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Moon Musings

Why shouldn’t I write here?  Underneath mother moon, so full she looks likely to burst.  She shines down upon me, inspiring me, my cancer self ruled by her glorious power.  The waves crash beside me and I can see just fine, so why not?  The sea.  My fucking one true love.  Just being in it’s presence, hearing its gentle lullaby soothes me.  

Here I sit, asking myself: Is the reason I feel alienated from my co-workers because I alienate myself?  I spend a lot of time with Nick and probably miss out on potential bonding time.  In retrospect, maybe I spend all this time with him in an effort to get out of the hostel.  I like the people I know and the snobbish ones, I don’t care to know.
And Nick.  What the fuck should I do about Nick?!  He has kids!  But we did finally discuss them…

It was one night night, after he sleep sex attacked me (it’s like he’s sleep walking, but all he does is feel me up and mumble gibberish) we both ended up wide awake and talking.  As much as I dislike being woken from my sweet slumber, we end up having our best conversations in the veil of darkness, partially awake, partially in a dream.  It was during one of these conversations that the subject was broached.  He said that he would like to have kids, someday in the future.  I responded, “I was under the impression you already have children…”
He got really quiet and finally said, “Yeah, I didn’t know how to tell you.  I was going to, that night at the brewery but then you and Jill started talking about how you would never date a guy who had kids and what a turn off it was…”
Shit.
I apologized, but scolded him for not telling me something so monumental.  Yet, since my discovery and now that I have had time to reflect on it, I feel okay about it.
He began telling me about his ex-wife who he met at his time as a Youth Councillor through his church.  She was a recovering drug addict and 6 years his senior who convinced him to rush into a relationship, marriage and kids… Things got violent apparently on her part, although she accused him of such behaviour as well.
“This doesn’t change the way I feel about you,” I told him and knew I meant it.
Maybe because they’re not physically present in his life, it’s easier to cope with.  Or maybe it’s because I still don’t see a future for us, even though I kind of, sort of, want to believe it could be possible.

It’s all so confusing for me.  When I’m with him, I feel amazing; I’m confident and relaxed and completely myself.  When we’re apart, I’m relieved and yet, I miss him.  Like I said, it’s all very confusing.
The other day he referred to himself as my boyfriend and even though I keep saying I don’t want to label it, I felt tingles.
Deep down, I know I’m just filling some big hole in my life.  Wow, I had completely intended to write ‘his life‘ but instead I wrote ‘my life‘.  Isn’t that telling?  Total Freudian slip.  There you have it.  We’re both using each other in the same way.  And perhaps, just for right now, it’s okay.  This thing we have may be fleeing, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be intense and raw and beautiful all the same.  Perhaps, knowing it has an expiry date is what makes it so easy to love so honestly and openly.

Oh Nick, what are you doing to me?  Did we meet in another life?  Or several?  You’ve got me such a fucking mess.

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Is It True?

After losing my passport and falling into a dark pit of self-loathing, I did what I always do in dire circumstances: I reconnected with a former fling.

In this particular case, it was my darling Lip Ring. I had been in Auckland and he had been pressuring me to hangout with him.  When he heard the news of my world collapsing (I’m not dramatic at all, I swear) he insisted I come out to the North Shore and have a couple beers, his treat. He rightly assumed that I needed my best friend/worst enemy, alcohol, to help me through the pain. We sat outside, chain smoking and sipping beers.  We chatted about a lot of things, but somehow our conversation got onto Neil Strauss’ The Game and the art of picking up the opposite sex.  I mentioned how intimidating it can also be for women to approach a man and strike up a conversation.
“There’s no reason a woman should be approaching a man in the first place,” he insisted.
“Why not?  How else will she let them know she’s interested?” I pressed.
“If he’s interested, then he’ll make the first move.  Simple as that.”
“So what’s a woman supposed to do to seduce a guy?”
“Make herself attractive, dress sexily and not be fat.”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!
Of course, this statement launched us into a heated debated, which made for some awesome angry sex later (God, our relationship is dysfunctional.) I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said, but decided to dismiss his views as exclusive to the Dutch and not applicable here in New Zealand. That is, until this week…

My friend Pete had just moved down under and came to visit me. We launched into a similar conversation when I insisted on performing my “Pick-up Rap” for him (yeah, I wrote a rap to pick up guys at the bar and believe me when I say it’s amazing.)
“Yeah, that’s pretty good, but there’s no reason for you to ever use it.”
“Why not?” I asked, “I want to try it out on a guy, I think it would be a great way to break the ice and at least garner a laugh.”
“If a guy is interested, he’ll approach you.  If you have to start the conversation, you’re wasting your time.  Sure, he might go home with you, but he’ll never actually be into you.”
“That CAN’T be true!” I cried, “What about shy guys?”
“Do you really want a shy guy who can’t even muster the courage to speak to you?  Believe me, as a woman, all you need to do is smile, make 5 seconds of eye contact and wait for him to do the rest.”
I refused to believe, even when Pete cited mating in the animal kingdom and how it’s normally the men who must put in the work to attract a partner. Here I was thinking that if I hit on a guy, he would be impressed and find it refreshing.  But apparently I am just coming off as desperate and pathetic.

Still in denial, I decided to test the theory.  During a Tinder rampage while in the city, I had matched with my ideal guy: tall, bearded, tattooed, well-traveled, North American.  We had chatted intermittently, but since I became pretty sheepish about my Tinder tear, I wasn’t really going on the app except to continue our lagging conversation.  He told me to add him to Facebook to chat there.  I did and then did not hear a peep out of him for weeks.
I struggled to come up with a clever and interesting greeting, but settled for something boring and cliche.  Then I waited. And waited.  And waited some more.  He had been online, he had read the message, but he didn’t respond for over two days.  Ashamed, I deleted the conversation history in an effort to pretend it hadn’t happened.  He finally responded after I took the drastic step of deleting him off Facebook, his response was half-hearted.

Who knows why he decided he wasn’t interested, but the fact of the matter was he obviously wasn’t and so he did not pursue me.  Maybe there is something to this claim after all, but it leaves me feeling so helpless.

Can someone shed some light on this for me?  Guys?  Girls?  Anyone?

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We’ve Come A Long Way

When I first started this blog it was a means to vent about my failed relationship without further annoying my patient friends.
It then allowed me to organize my thoughts and do some soul searching.
Soon after it became a platform to discuss hot sex and cute boys.
The sex dwindled and I started writing a number of hasty, short articles about whatever popped into my mind.
Now?  I don’t know what to write about.  I can’t say what my blog is or where it’s going.  It’s rather representative of my life.  I never know what I want or what path to follow.  Maybe I never will.  But I know I’ve come a long way, even just in the last year.
My mind used to be consumed with thoughts of sex and men and potential boyfriends.
I’m still that crazy ultra-sexual woman, but my thought process has shifted.  I can’t just have sex with someone I feel half-hearted about.
Believe me, I’ve tried.


LipRing was my last and that was once and months ago.  He and I have slept together only a handful of times in the last few months.  After our last encounter, I was determined never to go back.  The sex is subpar and not worth putting up with his weird and rude antics.  There’s very little I like about him and because of this, I barely find him attractive anymore; I’d rather be chaste than have to spend any more time in his company.
Luckily, he also backed off and provided me no opportunities for temptation.

Last weekend our paths inevitably collided.  It was the weekend of Rip Curl Pro and the town was swarming with hot foreign surfers.  I was on antibiotics that would cause me to vomit uncontrollably at even a drop of alcohol so needless to say I was completely sober.  But I still attended the after party, I really wanted to dance and possibly talk to a cute guy.
It was an amazing and fun night.  I love socializing with a clear head and knowing that no one will remember anything I say or do, it’s a powerful feeling.  Naturally, LipRing was one of the first I saw and he was smashed.  He stumbled over and began rustling my hair until I pushed him away and yelled, “SCRAM!”
I did my best to avoid him, but it seemed every time I turned around he was beside me with his tongue down the throat of a gorgeous leggy brunette.
Two days later he started messaging me, whining about how we hadn’t seen each other in so long.
“I saw you on Saturday…” I informed him.  He seemed abashed.

The following weekend we saw each other yet again, only this time my mind was definitely not clear.
He asked me again and again to come home with him and every time I said no.
“I’ll drive you home in the morning!”
“Or you’ll make me walk home again, in the rain…”
“No, I swear I’ll drive you.”
“Even so, it’s not happening.”
Finally he relented and said, “Okay, I guess you have your reasons…”
“I have a lot of reasons,” I slurred, “But none of them matters, what matters is I DON’T WANT TO and so I’m not going to.”
“You’re missing out,” he threatened.
“YOU’RE missing out,” I countered and then did my best to dodge him for the remainder of the night.
When I woke up, I smiled through my hangover.
I was proud of myself for sticking to my guns and going home alone.


The other night, while watching Archer I found myself seriously attracted to Stirling Archer.  Turned on by a drawing of a man, yes it’s gotten that bad.
I considered just finding a decent looking guy, any guy, and seducing him.  After all, there are two Kiwi men who have been pursuing me lately.
One is nearly ten years my junior.  He lives at home, works for his dad and is into extreme sports.  He’s sweet and attractive enough, it could be fun to bed him and show him the time of his life.
The other is a few years older than me and is the definition of an adult.  He lives on his own, is an engineer and a base player.  He’s nice and has a good body.  His hairline is receding, but he’s attractive enough.  He could know his way around a woman’s body and it could be fun.
Enough is the key word.  They’re nice enough, attractive enough, but enough is no longer enough.  I don’t want to settle to appease my sullen vagina.
I want intrigue and passion and excitement.  I want to WANT someone.  I want to be mad with desire for the next man I have sex with.


I was talking to Dillon and as always, our conversation turned to sex.  Dillon admitted he’d been rather slutty lately while I admitted to being slightly prudish.
“It’s not for lack of trying,” I insisted, “I just can’t find anyone who interests me even a little and I can’t be bothered to have meaningless sex with strangers.  What’s happened to me?”
“That’s probably a good thing,” he suggested, “It means you’re growing up.”

Growing up?  I guess it had to happen eventually.


I patiently await the day I meet a person that makes my heart pound and my breath ragged.
Until then, it’s nice to know that I’m happy and content on my own.

My blog may always be a mishmash of thoughts, but at least I’m starting to find my way.

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Sex Interviews

My friend Andi was griping to us girls.  After a six month draught, she finally slept with a guy she went to high school with.  She was horrified by his weird sex noises and her lack of an orgasm, but how could she have known it’d be so disappointing?
That’s when I came up with the brilliant idea of sex interviews.  Think about it… You wouldn’t hire someone without first interviewing them and comparing them to other contenders.  You wouldn’t entrust your children to someone you just met.  So why your orgasms?  Some might argue that the first roll in the hay is like a trial, but I say there should be a less violating and more practical way to find out if a man is good at sex. This is my brilliant plan for recruiting my next sex buddy, tell me what you think guys.

The Interview Process:

  • All applicants must arrive with a CV.  This will consist of a “Head Shot” (hehe) of their erect penis.  Resume should include but not be limited to: special skills, sexual likes and dislikes and any known fetishes.
  • All candidates must provide references for the last three women they were intimate with.
  • The interview process will last 20 minutes and will contain questions such as:
    “What is your stance on cuddling?” and
    “How many times can you go in one night?”
  • Following the interview there will be a one minute trial make out session.  This will be followed with a sex preview in which the candidate will demonstrate their best moves on a mannequin.
  • The process will conclude with an STD test.

What will the winning contender get out of this?  Why, the pleasure of sex with me of course.  Whenever, wherever.

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A Matter of Sheer Convenience

So I backslid.  Big time.  I reconnected with LipRing.

It started off somewhat innocently.  After not hearing from him for almost a month, I got a random message from him:
“Hey, do you still have my USB?  Can I get it back?”
My response: “SERIOUSLY?!
He was all, “Yeah, no rush or anything.  I just remembered you had it.”
I was seriously annoyed.  Not a peep from this guy for God knows how long and now he’s harassing me over some cheap USB stick that he lent me.  Just fucking replace it!
I told him that if he wanted it, he could come get it anytime.  He said he was too lazy at the current moment (even though he lives all of 5 minutes down the street) and that he’d get it some other day.  That further enraged me.
Then, he started chatting me up, asking me how I was doing.  I called him out on it and asked him if he was using the USB thing as an excuse to talk to me.  He swore he wasn’t and that it actually just popped into his mind and he wasn’t sure if I was still in town.
“Whatever,” was my reply.

A few days later, he messaged me to inform me that his roommates were out of town and that Kennedy and I should come over and have a few drinks.  I said that she was at work and I had work early in the morning.
“So?  You can still come over, have some drinks, some sex, see what happens.”
I lost it at him.  I asked him if he really expected both of us to show up at his house and fuck him.
He quickly tried to defend himself saying that he really did want to just have a couple beers and thought he’d ask us if we wanted to do something.  The sex thing was (apparently?) a quote from Anchorman that I totally missed.  He was super apologetic and admitted that re-reading his message, he could see that he came across as an asshole.
I admitted that perhaps I had slightly overreacted and we got to chatting.  Even though I still thought he was a total shit head, decent sex in an empty house was beckoning me.  After several not so discreet hints, I finally told him I was coming over.
“Really?  Even though I’m such an asshole?” he teased.
“I have needs.  But I don’t have to come over…” I told him.
“No, no, I’m just kidding.  Please do!”

The first time we had sex it was boring and over too quickly.  When he rolled off me and asked if I’d finished, I laughed and said, “Believe me, if I had cum, you would have known.”
He looked embarrassed and asked for another try.  We lay in bed chatting and then he got his second wind.  The next sex session was way better and I did finally finish.  When he pulled out, there was quite a bit of blood.  I was mortified and truly had no explanation (sometimes I just bleed for no reason… I’ve been tested for every STD and come up clean, I currently have an ovarian cyst that I tend to blame, but truly it’s a phenomenon I do not understand.)  Luckily, he was really cool about it and genuinely did not think it was a big deal (unlike a guy I dated who after a similar incident NEVER SPOKE TO ME AGAIN.)
I didn’t hang around, I went home as soon as possible.  Then I tried to convince myself that was I was doing was alright, it was just sex and I still had the upper hand.  Right?

Last weekend, it happened again.  We were chatting, both of us planning to go out, both of us pre-drinking alone.  He suggested I come by and have a drink with him before meeting my girls at the pub.  I walked down to his house and we had a couple beers and then I walked into town.  He messaged me and suggested that if I was keen, I could come by his house again on my way home.  I told him I would consider it.  The pub was closing and my vision had become blurry.  Everyone in my group was beginning to scatter and I announced that I was going to visit my booty-call.  All the girls scoffed, “You can’t have a booty-call in a town this small.  Everyone will find out.”
I shrugged, unconcerned since my introverted self is virtually anonymous in this community, and began my sex mission.

At his house, the two of us smoked a joint and then retired to the bedroom.  We hooked up twice and it was pretty good, being stoned made it a lot more fun and the fact that he was a bit more attentive was a nice touch, but I still wasn’t very impressed.  But the best part came after the sex, when our two warm naked bodies fit perfectly together beneath the thick duvet and we fell asleep cuddling to the sound of pouring rain outside.
I realized that maybe I wasn’t keeping him around for the convenience of sex, maybe I liked the occasional attention and enjoyed knowing that there was one person who was maybe, sort of, into me.
It’s sad, because I sincerely do not like him.  He’s not my type at all, I would never consider dating him and I don’t really enjoy the sex, yet I won’t entirely let him go.  Because at least he’s something.
My ex and I broke up a year and a half ago.  In that time, I have met one person that I actually liked.  That was a year ago.  Since then, I’ve met one person that I was attracted to, LipRing.  Now that I know that type of person he is, it’s obvious that he’s not for me, it’s just disheartening.

To make matters worst, when I got up at 7 am for work, I politely asked if he could drive me the 4 blocks down the street as he usually offers and it was pissing rain out.
“I didn’t tell you?  I got busted drinking and driving and my license got suspended for a month.  Sorry.”
“Can’t you just drive me home?  There’s no way you’ll get caught driving in a cul-de-sac, first thing on a Saturday morning.”
“I can’t take any chances, sorry.”
Later I found out that he takes the risk and commutes 40 kilometres to work during the week.  But God forbid driving me home.  Far too dicy.
I’m finally ready to let him go completely.  It’s not summer anymore, all those people I once knew have left.  I have a new job, I’m moving into a new place, I have new friends in my life.  It’s time to leave LipRing in the past and move onto bigger, better things.
I’m not ready for a relationship, but I want the next person that I sleep with to be special.  I want there to be anticipation and excitement.

Assholes like him have no place in my life.  Convenience no longer cuts it as an excuse.

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The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Today I googled myself.  I was hoping to find my old MSN Profile (apparently they don’t exist anymore?) to access old high school photos.  What I found instead was my old blog I kept in high school.  It was a little disarming since it contained my full name along with extremely personal details and real names of those involved.
The posts were fairly dull and contained huge time lapses.
Some stories I had completely forgotten about and so I had a good chuckle while skipping down memory lane.

Eventually, I stumbled upon a post that made my eyes well up with tears.

I was ranting about my best friend Dillon.  I complained about how clingy he was and bemoaned that fact that he obviously liked me.
“I DON’T like him,” I had so venomously stated, “Why can’t he just accept that?”
I went on to describe how at a party at Dillon’s parents I had hooked up with our friend Arthur.  Dillon made some snide comment in which he referred to me as promiscuous.  I was outraged and angrily asked the cyber world: “Why does he think he owns me cause we’re going to prom together?  The only reason I accepted was cause my first two options bailed and I didn’t want to go stag.”  Ouch.
I was shocked at my cruelty and callousness.  Dillon is my best friend and has been since high school.  Sure we’ve had fights and falling outs, but not back then.  Back then we’d just begun getting really close, he’d done no wrong at this point.
I clicked over to my next post, it begun with an email I had copied and pasted:

“I realize you’re mad and you have every right to be.  I wasn’t trying to call you a slut, but I can see how it came off that way.  So, I’m sorry.  Something like this was bound to happen eventually.  I just have to accept the fact that we’re not going to happen.  So yeah, I’m sorry about what I said and I hope you forgive me!”
My heart broke when I re-read those words (and apparently did at the time, according to the remainder of my post.)
I knew Dillon liked me, but the story I usually tell about how we came to be friends went something like this:
He liked me, we went on a date.  I wasn’t feeling it, I told him I just wanted to be friends and we have been ever since.
It’s a story I tell myself more than anyone else.  The truth is, I hurt him, badly.  He cared about me and probably still does and I never gave him a chance.
I began to see the light a little when trying to describe the nature of our relationship to Kennedy.  I mentioned that his one and only girlfriend and my ex both told me the same thing:
He’s in love with you and always will be.  How can you not see it?
But still, I denied it, I refused to acknowledge it, I pushed it out of my mind.  Sure he had liked me at some point, but that was 10 years ago, he’s moved on.

What if that’s just a story I tell myself so I can hide from my own guilt?  When I met Dillon, he was a nice, sweet, lovesick little puppy.  He was a virgin until after we graduated.  Then he started reading Tucker Max realized, ‘Hey! Assholes really do finish first!’ so he set out to become one and he succeeded.  And it worked.  He got laid.  A lot.  At 27 he is an intelligent, confident man about to finish law school.  Beautiful women throw themselves at him, they trip over themselves to be with him, they blurt out they love him after sex, they pine after him when he pulls away.  He’s never had a real girlfriend (well, one for a few months) he always finds something wrong with them.  Yet something tells me, it’s because he’s still patiently waiting for me….

I think about how it must have been for him, watching me date my ex from Hell.  Seeing me get treated like shit and yet always going back for more.  Witnessing me suffer at the hands of a man I claimed to love.  Becoming an asshole himself in the hopes it would get him ahead.  Then watching me launch straight into a new relationship with a nice, normal, virginal guy, and his own cousin no less!  No wonder he became so bitter!  No wonder we didn’t talk during those relationships.
I recall talking to his brother who said, “You know he’s a jerk cause he likes you right?” and me whining, “If he likes me, why can’t he be nice to me?  Win me over with kindness…”  Of course he wasn’t.  He’d tried that before and it got him instantly friend zoned.  Besides, why would he when being a dick was proving so successful?  Now I sit here, with the heaviest question on my mind:
Am I responsible for the person Dillon is today?  Will he always be bitter and alone because of me?
I know it may sound like the most self-absorbed, presumptuous question in the world, but its the first time I’ve seriously asked myself this and I’m scared it may just as well be true.
Holy fuck I’m an asshole!

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I have wondered what it’d be like to be with him.
We talk openly and honestly about sex and I have no reason to doubt he’d be incredible in bed.  I don’t find him unattractive though he’s not really my type.  But what?  What could ever happen?  We couldn’t be together, we’re too different.  I know “opposites attract” but we are on opposite sides of the fence on every issue.  He wants to go back to our hometown and be a criminal defence lawyer, he wants that materialistic security.  I want to travel the world, be a happy bum and avoid responsibility and commitment forever.
Years ago we promised that if we hit a certain age and were both single we’d marry each other.  But now I’m questioning if I ever want to get married, let alone do it out of convenience and social pressure.  So what, should we just fuck?  Just to see what it’d be like?  Maybe ruin our friendship and for what?
I love Dillon, I can’t lose him.  We’re living our separate lives in different countries, but he’s always been there for me, we’ve always kept in touch.

A long time ago I had another best guy friend.  Our relationship was awesome and open, we had the best times together.  He told me he loved me and I said I couldn’t.  He wouldn’t relent, he said he loved me and wanted to be with me.  He treated me like gold and refused to give up.  One night camping, in a drunken haze, we hooked up and it just felt right.  He asked me again to be his girlfriend, but this time I said yes.  He was my first and I was totally and utterly in love.  Then everything changed.  I changed, he changed, we couldn’t just be us, we were like this one entity.  He grew cold and turned on me.  He broke my heart in the cruelest and most malicious way.  I felt all the pain and anguish from all those years ago as I re-read my heartbroken entries,  After that I vowed never to date a friend again.  But I did.  I met him and he loved me and one day I saw that I might love him too.  So we gave it a shot.  I still love him but I broke his heart and he’ll never forgive me and I’ll never have his friendship again.

I guess it’s better to have loved and lost than always wondered what could have been, but not this time, not in this case.  I can’t lose Dillon.

I guess I’m still a selfish asshole.

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Rainy Day Thoughts

Sitting outside tonight amongst the lush fauna, listening to the rain pour onto the cedar deck.

So this is fall…

I can hear raindrops falling hard into a plastic bucket in some obscure spot in the distance.  It hits loudly, frantically and my heart beats with it anxiously.

I feel sad today.  Maybe it’s this weather, maybe it’s because I overslept or maybe it’s because work hasn’t been great, but I feel bummed and on the verge of tears.  I’m sick of working so hard, I’m sick of busting my ass.  The good news is I’m nearly at my savings goal.  The bad news is I’m fairly miserable.  Thank God I have New Zealand in my near future to look forward to.
I have so much in my life to be grateful for (where do I even begin?) I need to focus on these positive aspects of my life.

Last night I had a bit of a panic attack… On my blog stats I noticed that my posts were getting a lot of views, but very few visitors meaning those who were viewing my blog were doing so several times a day.  This horrible image popped into my head of people who knew me laughing at my blog and showing their friends.  I write under a pseudonym so that I can speak honestly and openly about my personal life without fear of embarrassing my family or losing a potential job over it, but that being said if someone in this town were to read my blog it’d be pretty obvious who I am and where I live.  I don’t want my identity to be an absolute secret, I just want to protect my friends and, to an extent, my reputation.  What scares me is the thought of ridicule.  It’s a fear that’s held me back in the past with writing and it continues to haunt me.  I love keeping this blog.  It’s a means for me to express myself and if a few people read it (and who knows, maybe even like it) then that’s just a bonus.  Maybe I’m not where I’d like to be career wise, maybe I don’t have a portfolio like those that I graduated with, but I’ve finally started writing again and thats a huge step for me.  Then I thought:
So what if someone reads this and laughs at me or thinks I’m crazy or weird.  Fuck them and the horse they rode in on.  

I’ll never stop being me and if someone doesn’t like it, then adios bitches!  I’m out of here in 62 days.