Lately, in addition to tanning, working out, and masturbating to pass the time, I’ve been reading books that reaffirm what I’m doing to help me maintain my sanity as I try to remain celibate. Their covers are usually bright pink and bear names like “Better Single Than Sorry,” and “It’s Called A Break-Up Because It’s Broken.” Cute, right? And while they certainly ain’t Shakespeare, they keep me from texting boys (one of Single Allie’s biggest vices) so that’s a good thing.
The one I’m currently plowing through is called “Be Honest, You’re Not That Into Him Either,” and it was written by a sex therapist named Dr. Ian Kerner. It’s actually pretty funny. He talks a lot about sex (my long-lost friend), breaking down the emotional and biological reasons as to why women and men internalize it differently.
In light of my admission yesterday that I keep a list (and a rather long one, at that) of all the people I’ve been with, that got me thinking. One reason I’ve had so many partners, with so few regrets, is because I think I can fuck like a man. By that, I mean I can seemingly separate my mind from my body and allow the latter to enjoy getting it on without the former getting in the way. I’m not saying I don’t have morals or a conscience, or anything like that. But compared to some women I know, I find it much easier to have sex with someone without forming an attachment to them. Or do I?
According to Dr. Kerner, my attempts to treat sex as merely a physical act are in direct conflict with my biological makeup. Apparently, us humans produce a hormone called “oxytocin,” and when released, this shit can actually make you experience feelings of bonding with the person you just slept with. Both men and women have it, but here’s where it gets more complicated: the female orgasm can bring it out and when it does, it makes us want to cuddle. It doesn’t always affect men the same way. Sometimes, it can just make them sleepy. Ain’t that a bitch? Talk about the true battle of the sexes...
I don’t think I have to tell you that with sex, getting off isn’t always guaranteed. However, it’s usually more likely to happen for a man than it is for a woman. If you consider the act of intercourse itself, it can only begin when the guy is ready (as indicated by his shit-eating grin and the boner he keeps poking you with) and it has to end when that erection is gone. A lot of the time, it’s his climax that makes the little guy turn into an even littler guy. For women, however, the big finish is a lot more elusive; it takes practice, patience and communication to make it happen. So when we do finally have an orgasm, and we get a hit of that sweet oxytocin, we automatically feel a sense of attachment to the person who gave it to us. So if I’m reading this right, our bodies make us to want to be in a relationship with the person who just fulfilled our needs. Guess I never got that memo. Or perhaps I did but it went straight to my spam folder.
But if that’s the case, why is it possible for guys to just love ‘em and leave ‘em so easily? That’s where our evolutionary traits come into play. Says Dr. Kerner:
“Men, so the theory goes, are driven to spread their seed to as many willing recipients as possible and are thus biologically inclined to be promiscuous…Women, ostensibly seeking to further the race, search for a single, strong, provider. Sex, under the female scenario, is more a means to an end.”
For us, it’s not just about the orgasm. It’s also supposed to be about closeness and an emotional connection. So what the hell happened to me, then?
Warning: there’s an Allie B. Epiphany approaching.
I guess that all this time I might have been deluding myself just a tad. When I say goodbye to a man I’ve been intimate with, in the back of my mind I think I’ll never hear from him again and I tell myself that’s okay. My best friend RK has a mantra: “hope for the best, expect the worst. That way you won’t be disappointed.” So with respect to that maxim, I convince myself I don’t care, and after awhile I buy into my own bullshit. But the truth is, if I stopped to think about it, there have definitely been times when I have cared, I just refused to admit it. By denying myself the attachment that my very own hormones want me to desire, I’ve racked up a lot of experiences absent of the emotions that makes sex the incredible thing that it is.
Now I don’t mean to get all philosophical on your asses, but in pondering the question “why are we here?” the only answer I can think of is love. When you’re in love, and I mean the real thing, not just lust coupled with a sense of excitement, there is no feeling greater than existing in that state…except perhaps having an orgasm with the person you’re in love with.
So while casual sex can be fun, and I’ve certainly had my fair share of climaxes as a result of it, I’ve been doing myself a disservice by mentally distancing myself from my partners after the act. I’ve been so adamant about protecting my heart that I’ve built up walls my mind and body are constantly trying to break through. Don’t get me wrong, a one-night stand with a David Beckham look-alike can be fulfilling in it’s own right. That’s a challenge that results in instant gratification. And sometimes, everyone needs that. But wouldn’t I rather wait to have sex with the David Beckham look-alike that cares about me as much as I want to let myself care about him?
Ugh. This is making my brain hurt. But so it goes here in Celibate World. I guess three months without sex really gives you a chance to think about all the nuances of intercourse without actually having it. I’m not saying that when this is all over, I’m never going to have casual sex again. It’s sort of a part of adult, single life and sometimes, you just want to bone. But thanks to Dr. Kerner, I know that as hard as I may try, it’s impossible to really cut off my heart from my vagina. So I think instead of protecting myself from getting hurt by a one-night stand, I should try protecting myself from the one-night stands for a little while. Unless, of course, David Beckham calls.
xo
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
The List
One of the most interesting things about writing this blog is that I can use it to reveal secrets about myself to a largely unknown readership. Believe it or not, I actually find this therapeutic. In calling myself out for (and often making light of) past indiscretions I come to terms with them and then I can move forward. Sometimes these things are interesting to you. Sometimes they’re not, but you read them anyways. So to reward you for your loyalty, through the good posts and the not-so-good ones, I’m going to let you in on something that I’m certain you’ll find entertaining or, at the very least, intriguing. Are you ready for my confession? Here goes…I keep a list.
Perhaps it’s a testament to my latent Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or maybe I do it because I feel a need to keep track of my numbers. But the truth is, since high school, I’ve kept a list of everyone I’ve ever hooked up with – numbered, named, and coded – briefly detailing each hookup.
Crazy right? Perhaps. Although I’m not the only girl I know who does it. But of those that do, let’s be honest, my list is probably one of the most extensive. I’m certainly not ashamed to admit that. But I’m also not going to give you actual figures, so don’t even ask. That’s on a need-to-know-basis and it’s something I don’t think the blogosphere really needs to know. I will, however, give you an idea of what it entails since I’m aware that some of you who read this are actually on it. Betcha you’d like to see it. Not a chance. I keep that shit well-hidden. I’m promiscuously organized, but I’m not an idiot.
I started it in high school with boys that I did nothing more than kiss. This began when I was fourteen, with an inept exchange of saliva while watching The Lion King in his parents’ basement. Yeah, I know. So innocent and so cheesy. Those were the days.
But kissing doesn’t have a code so on the first page the only symbol that gets utilized is a “!!” That says I told the boy I loved him, and that I really meant it, or at least as much as I could at the time. A single “!” just means I told him I loved him. Oh c’mon, you know you’ve done that, too.
On page two you’ll find some “*'s” which represent a Clintonian interpretation of sex. By then I was sixteen and I happened to find something I was good at, so that kept my virginity in tact. That goes on for another page until we get to my very “first,” which earned him an underline under his name. We’ll call him Skater Boy and he was the polar opposite of the guys I usually dated in high school. He didn’t play football, he didn’t hang out with my friends. He even had a tattoo and pierced tongue, quite taboo for a high school student in 1998. Nobody could understand how we ended up together, but in a way that just made me like him more. Sometimes, opposites really do attract, and I’m still glad we "did it." There’s also a “!!” by his name because we dated for eight wonderful puppy love-filled months.
After that came my first long-term relationship, one that lasted three years, spanning high school and some college. Now that was a boy who earned his “!!” too, as well as his “*’s” and quite a few underlines. He’s married with a kid now, and I’m actually happy for him, but I will never stop loving his memory. Sigh.
When that ended, things got….well……rather punctuated. What follows are pages (and pages, and even more pages) of short-term relationships interspersed with a healthy amount of hookups. No matter how insignificant or brief, they’re on The List, both first and last names, when I can remember them. For some, I had to use a few descriptive words like “Pete (Guy on Cruise)” or "Chris (The Bartender in San Franciso)," to put it in context and help jog my memory. But they’re all on there, every last one, from the first person I kissed to the last guy I slept with. It’s a veritable who’s-who on the red carpet leading to my vagina. Take that, E! News Live.
Now I know this might seem strange to a lot of people, that I would take the time to keep my own sexual census. But it’s something that’s allowed me to remain in control of my hypersexuality because at least I know exactly what I’ve done. I’m sure plenty of people, some with a less varied history than mine, can’t come up with an exact number of how many partners they’ve had. I can. I don’t leave things out, because I don’t feel a need to. I don’t have regrets…well actually, I have one, but that’s fodder for an entire post of it’s own. Besides that, each one of the inventoried situations is something I knowingly entered with the intention of enjoying myself. And, for the most part, I did.
Today, I’m glad I have The List because it’s currently allowing me to look back, reminisce, and realize just where (and with who) I've been. Now that I’m taking time off to decide how I want my dating and sex life to proceed in the future, it is crucial that I recognize just how little curiosity I have left when it comes to these matters. I've conquered quite a bit of terrority. At the same time, in comparing “!’s” to “!!’s” I have learned the “!’s” weren’t really worth the time or effort, and maybe some of the “*’s” and the underlines (while fun) weren’t really, either. Of course, a few of these, no matter how brief and meaningless, will always serve as noteworthy highlights in this tome. I’ll never forget you Oli (The English Guy), Joe (From California) or Mike (the Delta Tau Delta Butterface.) Cheers. This Bud’s for you.
Come July, as I move forward with The List, I hope the chapters start to get a little shorter. I know the first guy I sleep with post-The Celibacy Project probably won’t be the guy I marry, but what if he is? Then I suppose I will just have to make him the conclusion to my story and retire The List to a safety deposit box where he'll never find it. In Fort Knox.
xo
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
My Sugar Daddy Phase
Today I want to touch on a subject that I’d like to think I’ve officially put in my past. It’s one that’s earned me some criticism over the years, even from my closest friends. So let’s just get it over with and get it out in the open – and by “it” I mean my love of Sugar Daddies, and my Sugar Baby days.
I’ve dated a couple of quite older men, which may or may not come as a surprise to you. My senses of humor and perception have rather adult foundations and I’ve always been very mature for my age. So when I was 22, and picked up by a guy who was 36, even my mother wasn’t surprised, though she certainly wasn’t pleased.
The Surfer lived in Orange County (of course he did) and I met him on a layover at an airport bar (of course I did.) At the time, I was a senior in college and accustomed to boys that had to ask their parents for money so we could go on a date. But The Surfer was successful, at the top of his game and, as I have since realized, looking for a trophy wife. I wasn’t really sure what that entailed, but he certainly did have a nice house and I thought I looked good in his Ferrari. Plus, there was something to be said for having those new, deluxe experiences that were so unfamiliar to me. Drinking Dom Perignon on a carriage ride through downtown Chicago. Flying first class into LAX and sitting next to D-list celebrities. Of course, he was getting something in return, he had a cute 22-year-old to parade up and down Pacific Coast Highway. But he was good-looking, so it was a mutually beneficial relationship, with just a hint of financial power dynamics present.
Later on, when all was said and done between The Ex and me, I found myself back in the Sugar Baby game. Only this time, my motivations were far less pure and a lot more cynical, perhaps even predatory. The Ex, though not a bad person by any means, was very, very cheap. For instance, for the last nine months of our relationship he never once took me out to dinner because he “couldn’t afford it.” But that didn’t stop him from running up tabs at Elephant and Castle after work with his colleagues twice a week. So he was selectively frugal, and he selected me get screwed in that deal. Suddenly, the trophy wife thing started to look a whole lot more attractive. However the problem with that is the more an older man is willing to spoil you, the more likely it is he’s using his money to compensate for other things. And a lot of times, these deficiencies fall under an aesthetic, or even an anatomical, category. So then dating rich, older men started to make me feel a little bit like a courtesan. For those of you that aren’t up on your 16th-century terminology, I’ll save you the trouble of Googling that one: it means hooker. Moving on…
All of that changed that day I met the Renegade Millionaire. He was the oldest guy I’ve ever dated, at 23 years my senior when I was 26. But he was also one of the smartest, sexiest, funniest guys I’ve ever known. Our paths crossed under unusual circumstances in New York City last fall. Then he ended up flying back to Chicago with me to catch a Cubs’ Playoffs game. A few months later, we did Vegas, and we sure did do it in style; VIP all the way, from the high rollers tables to the strip clubs. I’ll never forget when he walked me into the Gucci store and let me pick out whichever handbag I wanted. But the difference between the Renegade Millionaire and the Sugar Daddy-types before him was that we had a genuine connection. I wasn’t just his arm candy and he wasn’t just my meal ticket. We had real conversations about life and love, art and music, politics and philosophy. If there wasn’t such an age difference (not to mention he lives in Seattle) I feel we could have even had a relationship. And to be honest, though I have no way of proving this, I think without his millions I still would have liked being with him.
But alas, I’ll never know that for sure. At least I hope not, as far as his security and happiness are concerned. What I do know is that I was, and always will be, grateful to have him in my life. Because the truth is, Sugar Daddies will come and go, depending on my age and their marital status. But a true friend and lover, millionaire or otherwise, even one that’s about to turn 50, will always have a place in my heart.
The bottom line, and what I’m trying to say is, after having what I’ve had with the Renegade Millionaire, I can no longer fuck older guys just for their money. Not in good faith, at least, and that seems like something I’m aspiring to have in the backdrop of my life these days. I can, however, continue to fuck older guys that have money (hey I’m not about to relegate myself to slumming it here) just as long as I find their personality far more attractive than I do their tax bracket. If you’re reading this, RM, and I know you are: thank you for teaching me that lesson….and for the purse.
xo
I’ve dated a couple of quite older men, which may or may not come as a surprise to you. My senses of humor and perception have rather adult foundations and I’ve always been very mature for my age. So when I was 22, and picked up by a guy who was 36, even my mother wasn’t surprised, though she certainly wasn’t pleased.
The Surfer lived in Orange County (of course he did) and I met him on a layover at an airport bar (of course I did.) At the time, I was a senior in college and accustomed to boys that had to ask their parents for money so we could go on a date. But The Surfer was successful, at the top of his game and, as I have since realized, looking for a trophy wife. I wasn’t really sure what that entailed, but he certainly did have a nice house and I thought I looked good in his Ferrari. Plus, there was something to be said for having those new, deluxe experiences that were so unfamiliar to me. Drinking Dom Perignon on a carriage ride through downtown Chicago. Flying first class into LAX and sitting next to D-list celebrities. Of course, he was getting something in return, he had a cute 22-year-old to parade up and down Pacific Coast Highway. But he was good-looking, so it was a mutually beneficial relationship, with just a hint of financial power dynamics present.
Later on, when all was said and done between The Ex and me, I found myself back in the Sugar Baby game. Only this time, my motivations were far less pure and a lot more cynical, perhaps even predatory. The Ex, though not a bad person by any means, was very, very cheap. For instance, for the last nine months of our relationship he never once took me out to dinner because he “couldn’t afford it.” But that didn’t stop him from running up tabs at Elephant and Castle after work with his colleagues twice a week. So he was selectively frugal, and he selected me get screwed in that deal. Suddenly, the trophy wife thing started to look a whole lot more attractive. However the problem with that is the more an older man is willing to spoil you, the more likely it is he’s using his money to compensate for other things. And a lot of times, these deficiencies fall under an aesthetic, or even an anatomical, category. So then dating rich, older men started to make me feel a little bit like a courtesan. For those of you that aren’t up on your 16th-century terminology, I’ll save you the trouble of Googling that one: it means hooker. Moving on…
All of that changed that day I met the Renegade Millionaire. He was the oldest guy I’ve ever dated, at 23 years my senior when I was 26. But he was also one of the smartest, sexiest, funniest guys I’ve ever known. Our paths crossed under unusual circumstances in New York City last fall. Then he ended up flying back to Chicago with me to catch a Cubs’ Playoffs game. A few months later, we did Vegas, and we sure did do it in style; VIP all the way, from the high rollers tables to the strip clubs. I’ll never forget when he walked me into the Gucci store and let me pick out whichever handbag I wanted. But the difference between the Renegade Millionaire and the Sugar Daddy-types before him was that we had a genuine connection. I wasn’t just his arm candy and he wasn’t just my meal ticket. We had real conversations about life and love, art and music, politics and philosophy. If there wasn’t such an age difference (not to mention he lives in Seattle) I feel we could have even had a relationship. And to be honest, though I have no way of proving this, I think without his millions I still would have liked being with him.
But alas, I’ll never know that for sure. At least I hope not, as far as his security and happiness are concerned. What I do know is that I was, and always will be, grateful to have him in my life. Because the truth is, Sugar Daddies will come and go, depending on my age and their marital status. But a true friend and lover, millionaire or otherwise, even one that’s about to turn 50, will always have a place in my heart.
The bottom line, and what I’m trying to say is, after having what I’ve had with the Renegade Millionaire, I can no longer fuck older guys just for their money. Not in good faith, at least, and that seems like something I’m aspiring to have in the backdrop of my life these days. I can, however, continue to fuck older guys that have money (hey I’m not about to relegate myself to slumming it here) just as long as I find their personality far more attractive than I do their tax bracket. If you’re reading this, RM, and I know you are: thank you for teaching me that lesson….and for the purse.
xo
Monday, May 5, 2008
The Edge Of 27
So Beer on the Pier was a blast, if for no other reason then it brought us gals together for a night of acting like a bunch of drunken asshats. This is something we perfected in college and, if Saturday was any indication, we still got it. But I’m starting to wonder if and when the party is ever going to end.Most of us are 27, and out of the twelve of us that were friends in school, only two are married. Three are in serious relationships - none of them are engaged. The rest of us are just out of relationships or have never really been in one. I know this isn’t common. I’ve heard the average age that a woman in the US gets married is 25. But I’ve also heard marriages that take place during the early twenties are more likely to end up in divorce. So while the first statistic makes us abnormal, the second one makes us kind of lucky.
Here’s the thing about my friends. They’re all attractive, intelligent, successful girls who enjoyed partying in college and still do when their schedules allow for it. That’s the weird part about being 27. It’s like we’re all on the cusp of adulthood; we have careers and grown-up responsibilities, hell some of us even have mortgages. But at the same time, we’re not above wearing matching t-shirts to a drinking game tournament or attending a drunken barn dance. Incidentally, that barn dance takes place in two weeks. And you know what? One of us will probably throw up that night. But the event is for charity and we’ve got a limo to take us to and from the suburbs. So while we’re still a bunch of asshats, now we are responsible asshats. See what I mean? It’s like living in limbo.
A girl I know sent out a message on Facebook called “Being Twenty-Something” that addressed what its author called the “quarter-life crisis.” Without just pasting the whole thing in this post, here were some of the highlights:
“It is when you stop going along with the crowd and start realizing that there are many things about yourself that you didn't know and may not like. You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year or two, but then get scared because you barely know where you are now.”
“You go through the same emotions and questions over and over, and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision. You worry about loans, money, the future and making a life for yourself... and while winning the race would be great, right now you'd just like to be a contender!”
“You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you. Or you lie in bed and wonder why you can't meet anyone decent enough that you want to get to know better. Or maybe you love someone but love someone else too and cannot figure out why you're doing this because you know that you aren't a bad person. One night stands and random hook ups start to look cheap. Getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic.”
Pathetic? I mean, let’s not get crazy here. There is still a time and a place for everything. But some of this stuff obviously resonated with me as a result of The Celibacy Project. It also made me feel better to know that I’m clearly not the only one who considers these things. The twenties are a challenging, but often rewarding, time when our victories should be celebrated. But our failures need to be exonerated. We’re all just figuring this out for ourselves and there’s no set timeline for any of us to succeed.
The truth is, as much as there are societal pressures on us ladies to settle down and start procreating, I think we’re all better off for having not caved in yet. I came awfully close to it with The Ex, and if I had I’m sure I’d be considering a divorce by now. That’s harsh, but I’m serious. Doing something because you think you should, rather than because you really want to, will never turn out the way you’d hoped and it can often turn out much worse.
So basically, the "quarter-life crisis" doesn’t mean we have to grow up entirely. Not yet, at least, or you'll be hard-pressed to pry the Long Island Iced Tea out of my cold, dead hands. But it does mean we need to start taking ourselves, and our relationships, a little more seriously. It's shit-or-get-off-the-pot time, people. If you’re in a healthy relationship that meets your needs, great, when you’re ready then take that train to the end of the line. But if something is missing, and always has been, after several years of dating then for God’s sake, cut your losses. We’re not on a schedule here, but we also shouldn’t be wasting these precious “me” years with somebody who doesn’t deserve to be in them. That’s why over half of my friends are now single. We’ve all either just come out of those situations, or we’ve totally avoided being in them in the first place. And you know what? I think that’s one of the most responsible things we could be choosing to do right now.
I’m sure my friends would gladly drink (wine, not shots…eh, fuck it, both) to that.
xo
Saturday, May 3, 2008
So Many Beers, So Little Time
Today should be an adventure. At 5:00pm myself and ten of my closest friends are heading to an event called “Beer on the Pier.” It’s a four-hour, all-you-can-drink, beers-from-around-the-world tasting event held at (obviously) Navy Pier. And, as we all know by now, I sure do love me some drinking on the weekends.
The blessing and the curse of this evening is that I have to be in bed early, or at least early enough to be up and on my way to the suburbs at 9:30am. The event itself will end at 9:30pm, at which point I should probably mosey on home. That will prevent me from engaging in any late night antics that could inevitably lead me to hooking up. And it will keep me from showing up looking like a drunken asshole wherever New Guy happens to be which, ps, is what occurred last Saturday night. (pps-nothing happened.)
But what I am most concerned about is the large amount of beer I will be consuming today coupled with an undoubtedly large number of male attendees. Then again, I don’t know if I’d even want to tell my grandkids I met their Papa at something called “Beer on the Pier.” Instead, I think I’ll hold out to meet Mr. Right at our annual Flippy Cup Tournament in July. Now that’s classy.
xo
The blessing and the curse of this evening is that I have to be in bed early, or at least early enough to be up and on my way to the suburbs at 9:30am. The event itself will end at 9:30pm, at which point I should probably mosey on home. That will prevent me from engaging in any late night antics that could inevitably lead me to hooking up. And it will keep me from showing up looking like a drunken asshole wherever New Guy happens to be which, ps, is what occurred last Saturday night. (pps-nothing happened.)
But what I am most concerned about is the large amount of beer I will be consuming today coupled with an undoubtedly large number of male attendees. Then again, I don’t know if I’d even want to tell my grandkids I met their Papa at something called “Beer on the Pier.” Instead, I think I’ll hold out to meet Mr. Right at our annual Flippy Cup Tournament in July. Now that’s classy.
xo
Friday, May 2, 2008
My Friend The Lesbian
American Idol Fantasy League was cancelled this week so I had to do something to get myself out of my apartment. Last night, I made plans with My Friend The Lesbian and we had drinks at a place in Boystown called The Kit Kat Lounge and Supper Club.
The funny thing about MFTL is that I knew her before this whole love-of-vaginas thing came about. One day, she was telling me about the boy she was pursuing and the next, she introduced me to someone she called her “girlfriend.” But this girlfriend looked an awful lot like a boyfriend. I guess that’s how it goes in Lesbian Land. It’s a nice place to visit (I may have driven through it once or twice) but I wouldn’t want to live there. Girls are crazy.
When she initially learned about The Celibacy Project, MFTL suggested I get a Neutrogena face buffer in lieu of a vibrator. Apparently, it’ll get you off and it’s great for the pores down there. Good to know. Then she suggested we have drinks at the aforementioned restaurant and I figured, why not? I don’t see enough transsexual female impersonators perform on a daily basis.
The martini-fueled conversation that took place there was actually quite poignant. She told me the story of how she ended up with her current girlfriend, who was three months pregnant when they met! Now they have a long-distance relationship, an adorable baby girl, and they’re madly in love. If I didn’t enjoy penetration so much I’d think she might be onto something.
What I found most interesting about this scenario was that because the girlfriend was pregnant, they waited a long time to get intimate. Now there’s a novel idea as far as I’m concerned. When I asked how it was possible to keep pursuing a relationship without a sexual component, she said whenever they touched it was electric; they both knew when it finally happened it was going to be good. Wow.
So here’s what I’m thinking. When The Celibacy Project is over, I don’t know if I’m going to want to have sex for just the sake of having sex again. Remember on Seinfeld when they discontinued The Sponge as a birth control method and Elaine stockpiled them? She then had to decide whether or not a guy was “sponge-worthy.” Well, I feel like when these three months are over there’s a chance I might not want to give up my celibacy so easily. That will require me to decide whether or not a guy is “Allie-worthy,” and that could mean waiting like MFTL and her girlfriend did. She said that when they finally got around to doing it, there was a bubble bath, candlelight, rose petals...the whole nine yards. That actually sounds kind of nice, like something that just might be worth waiting for. Maybe.
When I first met MFTL she was straight, confused, and unhappy. Today she’s exactly where she wants to be – in a committed relationship based on trust and love patiently built from the ground up. It’s so nice to see that My Friend The Lesbian has finally got her shit together. Now I guess it’s my turn.
xo
The funny thing about MFTL is that I knew her before this whole love-of-vaginas thing came about. One day, she was telling me about the boy she was pursuing and the next, she introduced me to someone she called her “girlfriend.” But this girlfriend looked an awful lot like a boyfriend. I guess that’s how it goes in Lesbian Land. It’s a nice place to visit (I may have driven through it once or twice) but I wouldn’t want to live there. Girls are crazy.
When she initially learned about The Celibacy Project, MFTL suggested I get a Neutrogena face buffer in lieu of a vibrator. Apparently, it’ll get you off and it’s great for the pores down there. Good to know. Then she suggested we have drinks at the aforementioned restaurant and I figured, why not? I don’t see enough transsexual female impersonators perform on a daily basis.
The martini-fueled conversation that took place there was actually quite poignant. She told me the story of how she ended up with her current girlfriend, who was three months pregnant when they met! Now they have a long-distance relationship, an adorable baby girl, and they’re madly in love. If I didn’t enjoy penetration so much I’d think she might be onto something.
What I found most interesting about this scenario was that because the girlfriend was pregnant, they waited a long time to get intimate. Now there’s a novel idea as far as I’m concerned. When I asked how it was possible to keep pursuing a relationship without a sexual component, she said whenever they touched it was electric; they both knew when it finally happened it was going to be good. Wow.
So here’s what I’m thinking. When The Celibacy Project is over, I don’t know if I’m going to want to have sex for just the sake of having sex again. Remember on Seinfeld when they discontinued The Sponge as a birth control method and Elaine stockpiled them? She then had to decide whether or not a guy was “sponge-worthy.” Well, I feel like when these three months are over there’s a chance I might not want to give up my celibacy so easily. That will require me to decide whether or not a guy is “Allie-worthy,” and that could mean waiting like MFTL and her girlfriend did. She said that when they finally got around to doing it, there was a bubble bath, candlelight, rose petals...the whole nine yards. That actually sounds kind of nice, like something that just might be worth waiting for. Maybe.
When I first met MFTL she was straight, confused, and unhappy. Today she’s exactly where she wants to be – in a committed relationship based on trust and love patiently built from the ground up. It’s so nice to see that My Friend The Lesbian has finally got her shit together. Now I guess it’s my turn.
xo
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Holy Shit, It's Been A Month!
And now, without further adieu, I present to you:
30 Things I Have Learned In The Last 30 Days
1. This could be one of the craziest things I’ve ever done but it’s also one of the most normal things a person can do. A lot of guys I know find this whole thing a bit funny because they’ve all had to go three months without sex. Just not by choice.
2. Ex-boyfriends are necessary evils, like death and taxes. All necessary evils should be avoided except when they’re unavoidable…or when they’re the only person that can buy you dinner who you know you won’t want to sleep with afterwards.
3. Kissing a boy is not completely antithetical to celibacy…but it’s also a gateway drug and I should just say no.
4. In the words of Woody Allen, “Don’t knock masturbation, it’s sex with someone I love.”
5. Poor Bastard can never, ever find out about this blog.
6. Most of the people in my life have always known that I’m willing to be open and honest about my sexual nature. A lot of them just didn’t think I was going to be this open and honest. I heart you, Mommy. And Daddy. And Grandma.
7. The Celibacy Project is a marathon, not a sprint. Like my friend AK says, once I get past the hump, it should get easier. There are so many jokes to be made here about “humps” and “humping” that I’m not even going to bother, you can just come up with your own.
8. One of the reasons guys keep coming onto me lately is because I’m starting to value myself more and that confidence shines through, perhaps making me more attractive.
9. The second reason guys keep coming onto me lately is because they only want to take my celibacy away from me. Bastards.
10. The third reason guys keep coming onto me lately – especially the hot ones – is because God hates me.
11. Bad Reality TV might actually be better than bad sex.
12. Not spending time with guys means spending a lot more time with girls. And good women derive strength from other good women. I am blessed to have such amazing women in my life.
13. I might have been/still am a sex addict.
14. I will not date any more douchebags because in a relationship, douchiness just begets more douchiness (for more on that, Google: “Heidi and Spencer.”)
15. The guy that works at the Dominos by my apartment is the new man in my life.
16. It is better to be looked over than overlooked (thank you, Mind Fucker.)
17. Saying something like bj’s comes off as less offensive when you rhyme it with something like pj’s. Then it’s almost cutesy.
18. It’s a lot easier to see the flaws in a relationship after the fact…and the only way to atone for them at that point is to avoid making the same mistakes again.
19. My boy JL is a graphics genius and totally deserves a shout-out for all of his help. I don’t know shit about Photoshop.
20. Nuns have it a little bit easier than me because they don’t know what they’re missing.
21. There’s something to be said for being single and it definitely has something – not everything, but something – to do with being able to sleep diagonally in my bed.
22. One of the most disrespectful things I can do to a guy is let him think that we’re meant to be together when there’s no way in hell we actually are.
23. This is also one of the most disrespectful things I can do to myself.
24. Love rules. Settling drools.
25. Energizer batteries really do keep going and going.
26. If I throw myself a party on day 92 to celebrate, I might have to have it in solitary confinement with a muzzle on like Hannibal Lector so I don’t tear the first guy I see to pieces.
27. It is possible for two people that got divorced after thirty years, and their daughter who was around for the majority of them, to sit down and have a nice, civil evening together and even laugh like they used to be able to. Because at the end of the day, blood is thicker than water and it can also be the tie that binds. There will always be love there, you just have to give it a chance to shine through.
28. People actually want to read about this shit. Who knew?
29. I can go thirty days without sex and still feel good about myself. In fact, I can feel even better than I do when I am hopping in and out of beds all the time. Minus the actual orgasms. Mmmmmmmmm. Orgasms.
30 Things I Have Learned In The Last 30 Days
1. This could be one of the craziest things I’ve ever done but it’s also one of the most normal things a person can do. A lot of guys I know find this whole thing a bit funny because they’ve all had to go three months without sex. Just not by choice.
2. Ex-boyfriends are necessary evils, like death and taxes. All necessary evils should be avoided except when they’re unavoidable…or when they’re the only person that can buy you dinner who you know you won’t want to sleep with afterwards.
3. Kissing a boy is not completely antithetical to celibacy…but it’s also a gateway drug and I should just say no.
4. In the words of Woody Allen, “Don’t knock masturbation, it’s sex with someone I love.”
5. Poor Bastard can never, ever find out about this blog.
6. Most of the people in my life have always known that I’m willing to be open and honest about my sexual nature. A lot of them just didn’t think I was going to be this open and honest. I heart you, Mommy. And Daddy. And Grandma.
7. The Celibacy Project is a marathon, not a sprint. Like my friend AK says, once I get past the hump, it should get easier. There are so many jokes to be made here about “humps” and “humping” that I’m not even going to bother, you can just come up with your own.
8. One of the reasons guys keep coming onto me lately is because I’m starting to value myself more and that confidence shines through, perhaps making me more attractive.
9. The second reason guys keep coming onto me lately is because they only want to take my celibacy away from me. Bastards.
10. The third reason guys keep coming onto me lately – especially the hot ones – is because God hates me.
11. Bad Reality TV might actually be better than bad sex.
12. Not spending time with guys means spending a lot more time with girls. And good women derive strength from other good women. I am blessed to have such amazing women in my life.
13. I might have been/still am a sex addict.
14. I will not date any more douchebags because in a relationship, douchiness just begets more douchiness (for more on that, Google: “Heidi and Spencer.”)
15. The guy that works at the Dominos by my apartment is the new man in my life.
16. It is better to be looked over than overlooked (thank you, Mind Fucker.)
17. Saying something like bj’s comes off as less offensive when you rhyme it with something like pj’s. Then it’s almost cutesy.
18. It’s a lot easier to see the flaws in a relationship after the fact…and the only way to atone for them at that point is to avoid making the same mistakes again.
19. My boy JL is a graphics genius and totally deserves a shout-out for all of his help. I don’t know shit about Photoshop.
20. Nuns have it a little bit easier than me because they don’t know what they’re missing.
21. There’s something to be said for being single and it definitely has something – not everything, but something – to do with being able to sleep diagonally in my bed.
22. One of the most disrespectful things I can do to a guy is let him think that we’re meant to be together when there’s no way in hell we actually are.
23. This is also one of the most disrespectful things I can do to myself.
24. Love rules. Settling drools.
25. Energizer batteries really do keep going and going.
26. If I throw myself a party on day 92 to celebrate, I might have to have it in solitary confinement with a muzzle on like Hannibal Lector so I don’t tear the first guy I see to pieces.
27. It is possible for two people that got divorced after thirty years, and their daughter who was around for the majority of them, to sit down and have a nice, civil evening together and even laugh like they used to be able to. Because at the end of the day, blood is thicker than water and it can also be the tie that binds. There will always be love there, you just have to give it a chance to shine through.
28. People actually want to read about this shit. Who knew?
29. I can go thirty days without sex and still feel good about myself. In fact, I can feel even better than I do when I am hopping in and out of beds all the time. Minus the actual orgasms. Mmmmmmmmm. Orgasms.
30. Sex or no sex, Celibacy Project or personal enlightenment, addiction or recreation, I can be one horny little girl. But I know now that I can control that if I really, really want to…for at least thirty days. Go Team Allie.
xo
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
