How You Doin’ Blondie?

If Only My Hand Could Buy Me Nice Things, I’d Give Up Men
October 30, 2007, 9:32 pm
Filed under: dating, games, Life, love, lust, Men, neighbor, Reflections, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , , ,

We ran into each other today, he was running errands on his lunch break and I was heading to class. He stopped and made small talk, asked me if I was going to be selling my car because he saw me taking pictures of it yesterday. Then he said he had a meeting in an hour and really had to get going so he could finish running those errands. That’s what he did do, now here’s what he didn’t do:

He did not ask me out on date.

And the rest of my day was directly affected by it, EVEN AFTER I swore I wouldn’t care. Even as I type this, I’m still upset that I’ve been rejected/dismissed [again] and embarrassed that I keep opening myself up for it. I’m also a little disappointed in myself, because I think the reason he doesn’t want to get involved is because of the type of girl I appear to be. He’s very concerned with his son’s well-being, and I’ve come to the conclusion that he doesn’t want his son to hear people talking about that bimbo on Daddy’s arm.

I’ve come to this conclusion by process of elimination really, because I know that his failure to make a move isn’t that he isn’t attracted to me; that one night we went out together, he definitely tagged second base. He was also very quickly sliding into third but the only thing that got off was my shirt and my bra, and since dry sex doesn’t count, he officially only got to second base.

So I know he’s physically attracted to me. But I don’t think he expects or wants a connection beyond that. To his credit, he tried very hard not to seem incredulous when the conversation turned to my education, but I still felt the disbelief. He seemed uncomfortable talking with me about anything other than my experiences as a cheerleader.

But you know what the biggest red flag should’ve been? While were cuddling on the couch, he said that we were going to have to be “discreet” because he was very concerned with what his son might find out about. I immediately sat up and started putting my shirt back on while saying “Oh, so you’re only looking for a fuck buddy?” And there was a beat of silence, not a big beat, but a beat nonetheless, before he said “No, no, not at all,” and then started talking about how he really wanted to get to know me better.

With any other guy, I would have seen all the warning signs and ended things before they even started, but not with him. He wasn’t arrogant or cocksure, he even admitted to being surprised that I was interested in him at all [which was incredibly flattering], I thought he was different from all the others. I thought I had a shot at a relationship that didn’t involve a Sugar Daddy.

Guess not.

Addendum to a Missive
October 29, 2007, 4:24 pm
Filed under: dating, games, Life, love, Men, relationships, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Of course, after having declared it officially his move, I should probably explain that although this seems like a very rational, healthy, adult thing to do, it isn’t [this is me we’re talking about here, have you learned nothing?] If he isn’t consumed with jealously by the way his friends flirt with me and doesn’t swoop down to claim me, I will will probably crumple like a rag-doll and within the next two weeks be involved in a relationship with a wealthy, arrogant, egotistical, older man.

You know, it’s not just those who are ignorant of the past that are doomed to repeat it…those of us that wrote the book are susceptible too.

This Time I Mean It
October 29, 2007, 4:11 pm
Filed under: dating, games, Life, love, Men, relationships, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , ,

I’ve decided I’m not going to approach him after all. I’m tired of laying the groundwork; creating the perfect set-ups for him to ask me out and then feeling horribly let down when he doesn’t. If he’s really that shy, he needs to grow a pair; if he’s really that dense, we wouldn’t have lasted long anyway. He’s got my phone number, my address, and my obvious interest; the ball is in his court.

Damn That Beach In Greece

Sometimes I can hear a song so clearly in my head that I can actually hear the artist taking a breath on the downbeat. When I found myself staring at S. washing his car and began to feel that familiar, pathetic, need to have a man’s attention, I imagined this song queuing up in the background.

One Two Three Four
Tell me that you love me more
Sleepless long nights
That is what my youth was for

Old teenage hopes are alive at your door
Left you with nothing but they want some more

Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, You know who you are

Sweetheart bitterheart now I can tell you apart
Cosy and cold, put the horse before the cart

Those teenage hopes who have tears in their eyes
Too scared to own up to one little lie

Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are

One, two, three, four, five, six, nine, or ten
Money can’t buy you back the love that you had then
One, two, three, four, five, six, nine, or ten
Money can’t buy you back the love that you had then

Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are
Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are
Oh, who you are

For the teenage boys
They’re breaking your heart
For the teenage boys
They’re breaking your heart

So Tell Me, Why Can’t This Be Love?
October 28, 2007, 3:33 pm
Filed under: dating, dirty, Life, love, lust, Men, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , ,

Every time I’m out with a man I’m really attracted to, at around 1 o’clock in the morning I get incredibly, insatiably, horny. We could have had a perfectly nice, respectable evening but it doesn’t matter, at 1 o’clock I’m arching my back seductively and pretending I don’t notice the neckline of my shirt creeping lower and lower. At 1 o’clock my tone of voice changes subtly to something darker and sexier. At 1 o’clock I toss my hair and stretch like a cat, causing him to imagine me stretching the same way much later that morning, in his bed, naked. My favorite part is right before they break, when their erection is straining against their zippers and I’m frustrating them to no end because I’m pretending like I don’t notice it. I always smile to myself when the kiss finally comes, because it’s never slow and gentle like in those old black and white movies. Instead it’s always forceful and urgent, and their hands are everywhere.

The funniest part about it is, before they make a move to start seriously rounding some bases, they always do a quick test-grab. It’s always really quick, so if I’m not receptive they can pretend like it was an accident. When they do that I always have to make a conscious effort not to laugh, because after they realize I’m willing, all pretense of respectability and restraint is abandoned.

And that’s what makes me the horniest of all.

Why can’t this be love, indeed.

Sweetheart, Bitterheart, Now I Can Tell You Apart
October 27, 2007, 1:49 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Men, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I remember sunbathing on the beach once, and the man I was with casually remarked that when he was a teenager, he never, in his wildest dreams could have imagined that he would ever be this successful. I remember making some vague comment in agreement and then rolling over onto my stomach. He then launched into this windy narrative about his long climb to the top [they always do] and I remember my mind wandering back to my teenage vision of the future. I remember my ultimate goal was to become a teacher, specifically so I could be home at a reasonable hour to have dinner on the table when my husband came home; and so that I could have 3 months off in the summer to spend with my 4 beautiful sons. It wasn’t until that moment, on that beach in Greece, that I realized that I had officially abandoned that idea.

I remember I became depressed at how delusional I was, how hopelessly naive my teenage dreams had been. I remember feeling so incredibly sad that I couldn’t physically move. I remember being a little scared at how suddenly the emotions came and how deeply affected I was by them. I knew my reaction to a simple little observation was irrational, but I just couldn’t shake the sheer and inexpressible sadness I felt. But I kept a sunny front and after a few days I was able to pretty much forget about it; eventually I was able to dismiss the incident altogether as too much sun and too much sangria.

But the other day I was organizing my receipts from my appointments with Dr. J, and I realized that I started seeing him about three weeks after I returned from that vacation to the beach.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that on that beach in Greece, I inadvertently discovered something. I think that it was at that moment, on that beach in Greece, that I first realized there was just something wrong, something big and looming that was just wrong,  just seriously, fundamentally wrong.

But Now That I Think About It…
October 26, 2007, 11:11 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, love, lust, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , ,

…before I’d made that comment about her tits [or lack thereof], I should have asked where she got that t-shirt. Can you imagine how dirty the sex would be if he saw me in that? Mmmm…

I Like It Deep [and disgusting]
October 26, 2007, 9:06 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, love, lust, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , , ,

She was so obviously a poseur, it made me sick. Her t-shirt read “Beat me, bite me, whip me, fuck me, cum on my tits, then get the fuck out!” The way she was standing, her chest stuck out, hip cocked to one side, bored expression on her face; I could tell she wanted everyone in that Wawa to be shaken from their morning routine by disgust, rendered mute by the way she flaunted her self-hatred. Well I wasn’t disgusted, I was angry. I was angry that this barely-legal poseur was trying to insinuiate herself into a world she knows NOTHING about. This is MY niche, MY lot in life, I’M the one who has cornered the market on emotionally unstable trophy girlfriends, this is MY turf and I have the therapy bills to prove it. If she really thrived on being depreciated, defiled, corrupted, adulterated, truly objectified by men, then I’d have met her already. I would’ve seen her on the arm of one of my boyfriend’s friends, or a few stools down from me at the bar in the country club. No, this girl was a poseur, and it made me so angry I wanted to punch her heavily made-up eyes out.

Instead, I just stared at her until she made eye contact with me. Then  I pointedly glanced at her t-shirt and then back at her eyes before saying cooly, “What tits?” 

Score 1 for Blondie, still nonpareil.

The Problem With Being A Sex Object
October 26, 2007, 12:30 am
Filed under: dating, dirty, Life, love, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , ,

It’s one thing to be a highdollar hot mess, but whoring yourself out to middle-aged, middle-class men…well that’s another thing entirely. Not that there’s anything wrong with middle-class (actually, fun little fact: your average construction worker hits it MUCH harder than your average comptroller), it’s just that if you sleep with wealthy men, at least when their girlfriends/wives/friends call you a slut, you can laugh as you wave goodbye to them in your brand new [insert luxury car brand here]. But if you sleep around with middle-class men you’re just a whore, and then how do you sleep at night? Or more importantly, how would I sleep at night? Plus, wealthy men are assholes and generally soul-less, thus making it virtually impossible to break their hearts. Middle-class men play hard, work hard, and fuck hard; real genuine people, so you can actually hurt them, something I would NOT want to do.

But mmmm, when a middle-class man really gets going, you won’t be able to walk the next day.

I am the beast, I’m untamed, I need a leash
October 25, 2007, 8:33 pm
Filed under: dating, games, Life, love, Men, sex | Tags: , , , ,

The general consensus seems to be that he’s intimidated. So I’m just going to take one giant step back and let him see how it feels to chase someone who is maddeningly aloof.

Oh, and I’m also going to make sure every outfit he sees me in is so traffic-stopping hot, it gives him blue balls.

[S]he’s going the distance
October 25, 2007, 2:02 am
Filed under: Life, love, lust, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , , ,

I wore a hot little black outfit today and did my little walk in front of the firehouse. It felt so good, they pulled the ambulance out to respond to a call but stopped dead in the middle of the street, just to watch me walk by. And when the firefighter driving stopped and waved, I waved back. When they’re at the bar later, talking about me, and S. tells them who I am, I want them all to look at S. incredulously and say things like “You’re letting that get away?”

“You tried your best and failed miserably. The lesson is ‘never try.'”
October 24, 2007, 3:22 am
Filed under: Life, love, lust, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

Well at least he didn’t say hell no. In fact, he didn’t really even say “no” at all, he just kind of cut if off at the knees. Now I’m more confused than ever, because his reasons for not being available tonight are legitimate. So do I try again? I’m begining to get tired of all this indecision and self-doubt. It would be so much easier if I could dismiss him and the things he makes me feel, but every day I don’t have him makes me certain I need him all the more. I don’t just want him anymore, I need him. I need him and everything he makes me feel, everything he represents.

And I still don’t know if he wants me too. “You shouldn’t let a man control you’re emotions like that! This is the 21st century, girl power!” Sister, where have you been? My apparent purpose in life is to set the women’s rights movement back at least as far as it’s come.

Whew, the crash is going to be specTACular
October 23, 2007, 2:23 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Music | Tags: , , , , , , ,

I met Lene once, in Ibiza, and I was surprised to learn that not only is she familiar with the Frege-Hilbert Controversy, she can coherently outline the flaws in Hilbert’s axiomatic theories. I wish we’d kept in touch.

The Uppers Must Be Working
October 23, 2007, 2:15 pm
Filed under: love, Music | Tags: , , , , ,

Go to him now, he calls you, you can’t refuse
October 23, 2007, 12:58 am
Filed under: dating, Life, love, lust, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , ,

I want him. Badly. I want his lips on mine. I want his hands up my skirt. I want to feel him get hard through his jeans. I need it.

Very rarely do I actually pursue what I want. I let things happen to me. I let men choose me. I let relationships develop that I know won’t amount to much.

Well I’m done.

I’m done scheduling my day around hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse of him. I’m done with becoming incredibly depressed if he doesn’t wave to me when he drives by. I want a to get to know him better. I want a romantic relationship to develop between us. I want a sexual relationship to develop between us.

I’ve decided to just go for it. I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do, but I’m going to do something. I’ve never made the first move before, and I’m scared as hell. But I’m more scared of standing on this street forever, waiting for the other guy to draw.

Dr. J is encouraging me. He thinks that maybe by taking the initiative for once, I’ll break the chain of destructive relationships.  He says the fact that I feel something different than I’ve ever felt before could be my subconscious telling me it’s time to end some of my emotional struggles…he must be almost done with his car payments or something.

The Kept Woman’s Drinking Game
October 22, 2007, 2:49 am
Filed under: dating, Life, love, lust, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

Here’s how you play:

Every time you drive the Bentley Continental GT Boyfriend #4 bought you to your bi-weekly shrink appointment; take a drink. 

Every time you have to send Lenny to go dust the Ferrari Spider F1 Boyfriend #2 bought you that hasn’t left it’s place in the garage since the day it was delivered; take a drink. [Every time you tell yourself that the only reason you’ve kept the car is so that you can surprise your brother with it on his 16th birthday next year and NOT because you feel like it’s some perverted love article; take another drink].

Every time you’re recognized in public and the person who recognizes you stops awkwardly right before they address you because they remember that your ex-boyfriend is back with his wife now and they aren’t sure if they should be talking to what was obviously his in-between-the-stages-of-life fling; take a drink.

Every time you spend another night alone with your two Blue Persians, Bruce and Demi, in your house that’s worth more than the GNP of some countries; take a drink. 

Every time you tell someone what your major(s) in college were and they laugh because they honestly can’t believe you’ve done anything even remotely intellectually stimulating a day in your life; take a drink. [Every time that someone who laughs is your boyfriend; take two drinks].

Every time you’re sitting in some ridiculously expensive restaurant, eating food you pretend to like but really can’t stand [you were raised on Hamburger Helper and Mac ‘n’ Cheese] and are telling yourself that this guy, the one right across from you, he’s it, he’s really the one; take a drink. [Every time “the one” tries to have sex with you immediately after having just broken things off; take another drink].

Every time you tell yourself that the way you relate to men has nothing to do with your relationship with your father; take a drink.

Every time you accidentally call the man you’re dating “Daddy”; take a drink.

Every time the man you’re dating asks you to call him “Daddy”; take a drink.

Every time the man you’re dating asks you to call him “Daddy” during sex; take two drinks.

Every time you agree to call the man you’re dating “Daddy” because it kind of turns you on; just go ahead and drain the bottle.

Why yes Bob…
October 21, 2007, 4:14 am
Filed under: Life, love, Music, relationships | Tags: , , , ,

…as a matter of fact it is rather hard when you discover that he really wasn’t where it’s at, after he took everything from me that he could steal.

My Kingdom for What S. is Thinking

Was there a memo circulated on Understanding Men that I missed? Did I miss the meeting where they covered “Why He Hasn’t Asked For A Second Date Yet”? Or did the powers-that-be figure I’m such a lost cause they shouldn’t waste their materials on me? Why hasn’t he made a move? We had a great time October 9th…and I majored in Applied Mathematics so let’s see, carry the 1, THAT’S ALMOST TWO WEEKS! He sent me a text this past Wednesday asking me how my week was going; told me that he’s been really busy lately with work, kids, and firefighter stuff. Is that his way of semi-apologizing for dragging his feet with the second date? I mean he’s already told me he wants to get to know me better, and I told him that I was very interested too, so at least those cards are on the table…but he’s made absolutely NO PLANS to see me again, he hasn’t even dropped any hints! How long does a guy usually wait before he asks for a second date? In my experience, if he waits longer than 2 weeks, oh hell who am I kidding? I have no experience with normal relationships, I have no idea if things are progressing normally or not. It’s so frustrating! I hate that I’m so obsessed with him, but he has everything I’ve always wanted…I’m terrified I’m not good enough. Is he subtly trying to give me the brush-off? Or is he interested, and there’s just something else holding him back?

de • grade – verb [used with object] 1. to reduce; to decompose by stages.

Sometimes I feel like my love life is so pathetic it’s tangible. Like people can see it just as clearly as they could see a piece of lettuce in my teeth. My relationships with men are so twisted and unhealthy, I don’t ever fully confide in anyone about them, not even Dr. J. And I don’t lie because I’m afraid of what people will say about my lifestyle, I can handle being looked at as the obligatory bimbo indicative of a man’s mid-life crisis. What I can’t handle is people seeing how much of my heart I put into being objectified. On some level, I know he doesn’t really love me, I know I’m just another accessory he bought, but the part of me that wants so badly to be loved, lies to the part of me that knows that I’m not. It’s sick, it’s sad, it’s disgusting, it’s deplorable; I should know better, I deserve better, insert the self-empowering lie of your choice here. But for all those things, for all those wretched, dirty little things that define my relationships with men, the worst, the very worst thing about it all: this is the way it has to be. I am only happy with a man when he devalues me as a person.

October 20, 2007, 3:41 am
Filed under: love, lust, mid-life crisis, neighbor, relationship | Tags: , , , , ,

I quit.

I quit him.

Here, we allow the variable x to represent Love…

…and for the sake of this equation we define Love as being a symbiotic relationship in which one species benefits and the other is harmed [often irreparably]. So, if x = Love and Love = Parasitic Symbiosis, then x = job security for Dr. J [heretofore known as “my psychoanalyst”].

People’d call, say “Beware doll, you’re bound to fall”

To the men I date, I am their trophy. I am tall, I am blonde, I’ve got the measurements women take out second mortgages for. I look good in their recently acquired late model luxury car (usually red), and I look even better on the deck of their yachts that managed to escape the hatchet in divorce court. I’m intelligent, so when they dress me up and show me off to their friends, I don’t embarrass them by saying something vapid or staring vacantly into my wine glass. They love the way the men in their social circle congratulate them discreetly, and the way the wives of those same men glare at me with unadulterated envy and scorn. Everything I do is cute, every idea I have is refreshing. Anything I express even a mild interest in, I get.

But I am never introduced to their children. I am never invited to family functions. Pictures are taken of us as a couple, but they never manage to make it to the coffee table or the wall. Though I graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with Bachelors degrees in both Applied Mathematics and History, I am rarely asked for my opinion concerning business or social matters. I have never made it past the engagement phase. I used to give the rings back when the wedding plans fell through, but now I keep them. They never ask for the gifts back, so I never had to make a conscious decision to keep them. I own more luxury cars than Shaq, and I have more bling too. My baubles make the Hope Diamond look like junk from a vending machine.

But I’ve never had a wedding. I’ve never had a man look at me with hopeless love and devotion. I’m an object. A symbol of a phase of their life they’ll laugh about someday with their second wife, a woman older than me and probably not as attractive.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a twenty something home-wrecker, I see a little girl who wants so desperately to be loved that it hurts sometimes. On the few occasions my family gets together, I can’t bear to look at Dad’s new girlfriend, can’t stand to see how beautiful, how young, how intelligent she is. But the worst part, the part that is truly sick, is that I’m content being an object. Actually, I’m more than content, it thrills me. I get an indescribable sense of euphoria from being that hot thing hanging off some middle-aged millionaire’s arm. But what happens when I’m not young enough to be a trophy anymore? Then what? How do I find someone to love me? Do I just raise my age requirements? Start dating men that are older than the ones I date now? What happens when I’m 40 years old and my friends all have husbands and families and daughters old enough to be trophies themselves? What happens when all I’ve got to show for all my relationships is things, things that can’t talk to me or touch me or love me?

With this new man, this one I’ve been writing about, I sense that things will be different. His attitude is different from all the other ones, I can actually picture myself saying “I do.” That’s why he’s so important, so very, very important to me. I don’t want to be alone, living in the shadow of my “Daddy Issues” forever.

Thanks Jack, but my psychoanalyst has been saying that for years

The Plot [among other things] Thickens
October 19, 2007, 4:33 am
Filed under: love, lust, Men, relationship, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

When He and I were at the bar that night, an incredibly intoxicated and/or terribly misguided guy got up on “stage” to serenade us with a little Kid Rock. I scrunched up my nose in general distaste and asked Him if He was a fan of Kid Rock, and He admitted liking a few of his songs. Then, to elaborate, He said there was really only one song of Kid Rock’s He enjoyed, and although He couldn’t remember the name of it, there was a line that went “I want to fuck you like I’m never going to see you again.” Was He dropping a hint that just flew right over my naive head? Or is He really into that song? I looked up the lyrics, the song is called “So Hott”:

You got a body like a devil and you smell like sex

I can tell you’re trouble but I’m still obsessed

Because you know you’re so hot, I want to get you alone

So hot, I wanna get you stoned

So hot, I don’t want to be your friend

I want to fuck you like I’m never gonna see you again

You’re like the kiss of death, like the hand of fate

I can tell you’re trouble but I still want a taste

Because you’re so hot I want to get you alone

I want to get you stoned

I don’t want to be your friend

I want to fuck you like I’m never gonna see you again


I’m telling you, that Kid Rock is a hopeless romantic.

But more importantly, what was He saying when He told me this was His favorite song? Was He trying to tell me He wants to fuck me like He’s never going to see me again? Because logistically that wouldn’t work out. I mean He can fuck my brains out, that’s fine, but we live right across the street from each other, so He’s going to see me again. Or am I reading into it entirely too much? I’m not exactly sure how much He’d had to drink when all this happened, but He seemed lucid. Of course when we got back to His house He certainly made like He had every intention of fucking me like He’d never see me again (not that I minded overmuch). Maybe I should just be flattered that I’m so hot and I smell like sex?

Prince Charming Drives A White H3
October 19, 2007, 3:21 am
Filed under: love, Men | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It’s the little things he does, like spend a little extra time outside when he knows I’m watching. Or driving the hot little black sports car because he thinks I disapprove of his new H3 (I don’t care). Or checking me out when he thinks I’m not looking, or finding excuses to touch me or talk to me. The last one is the one that bothers me a little bit, why does he think he still needs an excuse to talk to me? We’ve kissed and he has my phone number, I’m pretty sure that elevates him to the Cut-The-Innocent-Chit-Chat-Ask-Me-Out-Already level. He texted me yesterday, said his week has been busy as hell. I guess that’s his way of explaining why he hasn’t contacted me. I was so happy to hear from him! It was just a simple hey-how’s-your-week-going but it meant so much, it means he’s thinking about me. And Heaven knows I’m thinking about him…a LOT, I even dream about him, I’ve got it SO bad. He’s a devoted father, incredibly intelligent, very handsome, and he’s got that quiet confidence I always thought was a myth. When he touches me I melt, and when I just think about him touching me I melt too. He’s just so perfect. Cue the cheesy sigh.