Tinder My Foot!

My relationship woes continue.  Of course, it was bound to happen, but I ran into D with the new girl.  Thankfully, she was not a super model, nor am I though.  I have tried to push through.  I don’t need him.  He treated me like crap for the last year; regardless of how he treated me prior to that.  The charm that he had when we first started this evil venture has long since wore off now.  He has not been that man for years.  I really have no idea why I am so hurt by it; my view of this make believe relationship is absurd.  Am I really this delusional?  I find myself wondering if it ever resembled the picture in my head.

ANYHOW, I thought I would change my outlook. I would find a new guy that would be perfect for me….or just someone different to stop my mind from thinking of what the freak went wrong.  My last few relationships have ended miserably.  Not to mention, I seem to actually attract losers.

Now I know what you are thinking…no one just attracts losers.  Well, this time I have actual proof that just by looking at me at first glance, losers stop and notice.

In my attempt to open the door to new people, I joined Tinder.  I know this is probably not the best way, but I am not meeting anyone at work.  The bar seems like loser heaven.  I don’t have a clue how to pick up a guy.  Should I just in a library or a grocery store and wait?  Should I walk loops around the park or go to church?  So, I started small.  I am trying.  I am new at this.

Tinder is a site to meet people in your area.  The app allows you to look through photos and short descriptions of people.  It is linked to Facebook, so it in some cases, you can see if your friends are friends with the person in the photo.  At first it wasn’t bad.  The rejection is painless.  If you like the photo or whatnot, you like it.  If you don’t, you don’t like it.  If the person in the photo receives your photo and also likes it, then you have a match and both people are told

So, all was well.  I met a couple guys too far away, but oh well.  I was still trying.  The other night I was contacted by one guy.  He seemed nice enough, and after a little chatting, he mentioned he thought we knew each other from a high school job.  I vaguely remembered his name, but I figured this was a decent sign.  Apparently we were both in relationships at that time so long ago.   It took another ten minutes of chatting for him to reveal that he was unhappily married and only looking for attention.  (He actually says this!)  He was not sure he wanted to step out on her just yet.  WTF?!?!?  What girl wants this?  Why would I want to give him attention when he is only lacking attention because he’s been an ass to his wife for the last ten years?  When I ask him about it….he says that they are best friends.  Oh isn’t that pretty and cute….what an asshole!

Any suggestions are welcome.  I am thinking I might try just about anything.

 

Help Me! I am Drowning in Self-Pity!

I never wanted to be with D. We broke up years ago for many many reasons.  Then one day I changed my mind.  Because I am one to pass the blame, I blame my brother in law.  One day he told me in passing, “You and D are only hurting yourselves by not getting together now and finally being happy.”

Shortly after that our world fell apart, but my mind was hooked.  My BNL’s suggestion was out of nowhere.  Sure, D and I flirted and smiled at each other.  Sure, we hung our almost nightly just watching TV and talking.  But really, did I want a short-tempered redneck that worked too hard with angry teenage children?  I guess after I thought about it; it didn’t matter if he was short-tempered if he never was with me.  After time, the teenagers even grew up to be young adults that moved away.  All that really matter is how he treated me, and I know he would do anything in the world for me.

Needless to say, I finally let him woo me.  He would compliment me even when I wore sweat pants and show up unexpectedly to my house.  Still, we had one problem. D was in a terrible break-up.  Moving from friends to a relationship would only work if D dissolved this relationship with the other girl.  Boy, did he complain about the other girl.  She drove him insane.  They broke up at least once a week.  It was because of this rocky relationship and one of D’s surprise visit that we failed miserably at our second chance relationship.  I should’ve known then that I was going to turn myself into the rebound girl instead of the next girlfriend.

It was during one of these visits that D had finally had enough.  Finally had enough of her shit that he was done.  He packed a bag and left for good…or so his story would go.  He said all the right things. He made all the right promises.  We had already had a relationship prior to the night, so I didn’t think of the consequences.

Of course, like every after school special, we stopped talking so much.  D stopped his random visits.  His rocky relationship would continue as he moved to his own home.  Instead of always being around, I never really saw him.  He stopped returning my calls and texts.  When we did talk, he would either be aloof or super attentive.  I learned that those super attentive moments would continue through the day or until we would give in.  He wasn’t with her; he wasn’t with me.  He was enjoy the single life with both of us.  This was not what I wanted, but I guess I let it go out of denial, and I had no choice if I wanted him in my life.  Why did I want him in my life? 

Still, I did.  After I gave myself permission to like him, I could not turn it off.  I was delusional.  Fortunately, I pretty much recorded the entire relationship.  It would be a fantastic book if it ended with him sweeping me off my feet, happily ever after.  That is not going to happen, no matter how many different ways I can imagine it.  Yes, I have several versions; partly because I read too many novels and listen to too many country songs.  These written account should see what I have been through.  They should convince me to be DONE once and for all. 

Now, here I am…YEARS from the first night of giving into my impulses, driving the long way home to pass his house…where, yes, the new girl’s car is parked.  I honk only to make him remember me and also to prove that I am not hiding my drive-by peek. I suck big time.  Even as I am beating my ego with a iron crowbar, I am googling D’s most recent Facebook friend.  What an idiot!

It is like his asshole behavior was more attractive than when he was nice.  Why is that?  The same reason that now that I am ready to be with him, he is not ready.  Basically it feels like he did all that work to get into my pants and once there, he was like, I can do better. And what do I do?  I swoon.  I bend over backwards to get his attention, to get him to see him, regardless of price to my self-respect.  And now after it is all over, it isn’t over.  I can’t get over the fucker. What the hell is my problem?

 

 

LEFT RIGHT Disturbing Exchange Story

Every year my friends and I do a gift exchange.  They ask me to write a left-right story for the exchange.  I love to write, but I love to start somewhere.  I always search for one and find cheesy happy ones.  One year we did a Fifty Shades of Grey exchange story.  And this year after a bad week of work and starting the last Dexter book, I wrote our new story.

*Obviously it is just a story.  I would never harm my boss in any way.  This is just a mean mean mean left-right story for anyone with a crappy boss.

Bethany LEFT tried to do everything RIGHT, but it didn’t matter what she did.  She would never do RIGHT by her boss who was struggling mentally from being LEFT out again and again in her life.  The boss did not care about Bethany LEFT trying to be RIGHT.  All the bitchy boss wanted was to be RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT!  Even though everything the boss did was LEFT of RIGHT by miles.

Bethany LEFT felt hopeless. Her mind was LEFT to create elaborate schemes to kill the never RIGHT boss.  Bethany would start with her LEFT foot, then her LEFT arm.  Then chopping each LEFT piece in small chunks, she would then begin on the RIGHT side.  Her RIGHT arm, her RIGHT leg.  And then Bethany thought she would start on the middle but the fear of touching her blubbering stomach turned her off of the thoughts.  She thought about it and imagined chopping it into a six pack.  LEFT LEFT LEFT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT….Boy those chunks would be floppy and gross.  The thought made Bethany a little sick, but if she could keep the boss alive during it, she could feed her each piece.  Here is the RIGHT chunk you like to rub on Mr. Smith.  Here are the LEFT chunk and RIGHT chunk that always peek out at the staff during meetings. Bethany LEFT felt feeding her the LEFT piece and the RIGHT piece was just amusing.

In reality, Bethany LEFT could never do this, but it did make her feel better on days with the boss told her how she was never RIGHT in any way and who cares about her Master’s degree because she was never RIGHT RIGHT RIGHT.   It was frustrating and Bethany LEFT felt she had nothing LEFT to hope for but her boss’s death.

With the Christmas season near, Bethany LEFT decided that she would give her boss a break.  She forgot about ripping off her boss’s LEFT arm.  She forgot about stomping on her LEFT lung.  She forgot about ripping her limbs from her limp body and dismembering her, LEFT arm, LEFT leg, RIGHT arm, RIGHT leg.  Although she knew that Mr. Smith would appreciate a box with her LEFT chunk of belly fat under his tree for the holidays, Mr. Smith would have to wait.

Bethany LEFT wanted to try again.  She was RIGHT when she informed the office about the missing student.  She was RIGHT when she scored her best evaluation.  She only fell LEFT of RIGHT when her boss wanted to meet with her at lunch.  Bethany couldn’t say no, even though she knew it wasn’t RIGHT for her to have to meet her bitchy boss during lunch.  Still, she would never tell the cuntface she wasn’t RIGHT.  She would chicken out and make the union tell her was wrong again.

Upon entering the office, her boss LEFT the door open.  Bethany thought this was a good sign, until her boss made her turn RIGHT around and close it.  As her boss explained how she was always RIGHT and Bethany was always wrong, Bethany used her RIGHT middle finger to flip her off behind her desk.  She only changed to her LEFT finger when her boss asked her sign to a form agreeing that the boss was RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT all the time!  Bethany did not agree with the form but feared losing more than her LEFT middle finger if she did not concur.  BUT just as Bethany was LEFT with nothing else she could do but sign RIGHT on the dotted line, the boss began to choke on her gum.  She reached for her throat, and Bethany being RIGHT and good went to help her.  The boss did not need help and would not take Bethany’s help.  Instead of letting Bethany do the RIGHT thing and stop her from choking, the boss jumped to her LEFT out of Bethany’s way of help.  Then she jumped RIGHT over her desk to dodge Bethany’s sense of RIGHT and wrong to save her choking boss that was now turning a bright shade of blue.

By the time Bethany LEFT gave up her conviction to save her grumpy old boss and get other help, the boss fell unconscious.  Upon leaving the office for help from others, everyone she came in contact with refused to help.  Mr. Smith was the only one who would come into the office, and when he did, he kicked her RIGHT in the belly, dislodging the piece of green gum….too late to save her, but Mr. Smith knew it would be a great souvenir to add to his collection.

RIGHT after the funeral, a new better boss with reason and good judgment stepped in.  Now all was RIGHT with the world.

THE END

Anyone for Pink Panties?

Why do men always end up taking advantage of being the sick person?  They can be so terribly whining.  Of course, they complain if women even slow down a bit when they are sick.  I am not married, thank gawd; but I know a sick boy.   He’s forty-five though.  Needless to say, he got hurt doing some crazy stunt no old man should even try. 

After the accident, I tried to be a good friend.  I brought him dinner a couple times.  I visited him when he was trapped in his house. I cleaned up a bit here and there when he could barely get up.   I held out for his wounds to heal before even suggesting anything sexual.  Actually I thought this would be a great time to show D how much we really were friends.  Alas not, that is not the redneck way.  A pext and a pain-staking catheter story that must be karma coming back to the asshole, starts the whole mess again.  I feel bad for him.  I guess I love him, or I thought I did. 

I guess the issue is this…the orgasm is gone, so I am not so in love anymore. He is lazy and handicap just enough that he uses it as a crutch to get out of everything.  I have tried to be understanding, but now he is out of his house.  He can move around a bit.  Yet he did not learn anything.  Well, for the sake of giving him one more shot before I forget him for as long as I can forget him this time, I decided to buy a cute little frilly thong, Valentine pink, with a tiny black bow.  And since I don’t want to pexts, I sent a photo of the panties to him, asking if they did anything for him.  He said no.  Not NO! or no!.  Just no.  I responded with, “good, they wouldn’t look good on you anyway.”

I think I get the hint now.  I sure hope I do.  So, for the moment,  who wants to see my little frilly panties?  

To Cheat or not to Cheat?

To cheat or not to cheat?  I don’t really understand the question.  Why do people cheat?  However, I do have a way of attracting guys in relationships.  This is partly because I fear commitment and because I’m slightly lazy when it comes to putting myself in those situations.  I have always been the person that tries to turn a friendship into a romantic relationship.  Perhaps it is because “they” say that people pick their friends based on a similar form of attraction.  Or perhaps, I really would rather be halfway to the sex with someone I already know.  Plus if it doesn’t work, friends can sometimes pull off string-free sex for a month or two because it gets totally screwed up.  Who knows?  Maybe that is the problem.

2012 was the year of NOT being THAT girl.  I wasn’t going to allow some guy to play me, only to find a girlfriend or a fiancé in the background.  I tried my very very best to not fall for that again.  It did not help one bit.  D only lied about his girlfriend, and I ended up doing it unknowingly.  Once again I have not kept my resolution, and I really had an okay start at that one.

Now D is injured.  He is stuck at home after a minor car accident. I have tried to be a good friend; I thought this would inspire us to be friends again.  Still the first chance he gets, he pexts me.  (Pexting is definitely a whole another story and not something I established my opinion about it.) Anyhow D and I have discussed the fact that he is NOT in a relationship with BF.  Now that he is stuck at home, my visits have always been prearranged and not when BF was around.  Furthermore, I “noticed” that my name was not exactly in his phone; my initial is though.  (Kind of the opposite of sneaky on his part)  So who is wrong?  Me?  Him?  Both of us?  Her? D and I are not in a committed relationship;  is it my problem if she hasn’t asked the right questions? 

In my twenties, I lived in the big city; but I still think there is a lot more cheating in the Midwest.  We could blame it on boredom, I guess.  I am the other woman, not the clueless happy girlfriend.  Both roles have their disadvantages.

About five years ago, I found myself in this situation for the first time.  It was the most crucial experience I have ever had; and since it happened, I have been spiraling downhill ever since.  Jay and I kissed in high school once, so when I ran into after my recent move it seemed like a dream routine relationship in my mind.  We were friends.  We were halfway there.  Proud of myself, I made the first move.  I asked him out for a quick drink with others.   It ended in some heavy petting and a return phone call.  Fairly simple.  I unmistakably inquired if he was  in a serious relationship.  Apparently that is basically giving a guy a loophole.  (My lesson could be to never finish people’s sentences and ask open-ended questions if I expect honesty.)

Of course on the fast track relationship, our heavy petting left us just wanting more, so being the slut I am, we settle for a discrete date that leads nowhere good.  The very next week leads to me seeing Jay and his “not-serious” girlfriend.  I know it is more than “not-serious” instantly because he would not talk to me anywhere near her or their table.  I went to high school with him; he was one of my brother’s best friends.  (Girls:  if you boyfriend does not have a single friend or acquaintance that is female, be wary of who they are hiding from you.)

I did not hear from him after that for a couple weeks.  Then after the New Year, he called me again.  I agreed to see him, but before the encounter, I heard rumors that he got engaged at Christmas.  Following another roll in the hay, I asked about the rumor.  Jay was engaged.  I am not proud to say that our relationship continued over the year they were engaged.  She got pregnant; he called me on his wedding day.  I offered to stop it; he said no and promised we would stop after the day.  It didn’t stop.  It didn’t stop after his daughter was born.  In fact, I think it finally stopped because I met someone else, someone unattached for once.  Within six months, he was divorced. 

For about a year or two, he was single or said he was. We met up once or twice in that time period but never habitually.  Our relationship never went to any commitment; not that I could ever trust him.   The thrill was gone for him after the relationship was over.  However in the last eight months, Jay has met a new girl; one that has money and loves to travel.  Now he wants me to help him out before the wedding.  After my refusal, he said I could come to the wedding this time, and I didn’t need to stop it.  The papers were filed last week and all was done.  He still wanted to meet to release the tension.

REALLY?  Why would anyone do this?  What makes me so appealing as a mistress?  Is this what single girls in their late-thirty are expected to be?  A mistress, a prude, a cat lady, or a divorcee?  Are those really my choices?  There has to be other normal people out there in the world. Is this a result of laziness on my part or just poor luck?  Am I just a slut?  How long are we supposed to be holding out these days?  Five dates?  Does that ever work? Does it take five dates to find hidden fiancées? 

Friendship, Love, or Multiple Orgasms???

My relationships are like a bad aftertaste that can span over years.  Either I invest too many emotions in them or the other person does.  D is done…officially. Five years of a love-hate relationship bookend by sex.  String free sex does not exist, at least not with him.  He wants to sow his oats all over town.  I am confident it is over…for now.  He may be someone who revisits every five years.

Simultaneously, Boz, from three summers ago, calls at least once every three months.  (I think I can use his real nickname here; because sadly, he has a nickname.)  Now I’ve mentioned him briefly before, but I didn’t admit to why I even consider him an option.  He lives with his parents and is literally a farmhand at thirty-five.  Still he is hung like a horse.  Something that might require work for many men, he does not have to try at all, which is good because he would never be able to find the spot on his own.  His mother spoiled him, but his father is probably hung, too.  She is just delusional from multiple orgasms throughout her many years of marriage.  I have always toyed with the idea of Boz, but once he is allowed in; he won’t leave. EVER. The list goes on and on with him.

Of course with my need for a change, I began to revaluate my relationship goals.   Based on my lessons in life over the last five years, I have learned the terrible truth about being friends with men.  Perhaps after a few more mistakes, I will realize that guys are only friends until they get into your pants. No matter how good of friends I thought I was with a man; they have proven to only be friends with alterative motives.

Second I learned, having a large penis is not everything….at least not for a long period of time.  Being well endowed is like being blind…okay not really, but blind people are supposed to have better hearing.  Having an enormous cock takes away from their brains.  Boz reminded me of this when he sexted me about licking my kilt.

In addition, I learned that honesty is not essential in those early dates for men.  Some guys will tell you anything.   When Jared told me on our first date that he wasn’t seriously dating anyone; I should have questioned further.  It was a little odd when our third date ended in me forcing him to admit the rumors of his engagement were true.

Furthermore, I broke a rule and actually dated a parent of a former student.  I was head over heels in love and dumped after I left for a school trip to Washington DC.  He married within the year.  Another dating fluke included my perfect gentleman.  Keegan called when he said, dropped flowers before our first date, opened car doors, paid for dinner, and was unemployed.  Once he got a job, he breaks up with me because I did not seem interested since he did all the calling.  In truth, I never had a chance to call; he always had the right timing.  It was all good because as a gentleman, he was slow to go around the bases.  All those manners apparently slow down the sex because after several dates, he stayed on first.  Perhaps he was hoping for another batter to hit him in.

Which brings me to the purpose of this blog; relationships are based on what?  Friendship?  True Love?  Multiple orgasms?  I think the lowdown dirty truth is that I am going to have to start completely over.  Pass on D; pass on the gigantic dick; pass on hidden girlfriends and fiancées.  Start over when someone I don’t know at all.  Start with first names and the whole shebang. And you, my blog, the people who do not actually know me, the people who may judge but do not speak, I promise to keep you in the loop.  I promise to try to move out of my comfort zone to find some new sex.  Now if only we could get guys with the big cock to wear a pin or something.

Tosh.Maybe if I’m Awake

Daniel Tosh may be the biggest tool on television, but that does not stop him from being as sexy as your second cousin during a long dry spell.  If he was not funny, he would never get laid.  Still, I caught myself laughing at one of his inappropriate jokes about women and realized he was sadly correct.  Tosh said, and this is hardly a quote, that women associate the feeling of love with orgasms, and that is why he never lets a woman get to orgasm.   Not a hard feat for many guys, but Tosh made me think about my own relationships.

Guys are definitely better in their old age.  Forty-something is better than twenty-something, and before that just does not count.  Forty-something are not in such a rush because they are old, face it.  They figure that they can do it once well and twice is pushing it.  Do it right the first time.  On top of busy lives, once a week would be excellent.

I love D more and more each time I hang out with him.  A year ago we were hanging out nightly, just chatting and watching TV.  I said no over and over again to his advances and flirtious behavior.  Months and months of chatting, finally I put out.  Now we never hang out without the purpose of having sex.  He cannot even visit without finishing the deal.  This would be perfectly fine, of course, if he still visited five times a week.  But now he “works” instead.  I see him every two or three weeks.  Clearly he has another girl or maybe he is just that old or maybe he really is masturbating in a hotel room on a job site in some random city in Ohio or Illinois like he says.  Regardless his phone does not work for some reason.  He is completely absence for a good two weeks after penetration.    I am smarter than this, still….

“They” say that the average husband would prefer sex five or six times a week.  But, D is not that great of a catch on the surface, so I can’t imagine him having girls all over the tri-state area.  In a attempt to get over my feelings for him, I have tried to convince myself of these flaws.  His balding head and dick shed…his poor grammar and his redneck ways….really, he is not much on the outside.  So, it must be the “inside” or is it just the orgasm?  Each time, I am so angry with him, but every time he comes around again I am all for it.  Is this love?  Or is this an orgasm that I have confused as love?

Ahhhh….the Holidays…..NOT!

The snow covered fields, smell of pine, and family….my memories of the Holidays are always a lot more enjoyable than reality.  When I was a kid, the excitement of Winter Break and Santa would consume me starting in October.  My parents would break out the threat, “Santa’s watching,” and my grandmother would bring over the JCPenny’s catalog to help with our lists.  Christmas carols, gift exchanges, and crafts all made December a month of joy.  Christmas Eve was magical, and my precious grandmother would play Santa with a stack of gifts that reached the ceiling.  In the morning at my own home, Santa would never have enough room for all the presents.  They would litter the living room floor, filling every available spot, and sparkle in the light of the Christmas tree.

My brother would wake up my sister and me in the middle of the night.  He could never make it until morning, which is probably why there was a rule about waking my parents.   In those wee hours of the morning, we would sit and admire all the wrappings and packages.  It didn’t matter at that moment what name was on the presents.  It was about the lights and the colors and looking at the greatest sight of the year, in our small lives.  That tree was our Eiffel Tower or the Grand Canyon; we couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.  For the rest of the night, my brother would guard the tree curled up on the couch.  We would have to wait until 8:00 to wake my parents and only after starting the coffee.  My sister and I would return to bed as visions of sugar-plums danced in our heads…whatever sugar-plums are….waiting for morning to come.  Of course, my brother would wake us again at seven to open stockings and wait for the time to wake Mom and Dad.

I am not sure if I have my imagination or my brother to thank for making us stop and stare for just that short moment.  In the middle of the night, we knew we couldn’t open the presents or argue.   During that time, we just appreciated the view and the moment.  Those nights were probably the only times when the three of us got along.

It is amazing to think that children can love Christmas so much, and then as adults not so much.  The Holidays are none of these things as an adult.  Sure, my mom can still spread out the presents to cover the floor, but I have wrapped all the presents for her before Christmas Eve dinner.  My grandmother is no longer here, and my brother lives too far away to come home every year. Not that we would be in the same house for him to wake us up in those early hours.  Not to mention the lack of snow we face each year because of Global Warming.

In November now, I don’t worry about Santa’s eye so much as I worry about how I will get presents for my nephews and nieces.  How will I treat my parents or my siblings that don’t need anything but the thought?  The gift of giving can help recapture those memories of my brother and sister, but it is only a glimpse.  My nephews’ smiles and laughs can recreate the Eiffel Tower for only a moment.

In December now, I dread getting out the tree and decorating it.  It takes the whole season for me to find every little thing, and then another month to put it all away.  As a single gal, my tree is empty of presents by Christmas morning.  I have to buy gifts for myself and the cats, just so we have something there through the morning.  For my brother, I do sleep with the tree’s lights on, just in case there is a Santa.  No one wakes me up though, and I normally sleep past nine.  The day of Christmas isn’t much more than another day of Winter Break.  It’s a letdown even though I know it will be each year.

At Christmas dinner, as adults, we don’t rush.  We used to beg for everyone to finish their coffees and cigarettes.  Now as adults, we try our best to find things to make them wait, but often we are as impatient as them.

In my thirties, I would say that out of all the Holidays Christmas is at the bottom of my list.  Yes, I know what Christmas is about and all that, but the Santa Christmas is not all that it used to be. Memories are still made.  And I appreciate that.  I love my family.  This just is not the holiday for single, childless (thankfully) adults with too many bills.

Reverse Cling

Well, hell!  I guess I lost the battle.  I played the game so well.  For years I pushed D away, trying to get him to be more independent.  When we dated in 2005, he was so clingy.  He called all the time, even to just leave a message.  Every night would have to involve us together.  It killed me.  Now our roles have completely reversed.  I am not sure where I went wrong.  I played hard to get.  I refused until the near end to sleep with him while he was with his next girlfriend.  I held off his advances week after week after week.  Only to find myself here!  What luck!

I am sure that playing the game was half my fault.  Or it was that one night he fought to end his relationship, only to end up at my house to escape.  It could have been me finally getting in the shower after he nearly ran my water cold until I agreed to join him.  It could have been that next week, ironically last Halloween, where I assumed his relationship was still over, and he was angry and missing most of the evening.

Guys always want this string-free sex.  That’s totally fine, but the only way to get me into bed is to shower me with attention and flirting through the evening.  I am not completely easy.  However, when D is done flirting and gets his way with me; he gets his 80’s jeans too tight.  He stops flirting, and something that was acceptable to do when he was in flirt mode is not acceptable in his post-coital .

Truthfully I love proper string-free sex.  In California, I had a couple good runs with it, mainly because I really have no interest in getting married or having children.  In the Midwest, it’s different.  Oddly enough, the men lie more.  I would say that half of the guys I have dated are trying to sample their choices before dumping their current relationship.  And honestly, I would rather be the girl they sampling than the poor girlfriend.  Still, it’s crappy a guy in the Midwest acts first, and if a girl does not actually asks him point-blank if he’s in a relationship.  Guys feel like that gives them a way out of their lie later.

Another problem with string-free sex in the Midwest is the inconsistency.   D and I have created a pattern, or rather he has.  I am not sure how it happened, but once I recognized the pattern, I knew I was losing the battle.  It goes like this:  I see D somewhere, at a store or a friend’s; and then three days later, he is trying to reach me to get some right then.  Sadly, he hides with work and whatever for nearly three weeks before the pattern begins again.  I think string-free sex should be at least once a week (although I prefer more).

The final issue with Midwest string-free sex is the secrets.  In California it is perfectly acceptable to have a fuck buddy.  They can be claimed, and although the relationship could end for any number of reasons, it is monogamous for the most part.   I always knew that my regular fuck buddy was only calling me once a week or so. D is so secretive.  Who knows what he is doing for three weeks?

Still, I wish life was again like a movie.  That Justin Timberlake movie where he has string-free sex, and in their deal, they promise to not sleep with anyone else without making it known to the other.  In today’s day and age, should people really be having sex with multiple people at once?

I guess what I am saying is that I have to get D to commit to at least these three conditions.  As I reflect once again on the morning after, I wonder what the day will bring.  There is a new Halloween party tonight, a year later.  After his visit last night, after seeing him at my parent’s three days ago, I told him he better not be mean at the party.  And sadly his response was, “Then don’t be so clingy.”

Oh, the world we live in…

Reunion Hell

Recently I attended my twentieth class reunion.  I did not really feel comfortable going and even passed on the dinner portion.  High school was not really a highlight in my life.  Sure, at the time, I was over dramatic and sure that my stupidity in my teens would follow into my old age of thirty-one.  At nearly forty, I understand that my past is long forgotten.  The problem is separating that reality from my mind when I am face to face to these people.  Not sure if it is just me, but I don’t get why  I would want to hang out with people that did not want to hang out with me twenty years ago or even next month.  I only need to say hello and get a snapshot of them.  Heck, I have forgotten most of their names anyhow.

So with a mixture of my poor memory, my poor high school image, and my sister as the bartender, I proceeded to drink heavily and try my best to keep up the act that I knew people who knew me.  Do they still believe I gave head to a half of the varsity football team? Do they remember me because I have aged well?  Or do they have someone in their ear whispering names?  Perhaps I am over thinking the whole issue (no new surprise there), and they just have better memories than me?

If you have an unlimited about of alcohol, all you need is one friend that can name people and a big smile. I chose my eighth grade boyfriend Mr. Bean, who dumped me for a girl with boobs.  Clearly he owed me.  With his help with names, I found that if I asked enough questions I could manage without revealing my lack of knowledge.  Even though the after crowd was small, the bar prevented long conversations.  Thank gawd!

Anyhow, the head cheerleader did not make the party because she moved to Kentucky to a trailer in the hills.  The quarterback never grew over five foot six and lost all his hair at the five year reunion.  Boobs was there, all the way from Seattle.  Her hair was exactly the same as it was in 1992, four inches high and platinum.  Her teal dress had to be her prom dress; maybe she was recapturing Peggy Sue Got Married. My boobs were the same size, and I wondered if it made any difference now.  It was a big deal then.  Hell, evidently I have hung onto this for twenty years.

One happy moment was the boy I crushed on in middle school was there with his high school sweetheart, now wife.  He was always such a nice guy then; kind of chubby  but always honest, a linebacker even.  Now he looked like a slim supermodel with sparkling blue eyes.  He and his wife are just as nice as ever, which make it very hard to hate her.  They had walked out of a Lands End catalog and were returning to their perfect family just on the north side of town.

There were several people that missed entirely or did not go to the after party, but a few hours were enough for me.  I am sure I learned something in high school, but all it does is make me feel like that left-out loser teenager.  Drunk is the only way I survived the night.  Not sure it was worth the evening except it was fun and the room spun me to sleep.