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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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What’s the Deal With Blue Balls?

What’s the deal with Blue Balls.  Is it really a “thing”?

I was in high school and having my first real sexual experience with my first real boyfriend.  We started having sex, but I stopped him because it was too painful and uncomfortable.  The words “blue balls” were mentioned and he complained that he felt as if he had been kicked in the balls and went into the bathroom to relieve himself.  The funny thing was I actually felt sorry for him.  Me, the girl whose vagina was throbbing in pain and whose hymen was ripped and bleeding into my panties.  Throughout most of my adult life I have been painfully aware of the “blue balls” phenomenon.  Always careful not to get a man too excited unless I was intending to do something about it.  In fact, I felt guilty if I made out with a guy too passionately, like Shit, I got him all excited, I better have sex with him.

I am now convinced that blue balls is just an excuse peddled by adolescent boys to guilt women into succumbing to intercourse or at the very least, a BJ.  I believe there is a build up in the testicles and that, if unreleased, it could cause some discomfort, but some of these guys act like they’re fucking martyrs.  The fact that little to nothing has been written about it in medical literature reaffirms my beliefs.

Actually, I haven’t heard the words uttered in years.  For some reason I was thinking about it the other day and I nonchalantly asked LipRing.
“Nah, it’s not a real thing,” he insisted.

So now, a few glasses of wine deep I am wondering, “What’s the deal with blue balls?”  Real?  Mythical?

C’mon men, share a little light on the topic.

bloob-allz

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Guilt Will Keep Us Together (Or Why It’s Society’s Fault)

Continued From Before

Why do good women stay in bad relationships? Is it because we don’t want to give up and admit defeat? I think its because society tells us that as women, our main goal should be securing a husband and popping out children.
In my high school Career and Personal Planing class we were told to sit down and map out every milestone and goal from now until death. As disgusted as I was at the thought of planning my entire life at the tender age of 16, I complied. What I do remember from that assignment was that I planned to be married at 25 and have my first child before 30 and since I wanted to date someone for at least 4 years before marrying them, that made my ideal age for finding a life partner 21. Twenty-fucking-one! At the age when most Americans are finally legal to drink, I would be seeking out my soulmate.

I was about that age when I met him and I’m certain that life goal was still looming in the back of my mind. We were close friends with lots in common, he loved me unconditionally and was a good person, so I thought that was all that mattered, after all, I needed someone that was good husband material. Now at the age of 27, a part of me dies whenever someone I know gets married or has kids and I visibly cringe whenever I’m asked when I plan to marry.

Why do women put these unrealistic pressures on ourselves? Is it because we are genetically limited on our child bearing years? Women are so insecure about ending up a crazy cat lady that they give in to irrational thinking.
At 21, my number one goal was finding myself a boyfriend, I never even considered venturing out on my own and following my own dreams. It was boyfriend, or bust!