how am I so terrible at picking men? Am I just mistaking rough sex for passion?
Monday, October 10, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Men; you can't live with 'em, you can't live without 'em.
I started a blog not long ago that failed miserably. In my triumph of completing my first post I mindlessly advertised the link on my Facebook, resulting in my father and some family friends becoming faithful readers. This was not my intention. I do not want my father reading about drunken lesbian adventures and my repeated doom with boys. This is why my first post will not be a lighthearted and innocent memory; oh no, I'm giving you the good stuff right away. A little glimpse into my cynical and overly-dramatic world, which just so happens to be revolving around boys tonight. This is my life. Boys, sex (more importantly, lack of sex), shoes, music, friends, friends that are so close that they could classify as lesbian lovers and sisters and soulmates all rolled into one (sick, perhaps, but true), a little drunken dancing here and there, and more boys. Because let's face it, in this monotonous life I lead, boys are pretty much the most interesting topic. Without my regular breakdowns about them and their ridiculous complexity (I theorize that this stems from their outright simplicity; and in fact it is I who is so complex, I cannot comprehend how someone could be so simple.) I would probably go insane from boredom. I desperately need to get out of this place and decide what the fuck I want to do with my life; but that's another subject, and another meltdown, to come later. Before I move on: yes, I thoroughly enjoy to swear. I believe that swearing, when used at the right moment, is a way to emphasize meaning and further express myself. (This does not apply to the little fuckwits on the back of the bus that like to use the word 'cunt' every two minutes.) Furthermore, I realize I have used the word 'lesbian' twice in my introduction. I am not gay, you shall quickly discover this from my ramblings about boys. I have been guilty of kissing girls for attention in my younger years, but these days it's for the lack of attractive men in my area, the fact that girls are better kissers, and my friends are just smokin' hot. My girlfriends aren't opposed to this and have a similar view: we're all physically attracted to females, we just lack the sexual attraction. I can't say I even know any truly gay girls, because the ones I know are forever switching between boyfriends and girlfriends. Opposed to the gay men I know, who wouldn't look at a vagina if you paid them. The world is a strange place sometimes.
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Boy rambling #1.
Sam (ex numero uno) was on Facebook chat this evening, with impeccably disastrous timing. Just yesterday, Ed (ex numero something-a-rather) had sent me a text message saying "I still think about you all the time". This was just the latest in a little series he had recently bestowed me with. I graciously tried to avoid each one with a friendly and humorous message back. This time, I was plain fed up. I decided on a passive-aggressive phone-call, where I tried to keep a calm voice while my nerves were on the edge of exploding. I told him that I was trying to be friendly but that his messages were making it very hard. I was desperately sick of boys throwing me away to come crawling back later. (I did not say: "most boys don't even get a second chance; absolutely no-one gets a third" as I had wanted to say a couple of days earlier. J, one of my best girlfriends, told me it sounded 'bitter', which is just a nice way of saying 'get your head out of your ass and stop being a self-centered asshole'. After all, I had not known for sure that he wanted to get back together.) I couldn't stay mad for long, he didn't retaliate. All I could do was pity him. He's not a bad guy, which is why I could never bring myself to cut him out of my life despite all the times he'd hurt me, intentionally and unintentionally. I think he's just a guy with a major communication problem and absolutely no clue as to what he wants. Which fits into the category for most men.
This evening, I was still in a huff about what had happened with Ed. Furthermore the new guy I was interested in seemed to want absolutely nothing but sex, asking me absurdly inappropriate questions like "are you a spitter or do you swallow?". His boyish charm and funny sexual innuendos were quickly turning into arrogance and pigheadedness, and were majorly turning me off. Sam then started questioning me, asking me if I was seeing anyone. I was not. He proceeded to compliment me on my looks and tried to remind me that we used to be in love. He asked to take me out. When I refused, he reminded me that a few months back I offered him sex. I know, I KNOW. What a hypocrite, and a tease. In my defense, I had just been broken up with. I was miserable and horny, and he was there. Despite his receding hairline and complete lack of charm, my irrational hormones took over and I made a move. This quickly backfired when he turned me down. He said that he was still in love with his ex, that he couldn't bring himself to sleep with anybody else. (My theory was that he had contracted an STD during our time apart, and that he was having a current outbreak of genital herpes. This was further instilled in my mind later that night when I ran into his friend, who told me that he'd seen him hooking up with his own cousin. What-the-fuck. Turns out it wasn't his cousin and it's an epically long and boring story, but the fact is he had slept another girl blowing his little facade out of the water.)
I replied that yes, we used to be in love. And that I had gotten my heart not only broken, but fucking stomped on. That I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. And while I was at it, I added that "I had a weak moment, and you were there. That does not mean I want to get back together." Well, it escalated from there. Unlike the calm and unwavering Ed, Sam was the fighter. Our fights were infamous, frequent, and catastrophic. It was what we were known for as a couple; his walking out, my constant tears. Both of our angry and hurtful words. I started bringing up the past, saying 'how did he think I felt when he cheated on me?' It was wrong, I know. The first rule in a healthy relationship: don't bring up past arguments. You make a mistake, you move on. You can't keep yelling at someone for something they did in the past. Only, I hadn't yelled at him yet. We'd fought about it, yes. Our relationship ended in a big kaboom where I changed my number, threw out his shit, and blocked him from online networking sites. When I was ready, I unblocked him online but never re-added him as a friend. He added me a few years later (followed by a series of removing me every time he got a new girlfriend). We exchanged a few words and never mentioned the past. I didn't think we needed to, after all, I had moved on and would never date him again. And then it happened. We agreed to catch up for a friendly meal. I thought it would be a good idea at the time to see if any feelings were still there; he had been my first love (or rather, object of my obsession) and I had never felt anything like it since. I was happy and relieved to find out that they weren't. He wasn't the same boy I had been in love with. He was a man now; he had grown up, and my feelings had grown away. And yet, he was there and I thought a friendly screw for old times' sake would be easy and comfortable. How very wrong I was! I moved on from that night feeling more flabbergasted than anything and agreed to see him again as friends. The next time we caught up we went to the movies, and I instantly knew this wasn't a friendly date anymore. He had already purchased the tickets and when I went to buy the popcorn, he swooped in and handed the lady some cash. I may be young, but I've been around long enough to know that there's no such thing as a free lunch. That night he asked me to come home with him. I gave him a goodbye hug and whispered into his ear, "Do you remember that night I wanted to sleep with you, and you said no?" He nodded. "Well this is how it feels."
I smiled and pulled away, officially ending the night.
"You fucking bitch!" he shouted as I walked away, but he was laughing as he said it. I felt elated. Payback's a bitch, I thought: that was the exact message he sent me later that night.
I walked away from that situation thinking I had played it so right. Now we were even, I thought, and we could go back to being friends on equal terms. He however, took it up as a challenge. I started getting weekly text messages with a little 'x' at the end of them, sometimes asking how I was and sometimes blatantly asking me to spend the night. I politely declined each of his offers in a friendly manner, just as I had with Ed's, until the night of the disastrous timing. When I started bringing up how he cheated on me, he started getting mad. I started explaining that I couldn't trust him, after all, how was I to know he'd changed when we'd only hung out a few times since? He told me not to judge him and that he had changed, he was a good guy now. I ignored his pleas and continued venting the feelings of a heartbroken sixteen-year-old girl, feelings that had unknowingly been buried deep inside of me for five years. He started calling me names. I ignored them at first, too heated in my argument to care. When I ran out of things to say, I pulled him up on it. "You're a bitch" he said.
This evening, I was still in a huff about what had happened with Ed. Furthermore the new guy I was interested in seemed to want absolutely nothing but sex, asking me absurdly inappropriate questions like "are you a spitter or do you swallow?". His boyish charm and funny sexual innuendos were quickly turning into arrogance and pigheadedness, and were majorly turning me off. Sam then started questioning me, asking me if I was seeing anyone. I was not. He proceeded to compliment me on my looks and tried to remind me that we used to be in love. He asked to take me out. When I refused, he reminded me that a few months back I offered him sex. I know, I KNOW. What a hypocrite, and a tease. In my defense, I had just been broken up with. I was miserable and horny, and he was there. Despite his receding hairline and complete lack of charm, my irrational hormones took over and I made a move. This quickly backfired when he turned me down. He said that he was still in love with his ex, that he couldn't bring himself to sleep with anybody else. (My theory was that he had contracted an STD during our time apart, and that he was having a current outbreak of genital herpes. This was further instilled in my mind later that night when I ran into his friend, who told me that he'd seen him hooking up with his own cousin. What-the-fuck. Turns out it wasn't his cousin and it's an epically long and boring story, but the fact is he had slept another girl blowing his little facade out of the water.)
I replied that yes, we used to be in love. And that I had gotten my heart not only broken, but fucking stomped on. That I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. And while I was at it, I added that "I had a weak moment, and you were there. That does not mean I want to get back together." Well, it escalated from there. Unlike the calm and unwavering Ed, Sam was the fighter. Our fights were infamous, frequent, and catastrophic. It was what we were known for as a couple; his walking out, my constant tears. Both of our angry and hurtful words. I started bringing up the past, saying 'how did he think I felt when he cheated on me?' It was wrong, I know. The first rule in a healthy relationship: don't bring up past arguments. You make a mistake, you move on. You can't keep yelling at someone for something they did in the past. Only, I hadn't yelled at him yet. We'd fought about it, yes. Our relationship ended in a big kaboom where I changed my number, threw out his shit, and blocked him from online networking sites. When I was ready, I unblocked him online but never re-added him as a friend. He added me a few years later (followed by a series of removing me every time he got a new girlfriend). We exchanged a few words and never mentioned the past. I didn't think we needed to, after all, I had moved on and would never date him again. And then it happened. We agreed to catch up for a friendly meal. I thought it would be a good idea at the time to see if any feelings were still there; he had been my first love (or rather, object of my obsession) and I had never felt anything like it since. I was happy and relieved to find out that they weren't. He wasn't the same boy I had been in love with. He was a man now; he had grown up, and my feelings had grown away. And yet, he was there and I thought a friendly screw for old times' sake would be easy and comfortable. How very wrong I was! I moved on from that night feeling more flabbergasted than anything and agreed to see him again as friends. The next time we caught up we went to the movies, and I instantly knew this wasn't a friendly date anymore. He had already purchased the tickets and when I went to buy the popcorn, he swooped in and handed the lady some cash. I may be young, but I've been around long enough to know that there's no such thing as a free lunch. That night he asked me to come home with him. I gave him a goodbye hug and whispered into his ear, "Do you remember that night I wanted to sleep with you, and you said no?" He nodded. "Well this is how it feels."
I smiled and pulled away, officially ending the night.
"You fucking bitch!" he shouted as I walked away, but he was laughing as he said it. I felt elated. Payback's a bitch, I thought: that was the exact message he sent me later that night.
I walked away from that situation thinking I had played it so right. Now we were even, I thought, and we could go back to being friends on equal terms. He however, took it up as a challenge. I started getting weekly text messages with a little 'x' at the end of them, sometimes asking how I was and sometimes blatantly asking me to spend the night. I politely declined each of his offers in a friendly manner, just as I had with Ed's, until the night of the disastrous timing. When I started bringing up how he cheated on me, he started getting mad. I started explaining that I couldn't trust him, after all, how was I to know he'd changed when we'd only hung out a few times since? He told me not to judge him and that he had changed, he was a good guy now. I ignored his pleas and continued venting the feelings of a heartbroken sixteen-year-old girl, feelings that had unknowingly been buried deep inside of me for five years. He started calling me names. I ignored them at first, too heated in my argument to care. When I ran out of things to say, I pulled him up on it. "You're a bitch" he said.
"Whatever," I replied. "If a girl telling the truth is a bitch in your eyes, you're only going to get back-stabbing hoes. Which is what you deserve anyway." I guess that second part did make me a bitch. Goddamn. I had officially turned my argument into the ramblings of a person deliberately out to hurt him, losing any mentally-stable points I had made. I apologized for the last statement. I wrote out a paragraph outlining that based on the past, it would be very hard to ever trust him again and that we could be friends, or nothing. It was too late, he was already offline.
This is where I turned to my relationship survival guide. Sex and the City. I find each episode to be utterly relatable in terms of my current relationships, flings, or complete lack them. And yet tonight I realized, why the hell does Carrie end up with the douchebag that broke her heart, on several occasions may I add? In real life, the Bigs don't change. The Bigs don't fly to Paris to sweep you off your feet. And even if they do, they'd still be.. them. With all of their annoying little imperfections that you broke up with them for in the first place. I'm sorry to say it. Because saying it makes me honest, and being honest makes me a bitch. But men; you can't live with 'em, you can't live without 'em.
This is where I turned to my relationship survival guide. Sex and the City. I find each episode to be utterly relatable in terms of my current relationships, flings, or complete lack them. And yet tonight I realized, why the hell does Carrie end up with the douchebag that broke her heart, on several occasions may I add? In real life, the Bigs don't change. The Bigs don't fly to Paris to sweep you off your feet. And even if they do, they'd still be.. them. With all of their annoying little imperfections that you broke up with them for in the first place. I'm sorry to say it. Because saying it makes me honest, and being honest makes me a bitch. But men; you can't live with 'em, you can't live without 'em.
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