Living rent free

Recent Huskateer posts have seriously sucked. This one will be no different. Enjoy some amusing anecdotes.

At my brother's high school graduation, there were more pregnant girls than honor students. Abstinance totally works. After the ceremony, we filed outside and the whole crowd simultaneously lit up. I love that in rural Pennsylvania, smoking on public school grounds in front of a cop isn't considered strange. While smoking, my Gram asked me when I was going to quit that filthy habit. I responded, "When I get knocked up." She looked offended, then informed me that you don't say "knocked up"; you say "in a family way."

My Gram attempted to domesticate me by teaching me to cook a traditional meal. While she was washing the dishes and I was watching the stove, I heard her start swearing. Among her favorite swear words are: balls and shitass. Don't ask me what the second one means. She also told me that if I don't know what men are good for than she wasn't going to tell me until I'm married. Oh if only she knew.

I'm not celibate anymore. Shortly there will be a post that explains it all.

Freudian Family Systems

I once read that philandering fathers produce monogamous sons and adulterous daughters. As I reflect on my escapades, I find myself searching for my trigger. In the world of addiction, a trigger is what sets you off on a destructive path--what pushes you so far that you are unable to metaphorically "just say no."

I've thought of the "Big 5", the moments that may have led me here. I've also considered more academic theories, the ladder theory, the evolution of sexuality, or perhaps even some bizarre genetic reason beyond my feeble grasp. None of it seemed to fully explain my experiences, or my frustrations.

On Saturday, I had an epiphany. At some ridiculous family party, my father informed me that my calves are too fat. This probably comes out of the blue for most people because I very rarely mention my father, least of all the fact that he has always criticized my body. I immediately hit the bar and my grandmother's stash of "nerve pills". An hour and half a bottle of Jack into my binge I considered that my father may have quite a lot to do with my current state. My father is what some people would call a ladies man, though I can't for the life of me see why. He constantly cheated on my mother, and I'm fairly certain has a little franchise of families in the south-east Pennsylvania region. While I loath cheaters, I have at least matched, if not surpassed, my father on the scale of philandering. I'm sure some people would have made this connection sooner, but frankly, I don't think of my father much because he wasn't around all that much. In fact, I haven't lived with him for the better part of a decade.

So I've compiled a list of theories as to how my father's devious bed-hopping might have inspired my own. Wouldn't Daddy be proud?

~~~Freud says that daughters love their fathers. No, more than that. Daughters are in love with their fathers. Freud was a smart man but he did too much cocaine and had a penis, so therefore probably had a difficult time conceptualizing the female condition. Gayle Rubin says Freud was right, but he doesn't go far enough. Why do we love our fathers? Because they represent power. We want to emulate our fathers so we can have power, but we can't have power because we lack the phallus. The only way to be near the power is to be intimate with men, thus heterosexuality is born. At least on a subconscious level, girl children grow to understand that power is held by fathers, and eventually transferred to sons. Power is transferred by trading women. Thus the child learns that she is an object through which power travels. In a Freudian sense, I have disrupted the flow of power because I trade myself. Moreover, within the confines of the exchange (ie. when I'm fucking someone) power is transferred to me. When the exchange is over, power returns. So maybe I fuck because I'm power-hungry.

~~~Philandering fathers don't tend to be around much, and someone has to take on their responsibilities. As the oldest child, I did. Perhaps in an effort to maintain the structure of the family, I copied my father's sexual habits. Of course, then there is just the simple explanation that we learn what we see. Though to that I argue: why didn't I learn monogamy from my mother?

~~~Saturday's example suggests another theory. Perhaps I fuck to prove my father wrong. Whenever he points out a physical flaw, I think, "Well, so and so didn't seem to mind." Maybe rejection from the father spawned a desire to be accepted by other men.

I'm still mulling all this around in my mind, since I've got nothing better to do. I apologize for this deep and completely unfunny post. I shall have another for you soon that will be hilarious, at least in my mind.

"She acts just like a nurse with all the other guys."

Last night I hooked up with the heir to a D.C. landmark. He's smooth, that fucker. I didn't fuck him, and thus have succeeded in over 3 weeks of celibacy. Honestly, I don't know how people handle this shit. It's not about the orgasms really, because I can do that myself. It's just so fucking boring.

Oh, and I also hooked up with my mohawked ex-boyfriend on Tuesday, as we are want to do when one of us is drunk and the other has been recently dumped. He seems to think there is some sort of cosmic connection with us; what some people would call fate. I just think he looks hot in tight jeans, and I'm very good at faking emotion.

Today, one of my callers offered me $1500 to come to Myrtle Beach and have sex with him. For a minute, I strongly considered it.

I will feel justified in leaving D.C. as soon as I have slept with the heir. I thought that I should try to keep up the celibacy, but maybe just one more. After all, I am leaving.

Mastercard: It's everywhere but where I'm looking for it

Metro fare from Dupont to Shady Grove: $1.35
Cab fare from Shady Grove to house: $13.00
Breadsticks: $12.11
Coke: $3.00
Coconut Rum: $15.00
Hooking up with an ex (again): Priceless.

What's not priceless however is waking up next to a sweaty ex, who hardly looks as hot in gym shorts as he did last night in his brand new tight jeans with a pounding headache and the desire to run as fast as possible away from his bedroom. What makes this situation worse is that this particular ex is severely unbalanced and thus tried to be all fucking cuddley with me this morning. After dating me for six months, he should know better. Now that you know the story, let's continue this little Mastercard commerical rip-off.

Bus fare from house back to Rockville: $1.25 (borrowed)
Faking morning breath to avoid having to kiss an ex you never want to see again good-bye: Priceless.
Arriving at Rockville Metro only to realize that you don't have your wallet (which contains your SS card, credit cards, debit card, license, and Smart Trip card): FUCKING HORRIFIC.

So my walk of shame was prolonged for an hour while I waited for my friend to pick me up. I alerted the ex to the situation, and he said he would check for it on his break from work. Of course he says he can't fucking find it. He couldn't find his way out of wet paper sack if I gave him directions and a map. But I can't go out there and look for it myself because I don't have my god damn money and thus have no metro fare or cab fare. And he's all whiney on the phone, like someone ran over his best friend with a tank, because I'm paying more attention to my wallet than I am him. At this point, I'm very nearly ready to consider it a casualty of my sex life and just let my precious pink wallet go.

My social security card, on the other hand, is a bit tougher to part with.