Get some.

kinda, it wasn’t sex or anything…

Well, it would be so awesome and I don’t want to be a 40 year old virgin

gettin some

OOOO DANG!!!!!!

when im alone in my bed and watching some sex and the city… my mind wonders and i…. want some.

That was worth the wait. And totally unaffected, unforced, and natural. Bless men, for they can be loving and fun.

If I meet a schwingy guy, great. (I’d like to, count on that. It’s kinda nice having a libido again.) I will see about converting him into a fling thing, but I’m not an instant-hookup kind of girl, and I like determining if they’re good enough beforehand. Hence, obstacles that could lead to frustrating conversations like last week’s.

He’ll either be on my wavelength or not. Will I go to his wavelength? Probably not. I find it tiresome to always have to get myself onto the guy’s page. Especially for a casual thing.

Yes, I really have no idea what I’m doing. When I get a clue, I’ll reboot this goal! It was nice to even have it occur to me as a goal, anyhow.

God they are worse than CHILDREN for not knowing what they want or how to get it (except by playing stupid and incompetent, so the woman overcompensates and gives it to them. One ex played me like a fiddle for years this way.). And they’re wishy-washy and full of protests and arbitrary nonsense that a simple, basic, crash course in human interaction would solve. Cut the manipulative crap, fellas. If you want to ask us out, ASK US OUT. YOU call us. YOU figure out where you might want to take us, and don’t make us work for it. Don’t sit there and say “well, I don’t know what you want!” so you can get us to ask you out, decide on the date, decide on the hour, decide on the place, and DONT get me fucking started on who pays for the date – and don’t even go there when it comes to putting out and after how much time and at whose place and all this other bullshit (it is a mystery to me why this always comes up with french guys, and not others). Instead the levels of excuses as to why asking me out was a terribly confusing thing, he could have just said “How about coffee on Thursday morning?” Like, geez, I was practically directing him to say that, until I finally gave up in frustration and said “No. I’m not asking you out. When you figure out what you want, you do it.”

God if those players workshops weren’t all about how to manipulate lonely, insecure women into putting out, I’d support them for the simple fact that they remind men that they have some responsibility in how to meet and please women.

I have absolutely no tolerance for wishy-washy men. It is soooo unsexy. And on top of it, this nonsense phone call took 30 minutes out of my 6’_ viewing pleasure. I’m now running at double-pleasure deficit.

Triple-pleasure deficit, actually! All I wanted was to get laid. But you know, if you have to give a guy guidance as to how to ask you out, he’ll be completely freaking lost when it comes to finding his way south of your navel.

Makes me think of a joke:

Why did the blonde have a bruised belly button?

Because her boyfriend’s blond, too.

Went out tonight to a gala screening with a few objectives in mind: 1) schmooze with people who can give me information, and 2) find a guy and maybe go back to his place.

I went to a party I was given tickets to last night. It was all sound and film and light shows. But the beats never took off enough for dancing which sucked but I guess wasn’t so bad for me as my car was too far away with the shoes meant for dancing, not the shoes meant for ogling which I was wearing and getting progressively more ginger about. Being such, dark, loud, not dancy, an intellectual vibe made for a standoffish party that I just thought “Go figure for a Toronto party!” because Toronto parties have either always been like that, like top-40 beer-keg, or grungy “beer can” types (a unique ‘90’s expression for an unlicensed event). This was a party with NO sex (and it was in an old church, ha ha). There wasn’t even the pockets of atmosphere for meeting and talking to people. So that and my schmoozing #1 goal disappointment just killed the mood for me.

If I’m simply going to go out and “get some,” without the context of cautiously falling in love first, I have to break down the wall I’ve built between the desire I still sometimes (if it’s obvious) see in men for me and whether I can respond to that. There is some disconnect from any desire I have. Shame and disappointment in men and in myself are so closely linked that I am dreadfully fearful of letting that get anywhere near my sexuality again. I’ve made a few not-so-big mistakes, but I overblew them into ridiculousness – like I was suffering now for sinning back then. I was just volunteering to be a victim of the madonna/whore complex.

But I got over it, and see things differently now. Perhaps one needs a “slut” phase for every decade. If or when I proceed, this would be my second. I still don’t know for sure if I’ll do this. Everything in moderation (and sluts aren’t moderate, are they?).

I just want to give myself permission to be attracted to whomever appears attractive to me, and see if I can seduce or be seduced and feel really good about it.