Giving up sex

So here’s The Deal.

I’m giving up sex for 3 months.

That means three months of no sex, not even a teeny little bit.

Not even the kind that doesn’t “count.”

This means I have to be celibate until January 7, 2018.

Now, there is one exception to this rule:

The Swede.

IF The Swede comes to visit, then my vow of abstinence goes on hiatus.

I rationalize it like this – The Swede happens to be the one HEALTHY friendship I have and therefore shouldn’t be included in my vow of abstinence, which is supposed to weed out the dirty boys and rebels.

I told Tejas about my vow and he just laughed and laughed.

Then he thought about how much bitching he will have to listen to and he STOPPED LAUGHING.

Personally, I think the biggest challenge for me isn’t going to be giving up sex.

No.

It’s going to be giving up the sexting and flirting that goes with it.

Because for me, flirting leads to sexting leads to sex IRL.

So we’re gonna have none of that.

Do you think I will survive?

I’m my own f*cking problem

All this time I’ve been thinking that I can’t find a good man because a good man hasn’t crossed my path yet.

But that’s a lie.

I think I’ve come across a few.

You see, I take an odd approach to meeting men.

I bombard them with my sexuality and dare them to see ANYTHING AT ALL beyond it.

Of course, the good ones run away, and the bad boys stay.

So I have a bouquet of rebels and dirty boys to choose from.

They’re the ones who value sex as much as I do.

And I’m not in love with a single one of them.

And none of them are in love with me.

Maybe, and this is a BIG MAYBE, I need to relinquish my vice grip on sex being the most valuable part of a relationship and consider that there are other things infinitely more valuable.

Conversation, for one.

Thoughtfulness, for another.

A great sense of humor.

God, I can’t believe I’m going to say this but maybe I’ve been valuing the wrong things all along.

Maybe, if I want to find someone, I need to just stop with the sexting, and the nude pics, and the dinner dates at his place and just SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!

I think I’ve forgotten that I’m a woman, not just a vagina begging for earth-shattering orgasms.

Is this what my friends* have been trying to tell me all along?

If I really want to wind up with a decent man, then I need to embrace the woman I am, not the sex that I want.

Am I my own fucking problem?

 

*Barbara, Lisa, Rob, Michelle. . .

Red Flags

I ignore red flags MOST of the time.

Some guy calls his ex-wife a narcissist and I look the other way.

Another guy tells me I have a lazy eye over drinks and I laugh and make excuses.

So when the newest guy made a joke about my sister and I in a porno together, I ALMOST let it slide.

ALMOST.

But I didn’t.

I called him out on it.

I’m not sure why I didn’t let it slide.

Actually I do.

I made excuses for one guy’s behavior not too long ago and he lived up to my (ignored) first impression of him.

So this time I didn’t want to ignore it.

Yeah, I GET THAT IT’S A FUCKING JOKE.

BUT IT’S A DISGUSTING ONE!

Who, when trying to put their best foot forward upon meeting a new woman, makes a porn joke about her and her sister?

Who makes porn jokes BEFORE the first date?

A man with his mind in the gutter?

A man with no manners?

A man who clearly is suffering from a lack of social skills?

Regardless of WHY he did it, the end result is the same.

The fucking hammer has fallen and YOU HAVE BEEN VOTED OFF THE ISLAND!

Barbara would be so proud. . .

Poly or no?

I have a friend.

We’ll call him ‘Sam.’

Sam wants me to set him up with all the single women I know.

The thing is, Sam is poly.

At least Sam claims he’s poly.

[I personally think he’s flexible, for the right woman.]

All the women I know are monogamous.

Definitely NOT poly.

Anyway, Sam is upset that I offered to set up my friend Rob with two of my single girlfriends.

Beyond the fact that Sam is 10+ years older than Rob and simply less appropriate for the 30 – 40 year old women I know, Sam is POLY.

He likes to point out that I don’t believe he’s poly.

I like to point out that it doesn’t matter what I BELIEVE, it matters what HE BELIEVES.

So no, I’m not going to set up a monogamous woman with a poly man.

And, just so you know, I think it’s a wee bit deceptive that Sam’s online dating profiles don’t specify that he’s poly.

Now.

I COULD BE COMPLETELY WRONG ABOUT THIS, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that his lack of success in the dating pool could have something to do with the fact that he’s fishing in the wrong fucking pool with the wrong fucking bait.

Just saying.

Lousy F*ck

This post is for all the guys out there.

There’s something you need to hear and I’m gonna be the one to say it:

Aftercare.

It’s a thing.

And it’s an important thing.

You don’t just slip your clothes back on and beat a hasty retreat out of the bedroom.

No.

Part of the commitment to sex involves a minimal commitment to AFTERCARE.

Meaning you and your partner make pillow talk for at least 10 or 15 minutes post coitus.

When you leap up and wash, get dressed, and leave, it feels like an abrupt and rude ending to what might have otherwise been a fun evening.

So, I’m curious. . . what will it take to make you give a shit about being respectful and connected post coitus?

I’ll give you a tip.

It doesn’t matter how good a lover you are, IF YOU DO THIS THEN THE LOVEMAKING SUCKS.

A smooth transition from the bed to the kiss goodbye ensures that the entire event will be viewed in a positive light.

If you tell us we have a lazy eye. . .

If you put on your clothes IMMEDIATELY. . .

If you fail to provide ADEQUATE AFTERCARE you will be remembered as a LOUSY FUCK and we will PURGE YOU FROM OUR PHONE AND OUR MEMORIES.

That is all.

When you start hitting on friends

He’s single.

I’m single.

We’ve known each other for decades.

He’s a decent guy.

I’m a decent (if slightly naughty) gal.

So when I found out he’s single, I took a leap of faith.

You see, the guys I meet online who are good guys are few and far between.

The Swede and basically NO ONE ELSE.

So even though I’ve been friends FOREVER with this guy I thought, “Why not?”

So I told him when he’s in a good place for dating, we should go on a date.

I suspect he will not take me up on my offer.

And that’s okay.

Going from vanilla relationships to me is like switching from the kiddie roller coaster to the Sky Scream – it’s a real mind fuck and you just may puke but it’s also quite exhilarating!

So I put it out there in the universe.

And even if he isn’t the man for me, someone decent will come along.

I’m keeping my eyeballs peeled for him.

Panty Fetish

I’m not sure how to write this post without using a lot of euphemisms, so bear with me.

Recently, I’ve run into a guy who has a panty fetish.

Not THAT kind of panty fetish.

He doesn’t like wearing them (though I’ve come across those who do).

He likes to, ahem, sniff them.

Not a clean pair fresh from the laundry pile, mind you.

He prefers panties that have been worn all day and are slightly, ahem, damp.

He asked me to describe what my panties smell like after a day of work.

Now.

I don’t know about you but the only time I sniff my panties is when I’m trying to figure out if that pair on the floor is clean or dirty.

So I said the only thing that came to mind.

They smell sweet and musky.

Well, he just about DIED.

Say it again, he requested.

Sweet and musky.

So now, when I go out on a date with this guy, he is expecting me to hand over to him the panties I am wearing.

Gah!

I do believe that I am going to wear TWO pairs of panties that day.

One pair for reals, and one pair for him.

He’ll get to keep the outer pair of panties while I can continue to enjoy the comfort of my inner pair of panties.

And both of us go home happy.

Nightmare

I had a nightmare.

Not your average wake-up-stressed-out nightmare.

No.

This was a wake-up-barely-breathing nightmare.

I started to sing an ABBA song to myself to calm my nerves.

Waterloo.

Something peppy and upbeat to combat the fear coursing through my body.

“Alexa, turn on the light,” I commanded.

Alexa, that smarmy little bitch, did no such thing.

“Alexa, turn on the light,” I repeated.

My Amazon Echo did not respond.

So I reached over and turned on the light.

Relief.

I dreamt that someone was hurting people and I was chasing it. I cornered it in an old, scary house and looked it in the face.

The face was black, like a dementor from Harry Potter, but gradually a face emerged.

My brother.

That’s when I woke up.

I texted The Swede.

I knew he’d be up at 1 am PST, 10 am Swedish time.

Sure enough, he texted me back.

He calmed me down and settled my nerves.

He didn’t laugh or make fun of me.

It’s as if he sensed that I needed to get it out of my system before I could go back to sleep again.

So he just let me vent.

What can I say?

He’s just an amazing man.

Maybe it’s because he has daughters that he seems particularly in tune with the feminine, my feminine, particularly when I’m freaking out.

But I’ll tell you, had he been in the bed with me, I would have wrapped myself around him and thanked him from the bottom of my heart.

I was SO GRATEFUL!

Shit! Shit! Shit!

I know I said I would STAY AWAY from policemen.

My ex-husband was a police officer, after all, and look how that turned out.

It’s not that I dislike policemen.

Not at all.

I admire the work that they do – keeping the peace and maintaining law in society.

Every day, they see people having the WORST day of their lives, which can’t be easy.

You couldn’t pay me enough money to do what they do.

Thank you, I’ll keep on planning events and balancing the budget.

Which is why I’m shocked that I like Chad.

Chad is a DOUBLE WHAMMY.

He’s a cop and was in the military.

The Air Force to be exact.

Actually, he was a policeman in the Air Force.

I find this combination of careers oddly fascinating.

Lord knows I have loved me some military men in the past (you know who you are).

And I do know some very upstanding police officers (Hi Jon).

But usually, I hear the word “police” and I run the other way.

This time around, none of my warning bells were going off.

Chad sent me a picture of himself, which looked oddly familiar.

A man, dressed in blue, with a navy ball cap on. . .

Looks like an academy photo, smells like an academy photo, MUST BE AN ACADEMY PHOTO.

I freaked out (a little) and said, “You’re not a cop.”

He replied with the EYES WIDE OPEN emoticon.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Nooner?

I LITERALLY just started messaging this guy Jerry.

He seemed nice enough.

A bit of a daredevil seeing as how he sent me a pic of him way up in the air overlooking power lines.

Well, he DARED to be as ASSHOLE and I DARED to turn him down.

Has he even READ my profile?

You know, the one where I say that there’s more interesting things to me than just what my VAGINA can do?!?!

Good fucking grief!

I can’t win, can I?