How You Doin’ Blondie?


To The Dogs
June 7, 2008, 9:45 am
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

I met a guy a couple nights ago, while I was out walking Cody.

Well, actually, I’d met him twice before, but he hadn’t made a “move” until this most recent encounter.

The first time I met him I actually walked away from the experience thinking he must be gay, since I didn’t catch him looking at my tits even once.

Apparently, I was wrong.

A couple nights ago when we ran into each other, he walked me back to my house, asked me for my phone number, and suggested on Saturday we take the dogs over to Freedom Park, a dog run in a neighboring town. He said he’d give me a call to firm up plans.

I had assumed he’d probably call Friday night, but he didn’t. Now it’s Saturday morning, and I’m lying in bed next the phone wondering how this is going to play out.

I’ve given my number to guys before and they’ve never called, but that comes with the territory. Most men just want the number so that later on, when they’re out with their friends, if they can’t point to me and say, “I banged her”, they can at least point and say, “She gave me her number.”

But this guy, Mark, he seems different.

Fuck. I hate feeling like a pathetic loser, waiting by the phone.

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Everybody Here

If I’m reading Michael Stipe correctly, I think the idea is that everybody has a burden they feel they have to carry, the trick is getting the fuck over it.

“No one remembers and nobody cares”

Preach it, brother Stipe

 



A Minor Drawback To Having Sex For A Living…
March 16, 2008, 10:32 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, love, lust, Men, Reflections, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , ,

If I answer a call from an unfamiliar number one more time to hear a breathy male voice say “Hi Suzie, how are YOU doing?” I just might scream. Or become a lesbian. Men are pigs, every last one of them. Nice guys? Fuck that. I used to be a nice girl, and you know what happened to me? Nice guys. Nice guys with soft voices and big hearts who said all the right things.

Fuck Men.



Child’s Play

Sometimes I make up these little stories, these mundane little stories about boring little couples, and I’ll pretend they’re about me. I pretend that I’m one half of one of those little couples, and I pepper all my conversations with “we” or “my boyfriend and I”. If it’s a stranger or someone new that I’m talking to, I really go for the gusto. I make up a whole pretend-life for my companion, complete with two middle names and irksome but adorable personality quirks.

Pretending doesn’t hurt.



Question: Tell me what you think about this

After it’s all said and done, I’ve used them as much as they’ve used me.



You Got To Make That Money, Honey.

Another little fun discovery: the phrase  “assholes ‘men relationships’ ” returns my blog.

Why would you enter those words, in that order, into a search engine? What are you hoping to discover? That you’re not alone? That there are other women who think that the men they are engaged in relationships with believe their partners are assholes too?

Honey, that’s a given.

What you should have entered, instead of “assholes ‘men relationships'”, is “assholes ‘gifts he gives'”. Because all men are assholes, and all men know it. So it’s not about whether or not your man is an ass, it’s whether or not you make him pay for it. If he crushes your soul on a weekly basis and you’re not walking away with a minimum of 10,000 a month in un-taxable income, that relationship just isn’t working, sweetheart.



Familiarity Breeds Contempt
November 21, 2007, 12:24 am
Filed under: dating, Life, love, lust, Men, Reflections, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , ,

      “And when you were done, you actually felt a little guilty, even you. You looked at her (she looked right back, looked right into your eyes with your cock still inside her, with arms still around your shoulders, looked right into your eyes and shoved her hips forward and when you nearly collapsed because she did that, when your knees nearly gave out because you were so sensitive, she opened her mouth wide and laughed a hard, happy laugh, smiling and snarling all at once, all with her mouth open wide) you looked at her and thought, ‘This girl has a problem. This girl is addicted to sex. This girl likes fucking strange men and if she gets paid for it, so much the better.’ You looked at her and thought, ‘This girl was probably repeatedly molested when she was a child.'”

      “And that time and the last time, after you were done, again the guilt came back, the concern for her. Yes, concern. But then you put your hand on the bone of her hip, saw the curve of her ribs on her side beneath her right breast, saw the back of her knee, and you had to have her again. And every time you reach over to take her again, she laughs that laugh, that cold, hard, satisfied laugh.”

      “When she leaves the next morning, sore, walking carefully, her pussy like a wound, you give her double what you agreed on. You do it because she was good, because she earned it, but also because you wanted to make her life better. Because you do feel sorry for her. But when she takes the money, she is not surprised that you have given her twice what she was supposed to get. She doesn’t even think you’ve made a mistake.”

Kelman, Nic. Girls. 1st ed. Boston: Little Brown, 2003.