant Messages:

Brooklyn: u suck then u are not the all mighty lesbian god after all
Me: only in the bedroom


The In Between Instant Messages:

The Writer: Congrats on the Transgender article.
Me: mais, merde!!!
The Writer: huh?
Me: what?
The Writer: May I remind you that we are in America and not La FRANCE!
Me: ooOps, wrong IM darling.
The Writer: Thought so. So yeah, great job. I like how they gave you minimal credit for it.
Me: totally screwed me over but its ok I had a blast interviewing some of them. Did I tell you that one of the M to F is absolutely stunning? I could have sworn she had a real vag.
The Writer: FYI – The Museum of Sex Gala thing…what are you going to wear?
Me: uh…nothing really. A little lingerie thing from vickies. I am going to sell myself. Writing doesn’t cut it.
The Writer: you whore.
Me: only at events where the admission is a $1000+. At least I don’t go to Cattyshack and expect little Brooklyn girls to buy me drinks because I’m “famous” in the lesbian world.
The Writer: you whore.

L ast night when I landed at Newark, my reminder on my bberry rang frantically. I then remembered I scheduled an appointment with my gynecologist for this morning (Thursday). I absolutely love getting my vag. checked out by a hot medico italiano. I walked in early – 730am and of course I was the only one there. I really think the UES ladies sleep till noon. I spotted her and said (more like whispered) “buongiorno Bella!!!!” and she was in the greatest mood in the world said, “Come siete? entri entri.”

I get really nervous when I see her, not only she is the most attractive female vagina doctor I know, but she is Italian (+5 points) a vag doctor – she has seen mine countless times (-2points) she is young ( +6points) and she is hot, dark hair, nice teeth and perfect smile ( +2000 points)

She is cute and nerdy and the questions she asks are amusing and every time I make her wonder about me and how I abuse my vag – dirty fuckers out there…I only mean riding horses and my spinning classes at the gym.


Dr.: When was your last period?
Me: I don’t really keep track, but probably a month ago??
Dr.: [she looks puzzled] Even with your OCD about writing things…you don’t note down those days?
Me: eh..nope.
Dr: When was your last sexual encounter?
Me: what do you mean [smiling]?
Dr: [interrupting] sex..when did you last have SEX?
Me: you are getting a little personal here Doctor…non lo so.
Dr.: ok, how often?
Me: daily?
Dr: [Perplexed look on her face] I see.
Me: Well, does using a vibrator consider me having sex, I mean, its like me having sex with myself but in reality its me thinking about someone else, but seriously having major orgasms within seconds of one another. so yes, daily – well maybe I should say nightly.
Dr: wow [she laughs]
Me: I was only kidding. I don’t have sex with myself. It’s pathetic.
Dr.: I know, I’ve been seeing you for 3 years now, I think I know when you are bullshitting me. But just so you know, masturbation is healthy.
Me: Not good for my soul.
Dr: [Laughing] Well you know I have to implement safe sex.
Me: So when are you free?
DR: Stasera?

She loves me. I know it. Plus I have her number on speed dial. SCORE!

A hoy from Atlanta!!!

I am away on business in Atlanta - it is my 4th time here in the past 5 months. I am not a big fan of Atlanta but I always volunteer to head to no man’s land just to get away from NYC.

I went out last night to this local hangout where all the sales reps go after work for HH. I walked in and it was a complete carbon copy of the Canal Room (NYC lounge type bar type music venue). Everything was the same, from the colors of the sofas to the exterior décor. BUT big difference is that the people who were there were a bunch of Bush lovers/ I hate gay people/give me my Budweiser (not even a fucking Guinness – a bunch of pussies). I go up the bar and order me some good ole’ rum and coke. I sat down at the bar and drinks kept flowing, the tab got bigger, I got happier, I didn’t care who was a Bush Lover or who drunk some Bud. It was a blissful moment.

This brings me to TLC's life Lesson – Nothing can ruin a career faster than an office party.

No no no…I didn’t get drunk to the point where I couldn’t walk, talk or piss by myself. My co-worker did. I think you might have enjoyed it better if it was I who was incapable of keeping my head straight. I’ve never seen someone get fired so quickly. Apparently our outing and his behavior got back to the big guy and he was told that his next flight was at 9am. OUCH! I actually don’t know what he did or what he said to have caused his ass to be fired, but somehow he redeemed himself within 20 minutes. All I saw was some tears, some pleading, hand raising and lip movements - “you fucking idiot”

It worked. He was ready for the 9:30 meeting - dressed in his best suit, his hair combed a la superman and his eyes as red as a ripe tomato from NYC’s finest Farmers’ Market.

I reminded myself that there is in fact some major ass kissing to be done if anything happens to me. I need to learn how to bullshit my way out of trouble. It’s on my to do list. No worries. I know when and where to keep my mouth shut and when to stop the rum and cokes.
He still has to learn the art of being drunk in a corporate setting but the idiot mastered the art of bull-shitting and ass-kissing.

I used to be the one people turned to and said Shane’s famous line from the Lword “you guys give me hope” – speaking about Tina and Bette. I hate to think about the one time I was the last hope for single lesbians because there was one time in my life that I was and truly believed in love but more importantly a relationship that would be sizzling forever. I also hate to think about the person I had it with because it replays every moment I once shared – the good times and even the bad ones, and then I say to myself “yes, I do believe in love and yes it can be forever.” I don’t constantly remind myself but it is there behind somewhere – hidden in the creases of my mind.

Then I look at the relationship Hope is currently in and I think “you guys give me hope”. From what I hear, they are absolutely in love with each other. I don’t know her partner well enough to judge her love or question her love for her. But I do know Hope and I know that she is the kind of person who falls in love –it may not be easily, but she falls deep and hard. Whatever you get from her, it comes from her heart and only from her heart.

I hate to look in future partners some of the qualities Hope has because it would make it harder for me to fall in love. I don’t fall in love easily. It is a known fact. But with every girl I was in a relationship with after Hope, they all had something similar or recognizable in Hope. Whether it was her kind heart, her love for music or the arts or simply a slight resemblance in her profound dark eyes or her dear affection to make a difference in other people’s lives. Every time, every single time I see her.

I am over her, I am over the relationship we had, I am over the person she is but I will always love her and have a special spot in my heart. It isn’t a shock to most people but others might not see why. It has been a little over two years – there are times when I can go months without thinking about her and there are other times (like lately) where I do think about her. It may just be the fact that people keep mentioning her name to me or people saw her and they report back to me (as if I wanted to hear that she was at this place or that place) I don’t miss Hope per se. I miss the feeling of being in love (although she wasn’t the only person I loved).

I’ve noticed, during the past two years, I’ve fallen for two people. I have also fallen out of love and it is the hardest thing to go through. I am approaching my mid 20’s – very soon and I can’t help but think “am I going to be the party lezzie of NYC the (what some people say) Brad Pitt of Lezzies? Am I going to be single and stay single? Am I ever going to be in stable relationship? Am I ever going to settle down?”

Don’t worry, I only think about it when I see my married friends or when my single ones exclaim “I’m engaged!!!!” This year alone, I am attending 3 weddings and one more baby shower. Just as I am getting used to the idea that my friends are in stable long term relationships, the singlehood period quickly befalls upon me, and once again I’m knocked out of my comfort zone. It’s normal right?

This blog is supposed to reveal some of my confessions. And here it one…behind the party girl, I am the single lezzie who worries about finding her soul-mate – wait, I don’t believe in soul-mate. OK fine, I worry about finding my Cinder-Angelina.

How many frogs will I have to kiss to find my princess?

I overheard a convo about crazy women in relationships. I didn't actually hear the stories but the point was what makes women so crazy? And how do you get rid of them? So it got me thinking about the crazy ones I had.

First of all I am a recovering crazy woman, anyone who knew me when I was dating my ex, whom I like to affectionately refer to as the Pearl, knows that she drove me absolutely insane. Being a Gemini (me too), naturally she likes to mind fuck people, one minute telling you how wonderful you are and the next telling you that no one will ever want you - as she's slapping my ass on the way out the door. We broke up with each other about 20 times, each time describing another fault of mine/hers that meant we weren't soul mates.

Which is how I became a cool girl – well I was always cool. After this debacle, I made my personal mantra to be "I have been single before and I will be single again – no biggie". Now this is not to discredit dating and love, it’s to save me from 14 months of crying, driving my female (but mostly male) friends crazy with anger and bitterness, and another 20 breakups.

Women have a tendency to drive me to distraction with their careless and self-absorbed ways. If a girl shows too much attention, I lose interest and think they are too easy. Case in point, the last girl I dated, was totally enamored of me from the beginning, but because I wasn’t mutually engaged to the relationship, I stepped back. That's when it all went wrong, its like I could see the way my mind was working it out, "why does this girl like me so much, there must be something wrong with her". That's when it starts; I start looking at other girls and talking about other girls. Unbeknownst to me she was apparently too clingy (Friends give honest opinion after the fact) and I could do better. But this was the first time (since the break-up with Hope, my heart went totally crazy) I actually stop liking a girl because she really liked me back.

But on the opposite hand, if a girl likes me too much, I become disgusted, and find them to be effeminate and weak minded. It’s this double-edged sword that dooms the sexes and drives everyone crazy. I hate when a girl that I am not interested in pursues me, it’s a waste of time and energy. The only way to combat it is to drive all our energy into something else – like buy me my drinks at the bar. This right here folks is why I am still single but at least I have a lot of hobbies and besides the fact that I am waiting for a woman who looks like Angelina Jolie – eh it’s a different story.

Having a woman in my life is like a warm summer breeze in an otherwise chilly world. I love to be entertained, so therefore I date entertaining people. But in my own experience I have learned to set my expectations low and to treat each meeting as if it were the last, lets give thanks to the Pearl for this one.

During my courtship with the ex, of whom I was very captivated by, I had to adopt a new theory. Be cool, be excellent, and be gone. Now while it did work, it didn't work well enough, because sometimes you can’t be too suave. I know its hard to believe that I, an adorable charming lezzie, could be so complacent, but I tell you I was.

My point of this is I opened myself up to each new experience as if I were a carnival ride for women to enjoy while I felt uneasy and discontent. I let their interests and hobbies guide the relationship. It went so far as to each breakup felt like a release from the crazy girl box. And now I am trapped in this cool/suave girl box – where everyone wants to be my friend because I am funny and witty, and I have to express my craziness through drunkenness and inappropriate conversations.

I can never win.

This led me to the other thought and I have encountered plenty of these situations. The writer and I have this inside joke about sex, we have both dated someone where damn, the sex just fucking sucked. Usually it was because the other person was droning. You can only put your best foot forward so much before you eventually lose all interest and fall asleep.

Which led to our catch phrase: If the appetizer doesn’t look good, then skip the dessert.

For a long time, we would use this in front of potential daters and they would have no idea what we were talking about. After a couple of times of bad sex with this one girl, The Writer had an opportunity for a threesome with her friend. I was like NOOOOOOOOO, the appetizer is no good! I witnessed the friend slobbering someone in the face like a bulldog salivating at the sight of fresh meat.Her reply and an amendment to the previous rule: But perhaps if combined with another dish, the dessert will be better.

I think we have all had those situations where the appetizer’s not that good. I mean if the girl’s going to treat the appetizer like an object, ignore the dessert, then roll over and not finish it, why even eat at all?

Bad appetizers/desserts has gotten me on the verge of anorexia.

S ince I wrote my last entry - like 4 hours ago, I sat at my desk and I got the idea that I needed a "fuck buddy". A little background about me, I am not a girl used to going without having sex. In my two-years out of college, I have always been dating the Pearl or another or had an ex on the side. The longest up until now that I have gone is 3 weeks, current running time 1 and 1/2 months.

Sex is a need akin to food; it makes you sick when you have too much and it makes you crazy when you don't have enough. When I get ass once or more a day (back in college – now I am a workaholic as some would say), I become positively stupid, every thought runs out of my head and all I can do is smile at everyone and everything. When I don't have sex, I become bitchy and desperate. Or moody and feel rejected, as my current state. There is a point, I am led to understand where you go so long you forget about sex altogether, now I have obviously never gone this long, but I will take everyone's word for it.

So back to my story, when I drink all I want to do is either make out or pass out, usually a combination of both, which is how I got my reputation as a tease. If I am not dating you, I am not fucking you; I will only use you for kissing and your bed. Don't bother trying, my answer will never be anything but no, and I have had too much bad sex to last a lifetime. My theory is one night stands are only acceptable if it is the Sports Illustrated Spokes model, who is a MODEL, and you wake up in the midtown Sheraton with no recollection of having gone there. That's obviously bragging rights. Other than that, Buyers Remorse is a bitch to deal with.

So for the past month and a half I have played the virginal act, no kissing, sucking, or fucking; and after a while this gets old. So I am not sure what came over me but last time I did HH (happy hour) I probably would have gone home with anyone, thank god I threw myself in a cab. So after some heavy drinking with the writer as well as a few other lezzies upon I dared one to put her hand down my shirt and made out with another on another dare (who does that?), I began my deliberation of who would be my new fuck buddy.

Now I have no clue how to pick a fuck buddy, but based on past experiences with a sexual relationship with an ex, I thought a couple of ground rules were appropriate. Personally I prefer recycling, because it’s comfortable and I don't have to increase my numbers and chances of more bad sex. To define my idea of bad sex requires background, I have been with extremely bad lovers, a girl who have pretty talked their way into my pants and then have not cared about finishing me or have any intention of trying. But I have also been with women who actually cared, which is why I prefer to hold out for these ladies. These are women I am usually dating.

How does one choose a fuck buddy?

1. First off, it can't be someone that my friends have met or will ever meet.
2. She can't be a tool or douche bag who is going to embarrass me in any way.
3. No weird fetishes like feet or something remotely related to that.
4. She has to be good with her hands.
5. STD free.
6. No personal information required, so as to not form any attachment.
7. Has to be free for drunk dials.
8. No drama, I don't want to hear about her ex or current girl she's in love with.
9. No falling in love with me, I know I am charming and it’s hard.
10. No bragging rights, if you tell people you have slept with me, I will deny it. I can lie, I took acting classes in HS.
11. I am a bathroom talker, so I will tell everyone about everything including technique used or not used.
12. No meetings outside the bedroom.


Then I went down a list of people who have actually propositioned me in the past two weeks. So no one I can see me doing such naughty things to – yet.

After this drunken train of thought in which I was determined to proposition someone. I was ready to make any number of phone calls and completely committed to this idea. I woke up the next morning and realized this would never work, I get way too attached to anyone I sleep with. I have decided to shelve this idea and rediscover it in two more years. That and I got a 4:30 am phone call from the Pearl while I was asleep, so self-confidence is back up (even if I don’t talk to her). I got her and dealt with her craziness, I can deal with anyone thanks to her.

E very now and then I think it is so unfair that some people discover real love when others don’t. That some people have fairy tale beginnings or endings and butterflies when they look into each others’ eyes and goose bumps when they try to steal a kiss and cute little nicknames in bed, while others have bad dates, unreciprocated love and lonely nights with a pint of ice cream and lifetime.

And then I think I am being self-centered, because not having a girlfriend isn’t nearly as unjust as people dying from diseases (AIDS, T.B…) or living in violent cities (Darfur- among many other places) or generally just being miserable and depressed.

And then I hear a certain song – and every time it gets me. I become all tearful, intoxicated with thoughts of romantic outings or spontaneous adventures and having someone to dance with in my bedroom when “our” song is playing (I know its silly, but it is very cute) and that really incredible energy creeping down my spine caused by sweet kisses on my neck, all comforting and teasing at once.

So I give myself half the song to really take in a combination of hope and longing, before I snap myself out of it and move on.

I n the past weeks I’ve decided to clean out my closet. I’ve realized that I am in that social timeline where I need to make new friends – no necessarily wiping out all the friends I have, but a few. For example: the ones that are overly involved with their significant other where there is no time to hang out [without the significant other].

I can’t really say that I dislike all people who are in serious relationships (or so they think) but I dislike the ones who are too much into each other where when I call to hang out, one of them doesn’t want to and so the other half will absolutely not go out. I find it extremely pitiful. I believe people should lead different lives and not be totally infatuated with one another.

I’ve been in a couple of long-term relationship, but my very first LTR had to be with Hope. With her, I had a hard time letting go. I always wanted to be around, hang out, and go out together. When it was time for her to meet new friends (she started this 20 something group friends thing at the center) my insecurities grew to the max. Not only was I going to miss having her around on Tuesday nights but also I had to deal with the issue when her friends met up at bars/restaurants sans moi. I actually learned from my relationship with her. I learned that life doesn’t always revolve around your other half. There is in fact, some time needed to get away from one another. This is one of the lessons I carried with me to my next LTR. I always gave her space and in return I was happy to see my friends and go out without having my girlfriend glued to my waist.

I suppose that is what my friends who are currently in LTR have. I can’t talk for a lot of them, but I am pretty darn sure that it is their first “real” relationship. I guess with every failed shot, I will see them once a year.

Having friends who are highly drawn in with their significant other can be draining. I can’t just call a friend and ask them to come out because they have to confirm with their partners. It is one of my pet peeves. I repulsively hate when I do all the calling or texting and trying to make plans only to find out that they are “staying in” (not too sure if that’s a special code for leave us the fuck alone, we are making sweet-oh so sweet loving)

Maybe I am taking this too seriously, maybe I am the one who has a problem and who is too “single” and doesn’t realize that time spent with the love one are precious (which I think they are) but I do think that time spent with friends is also precious and memorable and FUN (selfish me!). Maybe I need to get a new crowd – a singles’ group where we can run wild in the wee hours of the morning and not have lovers to tame us – calling/texting every minute of the night just to see what we are up to.

Really – can they be any more understanding?