Procrastination is just like masturbation

I apologize for the lack of posts recently. Sadly, there hasn’t been a lot to write about lately. I had a date a few days back but ended up getting the flu, and thus did not have sex with my date. Things have been somewhat busy. Lola was visiting from Wisconsin for five days, so I spent most of last week drinking and laughing at immature jokes. We intended to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in true Irish style at the 4 P’s, but the line was disgustingly long so we skipped out and headed to our favorite karaoke bar. The drinks were cheap and strong, and the bartender was both very cute and impressed by my love of Jack Daniels.
Other than that, the only news I have to report is that I’ve decided I want to stay in D.C. for at least another year after graduation. Rather than work on my thesis, I’ve been spending entirely too much time on Craig’s List searching for apartments and jobs. If I can’t find anything else, I’m going to become a sex phone operator. There is still some chance that I’ll be returning to Pennsylvania in mid-May, and I’d be happy with that. Right now everything seems desperately uncertain, and I feel as though getting at least one thing figured out would lift an enormous weight. Despite the coming changes, I’m relatively optimistic and surprisingly happy. I feel like everything will sort itself out, which could be true or naïve wishful thinking.
On the boy front, I have a date this Saturday since I’m working Friday night. If the weather is nice, we plan to go to the zoo. I haven’t been to the zoo since my infamous bat cave sex scandal. Ah, memories.

Sex, relationships and geometry

There’s a lot going on with this hussy lately. First, there is the tiny matter of my approaching graduation. For the past two years, the plan has been to retreat to rural Pennsylvania and avoid academia until I couldn’t take idiocy and mediocrity anymore and then figure something else out. But, now, with less than seven weeks remaining, I’m experiencing a change of heart. I’ve always wanted bigger things out of my life than a little house in the suburbs. And I think we all know that I’m not exactly the homemaker type. I used to think that I hated living in D.C., but really, I just don’t like being an undergraduate with three part time jobs and internships and all that other bs. Living and working in D.C. is not only pretty comfortable, it’s actual rather enjoyable. Beyond the simple pleasures of life here, I really love my internship, and as cheesy as it sounds, I really don’t want to leave. To make a long story short, even though there is a perfectly decent job waiting for me in Pennsylvania, I’m looking for something else here in the hopes that I could stay. And I’m even considering graduate studies for the not so distant future. Imagine me, with a masters. Creepy, huh?

Lola is visiting this week, and while we spend most of our time drinking beer like it’s going out of style and making ridiculously immature jokes about chili, we squeeze in the occasional serious conversation. Since she knows me better than most, I value her opinion. And she never blows sunshine up my ass. She always gives me her honest opinion, even when it’s not what I want to hear. Today over sushi, we ended up talking about my recent sexual dilemmas and relationship failures. In her words, I fell off the wagon, and then got ran over by the wagon four times since Valentine’s Day. For those who don’t know, I’ve been trying to change my hussy ways since about October. I’m sure it sounds easy, just like stopping sex work or drug use, but changing any behavioral pattern is more difficult than one would think. Not only is hard to give up the behavior, but it’s hard to give up the positive reinforcement you get for that behavior. Confused? Think of it this way: my friends and perhaps even my blog readers enjoy my stories because they’re funny and they represent something lacking in their own lives. Simply put, I have a lot more sex than most women my age with many more partners and I rarely attach any meaning to the sex. I’m a rarity, and that can be validating.

At the same time, I am fucking someone who I feel absolutely nothing for. And much like Sean Bateman, I cannot remember the last time I had sex slowly, or the last time that it meant anything to either party. I used to derive something positive from my sexual exploits, but with the exception of bragging rights, I haven’t in months.

Almost exactly a year ago, I became a hussy. Contrary to common belief, I was not always this way, nor was I “made” this way. I chose to be this way. My sex philosophy evolved out of a desire to be different than I was. And I succeeded. I don’t believe that our identities are stagnant. Our personas are fluid. Each of us is a combination of personalities and theories and styles, and each of those faces is always developing. I’ve been resisting change for awhile now, but maybe not so much anymore.

The only consistent thing in life is change, “or is it change at all? All straight lines circle sometimes.”

The Rules of Attraction

I doubt that this post will come out coherent. It's 5:30 in the morning, and I can't sleep. At least not yet. I've had a lot on my mind lately--remembering the past, analyzing the present, and reconsidering the future. I wonder if the people I sleep with know that there are parts of me I'm always keeping at arm's length. It's been so long since I've allowed anyone to see those parts of me that I wonder if I still know how to let people in. People probably imagine those parts to be my fears and insecurities, the same dark secrets that everyone has in their past, but those aren't the parts I keep hidden. Fear and insecurity are able to withstand scrutiny; they're stronger than we think. Fear and insecurity are always there, despite anyone's best efforts to eradicate them. It's hope that is truly fragile.

"And then it occurred to him: he couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex slowly."

Have you ever eaten sushi off a naked body?

Two dates and still no kiss. I have absolutely no idea what the fuck is going on. And I'm bloody pissed off about it.

But the sushi was awesome.

I might like you better if we slept together.

Tonight is date number 2 with the boy from last week. He's actually picking me up at my apartment. It's like t.v. dating, which makes it almost feel like it isn't real. At any moment, I expect a camera crew to bust out somewhere. If you see me on some awful MTV dating show, then you'll know what happened...not that most of you know what I look like. But use your imagination. I was going to make it even more like a real date by wearing a skirt, but then I realized it's fucking freezing outside today.

To update from my weekend, I had a boy over for movies and wine. I thought that it was just a random hook up, or potentially a fuck buddy interview, but it now seems that he may actually like me. It's so bizarre how these things happen. And this leads me to the statement in the title. I think I like boys more before I have slept with them. There is something inherently exciting about the chase; about pursuing the elusive. I suppose it's why some people hunt even though they could get perfectly good meat at the corner grocery store. I vaguely remember some philosopher saying that our desires have to be unreachable because that's part of why we desire them. In simple terms, we want what we can't have and once we have it, we can't want it anymore because it ceases to be a desire.

Just a thought for the day. I'm off to "supervise" some volunteers who are painting for us today. I'm hoping there will be cute, underage boys I stare at. Mmm...statutory.

Contradictions

As I sat on my balcony tonight, thinking about last night and a night two weeks ago and the city lights streched out around me, I couldn't help but think about the contradictions of our lives. Our experiences are so shockingly significant. One moment in my bedroom becomes an eternal memory. Maybe it's just an orgasm; maybe it's just sex. When people say that sex can mean more, I always assumed that meant a connection between the two people, and since I had never felt that, I assumed that my experiences were hollow or somehow insignificant. Now I'm beginning to think it's about a connection with yourself. And then it all makes so much more sense. There is reassurance in that.

At the same time, those moments are only seconds shared between two people. Billions of moments just like it have come and gone without anyone noticing. Billions of people just like us have shared those same moments, and that knowledge can make one feel very small and insignificant. We all want to be remembered and for there to be proof of our lives. We write books, compose songs, create art, erect statues, wage wars, have children--all in monument to our existance. But most of us won't publish, or hear ourselves on the radio, or be immortalized in bronze. Rather than constantly striving to be part of the future, maybe we should focus on being part of the present. Significant moments only exist in contrast to insignificant ones. And the only ones who will ever remember the whole story is us.

You're so money baby

In Swingers, Vince Vaughn says you've got to wait at least 3 days before calling a girl to ask her for a date. As a testament to his coolness, he waits 5 days. And so does a boy named Sue, and few things are sexier than Johnny Cash. With Spring Break looming and this advice in mind, I'm wondering what to do. Ag, Toby, Russell and Wade are heading to Atlantic City for the week, so I'll be home alone--a phrase that has begged for trouble since 1990.

Let's examine the facts and then hopefully some of you can guide me in the right direction. Hey, I'd help you if you needed to know how safe sex info or how to give a spectacular blow job. The boy and I went out Wednesday night for dinner and hookah smoking. The date lasted about 3 and a half hours, and was mostly conversation based, though we did watch Arabic tv for about 10 minutes. He called last night, tired from a long day of work, but we both agreed we had a good time on Wednesday. Now, do I stick my neck out and ask for a second date this weekend? Is it too soon? Why is the line between clingy and interested so damn thin? Let me know what y'all think.

Oh yes, and please let me know what you think about the new look. Even though it's a template, it still took me awhile to change everything, so be kind.

My [first] date

Last night I went on my first adult date. I define adult dates as ones that aren't explicitly about sex--they involve a lot of conversation, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's a bit shameful to admit my inexperience with dating, but hey, blogs are all about being honest...sort of. Regardless of how it may sound, a lot of my first dates ended in sex and were never followed up by a second date. Even more of my first dates didn't include dinner or any kind of activity. So while I can put a condom on with my mouth, my dating resume is rather short.

Since I have so little experience with dating, it's hard for me to evaluate how it went. It's like a virgin trying to figure out if the sex was good. One of my co-workers suggested that rather than try to evaluate the date, I should simply decide whether I had a decent time with him or not. And even though I know the answer to that question, I can't help but wonder whether he feels the same way.

I wish first dates weren't always ass awkward. I'm totally for getting sex out of the way right off the bat. Maybe it seems cheap, but it also alieviates any uncertainty about how the date is going. Besides, everyone is a lot calmer and more honest after a good fuck. Unfortunately, I only know a few people who feel the same way I do so it seems unlikely that dating protocol will change anytime soon. In the meantime, let's all try to make first dates a little bit easier on each other.