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Posts Tagged ‘period’

I was meeting up with my ex girlfriend, the screenwriter, today for coffee when Cooper Fiennes texted me asking if I wanted to meet up and watch the Brazil-Chile match. Curious for them to meet each other, I told him to join us at my favorite cafe. She had heard about him and he, likewise. About 20 minutes later he walked in and she stumbled over herself for the first moments. She has deep-seated insecurities which makes meeting new people incredibly awkward for her.  He excused himself for the restroom and she was able to express her “oh my god”s and “holy shit”s regarding her impression of him. Once he arrived back at the table she was able to relax and speak comfortably with him.

Prior to C.F. , Screenwriter Girl had the best body of anyone I had been with. Unfortunately, her reasons behind the pristine physique were resulting from serious childhood sexual abuse trauma. A need to feel physically strong, since she is an emotional cripple. I care about her, but how do I say this? I was NEVER in love with her. She needed too much rescuing and I was already lost.  C.F.actually commented later on this. He said that there was something in her eyes that showed her traumas to the world. Even after she has gained physical strength, she has been unable to feel safe and heal. Her body is not a tool for fun and sport, as it is with C.F., this is their difference. Cooper Fiennes relishes sport of all types for how alive it makes him feel. The more his body aches, the more he pushes and challenges himself, the more alive and vibrant he feels. It’s incredibly sexy. Screenwriter Girl is trapped in her body, Cooper Fiennes uses his as an instrument of freedom.

I realized that the match had begun nearly twenty minutes prior and we really needed to get out the door and find a pub close by with food and the game. It was destined to be a good game, both teams are historically strong players with great coaches, so it could go either way. We left the cafe and said cheers to Screenwriter Girl and headed down the street. The Irish pub around the corner had air conditioning (THANK GOD!) and we found a seat right below the flat screen. 0-0 with a half hour in. We ordered some ciders, some food, and settled in. He pulled my stool closer to his and proceeded to act like a 14-year-old boy the entire match. You know, the “I poke you cause I like you” game? I love that he actually explains certain aspects of the game to me, things such as why there is a difference in the calls made by the English refs versus Spanish refs, what constitutes a yellow card or a foul, etc. He does it without my asking. While I have always liked International Football, I have watched it without knowing much about the game besides the obvious: ball goes into net equals goal. Dating C.F. has MANY benefits, apparently!!!

Brazil squashed Chile 3-0. It was a great game, but Chile could have played stronger. Not wanting to brave the heat, which was still nearly 35 degrees celsius/ 94 degrees farenheit , we had the waitress switch on Wimbledon for twenty minutes. Roddick had his ass handed to him by Yen-Hsun Lu and Capriati was rushed to the hospital for an accidental overdose. Between Capriati’s issues and Aggasi having been a meth user, who knew that Tennis could be so full of illicit behaviors?! It always seemed more refined some how. I guess when Tiger has a harem, Agassi smokes the pipe and Capriati abuses prescription pills, there is no such thing as refined sports anymore. Public figures are public figures and they all are susceptible to demons that fame can bring.

We wandered out, immediately wilted in the heat and decided to grab some ice cream for the stroll back to the train station. On the way he poked me no less than 30 times, and we stopped in 5 stores with air conditioning just to cool off for a few moments. We grabbed one more iced tea at Starbucks and sat chatting before parting ways on the street.

Meanwhile, I have been starting my period all day and annoyed that I couldn’t get a piece of ass if I begged. I’ve decided that hard to get is my new alter ego. If either of these boys want booty, they gotta work for it and jump through hoops, cause I’m not gonna be so easy anymore, damn it. Sigh, even if it means that I end up so sexually frustrated that I develop carpal tunnel from masturbating.

Tuesday posts are web syndicated by www.thenewgay.net  Check them out for awesome queer news and culture!

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I feel like I keep getting the ball near the net, but the goal just isn’t happening! I understand that both of my boys are busy, busy men, however, aren’t the men usually the ones that are chasing the girls for a piece of ass? How am I desperate for sex on the night before my period (translation: horny horny, horny and snuggly.) and with two men on my belt and yet, I’m stuck alone eating garlic hummus and fresh tomatoes and feeling mopey cause I’m not getting laid tonight? For one of their credits, Cooper Fiennes just moved into a new sublet this weekend and is wrecked, with an early morning start at work tomorrow. Type Geek though. Hmm. I’m not sure what to think of him. He rides the line of tepid or warm, mostly tepid though, with an occassional jump into hot, hot heat. The night he got back from Europe was hot. Thursday, was like married sex. He crawled into bed while I was brushing my teeth, under the covers, night lamp on beside him. I come into the room and undress my self, which is fine by the way, BUT, I like the whole undressing thing and the carrying on over the covers, the slowly shedding clothing and having to find it the next day. We are still casual, shouldn’t it be like that?

Type Geek and I took a day trip together on Saturday out of the city, hell, out of the state. We perused cute little waterfront towns and walked board walks. We played some bad pinball and worse Donkey Kong Jr. and had a wonderful dinner on the way home. I thought for sure that I would get laid, if not at night, since we were both tired, then perhaps in the morning. Except, while waiting for me to grab stuff from my house, he decided he was just too tired and asked if it was okay if we raincheck. Raincheck? All last week were rainchecks. Sigh. I know he’s attracted to me, I know he’s interested, but really? Rainchecks? How hard to get does he want to play? I’m already there. He’s already got me in his bed. Maybe it’s my turn to play a little hard to get. Harumph. I hate feeling forced to play games, but jesus christ, a girl may like you to buy her a nice dinner, but a girl also likes a good fuck too. maybe I need to make myself a little less available.

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Okay, it was Wednesday and totally NOT on the game plan. The day started as normal as most of mine do. My pup was out to meet with her canine boyfriend for a playdate, I had a client meeting, and then after a long look in a mirror, that is when things got interesting. I noticed my grey was more noticeable than my highlights, at least to me. Jesus Christ, time for a hair appointment.

I always forget that my hair stylist  is constantly booked. She IS amazing, but considering I live my life in a constant state of spontaneity, it sucks to have to plan. I also forget that she doesn’t work on the days that are usually best for my schedule. I called the salon and was told that she had some appointments on Saturday. Ugh, the problem with that is this, once you have noticed how bad your hair looks, there is NO going back. You feel awful everyday until it’s rectified. I realized that I would be ending my day a bit earlier than expected so I called to see if there was a way to get squeezed in at some point in the late afternoon. Turns out she had an opening at the end. THANK YOU GOD!

Hmm, so then I started thinking, well damn, my hair looks SO good after a cut and foil, shame to let it go to waste. No, really, it looks HOT. I texted Cooper Fiennes to see what his availability was for drinks after work. Turned out he had a soccer match in the park so he wanted to make it a dinner and drinks scenario later, if that would work for me. Hells yeah!

Now, I don’t have much of an excuse these days to get really sexy. What I do for a living, what I do for fun, it’s all fairly casual. Wednesday night though, I wanted to feel like a sexy woman, so I ran by three resale shops and found a dress that I was semi on the fence about when I tried it on… consider that my legs were furry, my hair still grey and shaggy, and I wasn’t wearing the right undergarments or shoes or makeup. There was SOMETHING about it though. It had this rouching to it that gave the illusion of curves to my no T and no A body…and a neckline that kicked ass! Did I mention it was $24 ?! Score. Maybe it could produce a miracle and make me feel hot even though I was day 4 of my fucking period. So, unfortunately, no sex was on the table. I don’t fuck when I am bleeding.

I had two hours to get my dog home, shave (I know! This girl is having issues affording the professional waxing though), grab my makeup, the shoes, and jewelry and get to the salon for my hair appointment. I decided I would apply the makeup and get dressed after my appointment and then meet him at a local bar. I had considered that it would be hot to do a little role-playing. Pretend we are strangers, etc. Alas, by the time he told me he was headed home to shower after the game and I was still getting my hair trimmed and blown out,I found myself a bit tired, so I decided instead for Starbucks.

As per usual, my stylist did an AMAZING job. I love you, you know who you are and eventually you will read this post, when you have some free time and can catch up! Sadly she ran out the door as I was getting ready in the dressing room, so she missed the final look, but BRAVO! I paid, ran out to CVS to grab some polish and touch up my fingernails since there was no time for a manicure with his arrival in T minus…. x amount of minutes. The nails got painted in an alley way and the iced Americano imbibed while trying to look nonchalant yet sexy while reading the New York Times. I refused to look up at the door each time i heard it open. I hate public transportation because it’s so reliably unpredictable. I made it through all the interesting segments of the Times and was just headed into the mind numbing part when C.F. was standing over me with a grin from ear to ear. When I looked up,” wow”, was the only thing he could say. Yay! Now THAT is the response most girls want when they get sexied up, right?!

We wandered over to a local restaurant that I had previously had really great experiences with. Wednesday night however, I had the waiter from hell. Disinterested, unattractive, unfriendly and just hilariously awful. He didn’t ask what we wanted to drink, he didn’t mention specials, he didn’t say hello, instead, he lumbered over to the table, stood too closely and just stared at us. Umm, ok. I have a food allergy, so I asked him to ask the chef what would be appropriate, instead he told me that I should just tell him what I like, and the chef will make me something special. I don’t want that. I just want to know what 4 dishes on the menu are safe. He should know this automatically. That is HIS job. Anyway, the service just kept getting more and more laughable. I asked for my mussels and my heirloom tomato salad to come together, the salad gets dropped off first. I moved it aside. The other server notices and asks if I want my mussels to come out with C.F’s steak frites. Umm, yeah, that IS why I asked for them together in the first place. After we finished our meals he stood over us and asked,”yeah?” as we looked at the dessert menus. Seriously, Gordon Ramsey would make this fat man cry if he were ever to serve him! At the end, C.F. asked how much we liked him, “10% “, I replied. Then C.F. asked what we were doing next. “Going back to your place?”, I replied with the added stipulation that we could only do 85% because of my bitch ass period.

After an eventful train ride that provided a lot of amusement from the drug and alcohol fueled patrons, we arrived at our stop. I quickly switched from the heels to my flats for the walk to his sublet. The 15 minute walk took 30 because of all of the times he stopped to push me up against a building or tree and kiss me. Awesome awesome. Not complaining about that. Not complaining about the molestation in the elevator or the hallway or even that we weren’t in his place 5 minutes before he had picked me up and thrown me on his bed. Okay. Sure. So, long story short… aside from a 20 minute mood kill when I noticed the lighting in the room shift and glanced behind me to see the computer scrolling through a  photo slide show that was resting at an older fat photo of his best friend, we had 4 hours of total naked hotness. He asked me later how it’s possible that I give such good head, having been a lesbian for 12 years. I replied that it must be kinda like riding a bike… you don’t really forget. He accidently gave me a hickey on my neck (definitely NO dates for a few days. Thank GOD Type Geek is in Europe drinking beer right now and not here!) and I was feeling a little grrrr-umbly about that until I looked at his bed sheets and saw the hand prints. One thumb nail sized hickey versus bloody hand prints? Ha Ha Ha. I think I got the better end of the deal. Obviously I eventually decided to fuck him, regardless of my rule about my period. I looked too good. So did he and honestly, at a certain point… you aren’t feeling self conscious anymore, you just want to fuck. And fuck we did. Thank you my Spaniard friend. I will gladly give up 4 hours of sleep every night to be thrown around by him.

What does everyone think? Do you or don’t you when you or your partner is in period hell?

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 Of course. That’s become the motto of the moment. It covers so many things and is, quite simply, the most appropriate response to most occurrences in life. Last week was a slow dragged out week of almosts. Type Geek and I tried late night naughtiness 3 nights in a row, with each night becoming a huge FAIL. Due to his work schedule, family issues, and his travel to Europe, he wasn’t able to make it work except for one night. That one night, however, he fell asleep without unlocking the door for me first. SIGH. Now, he is in Europe, drinking good beer, eating better food, and hopefully relaxing more than he has been able to in months.

Meanwhile, I was looking forward to the spare time so I could get to know Cooper Fiennes a bit more. I wasn’t sure what that meant yet exactly, BUT, I did know that it would be easier to explore it without the concerns of scheduling around Type Geek. I adore Type Geek. He is comfortable to be around, sweet and does this thing with his nose when he is in thought that just makes me die. It’s cute and endearing BUT also kind of a turn on because it’s so humanizing. I look forward to spending time with him when I do, but it is easy to make him a priority amongst my dates, as he has been around longer. The night he flew out I had dinner with C.F. and we just walked around the city for hours afterwards. He has lived here for a little bit now, but, there are many areas that he is unfamiliar with. Nicely played were his spontaneous attacks of kisses in doorways and exterior alcoves on a chilly night. We parted ways at the last train and I definitely was wanting more.

The next night he asked if I wanted to come have wine. I declined. I didn’t want to come over so soon, I knew where I might try to lead it, so I said I would rain check. He made a snarky comment about how his religion doesn’t allow him to have wine with the same beautiful woman two nights in a row anyway and he is, of course, very religious. So, it’s good I declined. I let him get away with corny ridiculous comments because he is always saying them in jest and with a smirk that forgives many things. Instead of an intense make out session with him, I stopped at Whole Foods, then wandered home for dinner and some writing. The next morning is when everything went WRONG.

My website was acting strangely and so I put in a support ticket. This support ticket led to a discussion of upgrades and an agreement on a pay-per-upgrade fee with my hosting site. As I looked around for my credit card so that I could pay the invoice, it was no where to be found. The day before a 3 day federal holiday weekend and now I need to get a new license, new social security card, new bank card, new LIFE. Ugh.I spent 2 hours in the Motor Vehicle offices getting my new license, the upside being that they allowed me to retake the god awful photo from ten years before. I was unsuccessful in the Social Security Card but I was successful in getting the bank to provide me cash without an id! Yes! I texted Cooper Fiennes about my day and said quite simply, “I need a drink”. He responded that he would think up something fun, so I should come meet him after walking my dog.

 That evening there was wandering around, there were cocktails, Indian food, and when he asked if I wanted to go home or…. I interrupted by saying, “I’ll take a cab, let’s go make out”. We spent 2 hours chatting at his place, showing each other photos on Facebook, and staying a foot apart at all times. Were we pilgrims? Amish? WTF is with this distance thing? I think we were both trying to access the situation. Eventually I laid across his bed as I read something he was showing me, hoping that my horizontal position would inspire some decision making on his part. Did it EVER!! I was fully planning a night of MAKING OUT, but, I brought condoms JUST IN CASE. I also had no idea of size, so I brought regular and large versions of the Kimono MicroThins. 4 hours of awesome sex later, we fell asleep to the sun coming up and birds chirping outside the window. Iced Coffee, random street kisses and sideways smirks were how we ended the morning as we came into the city together and went off to do our separate things.

On Sunday I decided to do some housework and hang out in my general home area. AS I was trying to open the jammed window, I slipped and ended up falling into the window just enough to spider web it. Anyone ever try to get a replacement glass repair done on a window over a holiday weekend?I opted to wait until midweek on that but Cooper Fiennes was insistent on my meeting up after his picnic so that he could cheer me up. Coffee and a late dinner mixed with back rubs and kisses in the public park were not just what THAT doctor ordered but also what really cured my grr. We said ciao at the last train and headed our separate ways, only after seeing a naked man in the hotel window 4 floors above the train station. This set both of our minds wandering and resulted in several hours of gchat sexual confessions once we both arrived at our homes. I slept 4 hours, fully committed to spending Monday getting the work done around the house that I said I would, only CF texted me at noon asking if I was hungry. So, brunch at 2:30 turned into ice cream at 4 and his taking an hour rowing class while I walked around a bit. Then we met back up, had a not so late, for us, dinner, and more back rubs and make outs on our park bench before the last train. I wanted to go home with him. I also wanted to curse mother nature since my period showed up yesterday, eliminating the endless sex I was planning for the week. Sigh.

I’m having moments of feeling guilty for carrying on with two men at one time. Why should I though? I’m not exclusive with either. I haven’t lied, I am practicing safe sex and, other than the annoying douche bag former lawyer guy from a few weeks ago, these are not one night stands. These are men whom I am genuinely interested in and enjoy their company. One of the situations has a clearly defined expiration date due to the nature of his research and his return to Barcelona. The other? Well, we shall see what becomes of that. I’m not going to be the one to have that conversation about exclusivity, because I don’t want to answer the question when it shows up. Avoidance and a lot of weaving and ducking… those will be my weapon, should the conversation be brought up by Type Geek.

The holiday weekend is over. There are over 50 wildfires in Quebec and I wonder if the Mayan’s might be right about 2012. If so, I plan on living as much as possible between now and then. If that means some sexy Spaniard and some orally fixated musician turned designer at this juncture in time, then, of course, bring it on!

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Oh Pandora, I woke up in a funk after 3 long days of exhaustive smiles and metaphorical public relation hand stands. Standing on concrete floors in expo halls without natural light for 10 hours a day is not the way I love spending my time, however, it is a necessary evil to what I am trying to build. Now I want some mellow music and you keep throwing John Mayer, Jason Mraz, Coldplay and Jack Johnson at me. I’m ending my period, not starting, and you have me a weepy, feeling sorry for myself mess. Pandora, step off bitch! Give me a reprieve, would ya?!

So, the event attendance was low, therefore there was no luck on the flirting with hot strangers front. I tried to flirt with the coffee boy from the fair trade company cause he seems sweet and I have chatted him up as friendly acquaintances for a couple of years now but I don’t think I was very successful. He’s not a sexy bitch or anything, but he seems genuine and funny and there is something cute about him. 

One guy I have been chatting up online a bit was going to swing by my event but ended up unable to after his early afternoon barbeque turned into an all day thing. Truth be told, I am not that excited by him. He is nice-ish. We have some music and scenester type commonality but I don’t find him that attractive. Sigh.

I looked through the dating sites this morning, for the first time in a week. There is no one interesting at the moment. Everyone seems lackluster at best and douchebag at worst. Unfortunately, the average, seems to be douchebag. I attract a strange mix of men. One site brings me muscle-bound conservatives or fatties that think we “have so much in common”. Just because I wear glasses does not mean I am Sarah Palin you weird right wingers. I am a socialist with some sexuality ambiguity going these days, NOT your republican dream gal. READ THE PROFILE!!!! The other site brings me  22 year olds that want to know how often I think about or have sex, whether I will cyber with them, or be their older cougar. So, because I am 35 and supposedly at my sexual peak, I should sleep with kids? Are you kidding me?

There are days when this ride is great, hitting the peaks, exploring the beautiful back countryside, riding along coastal dunes, and breathing in fresh air. Then there are weeks that consist of  feeling like I am in the breakdown lane in some backwoods town or a barren highway in the middle of nowhere with the smell of burnt tire and leaking gasoline. As I sat writing this, I was messaged by a few people on both sites. I wish I could find some enthusiasm, but it’s missing lately. I feel like it has gone m.i.a. on me. Maybe I need to check my seat cushions.

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I woke up yesterday morning with some errands planned and a tentative date scheduled for the evening. He is someone whom I talked to a bit in December and then lost touch for a few weeks until the end of January. We agreed earlier in the week to have a loosely scheduled date in the 6:30 ish realm for Saturday night. No hard defined plans. Honestly, I was not feeling like it though and was hoping that I didn’t hear from him. He had suddenly become a Plan B.

After my meet-up turned date on Friday afternoon I found myself thinking a lot about Brooklyn Boy. I hadn’t met anyone whom I immediately felt an ease and comfort with like I did in his company. It seemed as if we had known each other for years as our rapport was so natural and unforced. He Google IM’d me around 9 pm and we spent several hours chatting online before I told him MY big “secret”. His response to my news, that I was just coming out of over a decade of lesbian exclusivity, was one of  surprise but not offense.  Most people aren’t offended per se, but there are preconceived beliefs that can interfere with someone’s attempts at getting to know me for who I am, which isn’t only as someone with a queer slant to my sexuality. Maybe it’s the New York in him, he isn’t fazed by much. He wants to see me on Saturday, if I am available. This is WHY my original date became my Plan B, as Brooklyn Boy suddenly took over top billing. I decided that if I didn’t hear from Plan B by 2 pm on Saturday, Brooklyn would win the spot.

So, I woke up as my 25-year-old texted me, hung over from a party the night before. I’m in need of distraction and ask him if he wants to tag along with me on my errands. We met an hour later, watched enough of the DVR’d Olympics to see the luger die and I dragged him out of his apartment. I couldn’t watch the news coverage, it was just too dreadfully sad. Meanwhile, I kept hoping I didn’t hear from Plan B.

We wandered around the city, grabbed some sesame balls from Chinatown, picked up my duvet cover, bought some dog food and then wrapped up our early afternoon adventure at a café with some latte’s, cinnamon tortilla chips and sea-salted caramels. 2 pm had come and gone and Brooklyn Boy had texted me and agreed to pick me up at my place at 4:30. A new hair conditioner I used in the morning had turned my hair into a bad science experiment show and tell exhibit so I had an hour to rush back to my place to rewash my hair and be ready.

The train was delayed. Tick Tock Tick Tock. Argh. I texted him begging that he please not be early. As I was hitting send, he texted me letting me know he would be roughly 20 minutes late. Score! I finally made it home, fed the dog, washed my hair and changed three times before taking the dog out for a quick last walk before he arrived.

A few minutes later he arrives in his family van, a sign of a parent with two young kids, and we decide to go into the city and figure out our plan from there. He’s still cute and I’m still intrigued. Sometimes the initial interest wanes after you go home after a date but it didn’t with him. I want his story. We are both obsessed with stories about people, we have similar projects we are planning on working on that are built around the stories of people you pass by every day and never think much about. Everyone has a story worth telling and being heard.We find a parking spot with a 2 hour limit but 2.5 hours until it switches over to free. We make note to stop back by later. Since his soon to be declared ex-wife doesn’t drink, he doesn’t get the opportunity to go out for cocktails much so we decide to start there. We each had a Dark and Stormy, chatted, laughed, people watched and then another round and some kisses and some more laughing and then a final 3rd round. Starting so early with the cocktails and having had so little to eat earlier in the day had us both a little pie eyed. We left and realized the time. Surely he had a ticket. We hesitantly walked by the family van and SCORE again, no ticket. That NEVER happens on this particular street. We look at each other quizzically and decide that to go to a little book store café down the street, maybe grab a bite and a cup of tea, sober up some.

Somehow we ended up sitting on the floor in the far aisle of the bookstore against a stack of unpopular books. I say they are unpopular because we sat there for 4 hours and only 3 people walked by the entire time. 3 people whom we chatted up and exchanged info with. Over the span of time we were sprawled on the floor we varied in position, at times I had my head in his lap as we looked through books, other times he leaned into me, or we faced each other, legs entwined and backs against opposing shelves.  The people who we met, one of them asked how long we had been together, how we had met. We laughed. When we confessed they looked shocked. They said that we appeared to have known eachother for years. We looked at eachother and smiled, it felt like that.We sat there on that floor for 4 hours like an old couple, punctuating moments with kisses, absent-minded caresses and laughter. He showed me illustrators he liked, I showed him a book of poems by Neruda, whom he had never read. He reads out loud. It’s nice, comforting, inclusive. I can not remember the last time I had felt such an ease with another person.

Eventually the bookstore threw us out because they were closing. he had a long drive back home so we decided to get back to the car and get me home. Only, we sat and talked, and talked, and stared at each other and laughed and kissed for 2 more hours. When we finally looked at the clock and saw that it was past 2, we untangled ourselves from our embrace and got serious about getting me home. Parked in front of my condo, I suggested I grab the dog for her last pee, and so he could meet her. In addition to kids, he also has a big cumbersome male dog. My pooch barely let me out the door before she had dragged me across the sidewalk and practically tackled him. She spent 15 minutes engrossed in him and the delicious scents of his family van. It’s a treasure trove of dropped kid snacks and dog cookie crumbles. We laughed at her and said our good nights. I made him promise to text me when he has arrived home safely.

I spent the next 2 hours chatting via IM with varying friends who happened to be online. We talk about him, I send over pics to them. Everyone approves, some worry about the complications of his current status. I counter that we all have baggage, some hide it better. His however, is completely in view. No apologies, it is, what it is. He has kids, he is in the process of getting divorced and for some reason something in my profile resonated with him and made him sign up to meet me. I consider that a gift. A fabulously unexpected gift.

Today is Valentine’s Day. Brooklyn Boy just texted me that he misses me. Is it okay that I find this sweet and not unnerving? I guess I like him too, so it’s okay. I have an Anti-Valentine’s Day date scheduled with my 25-year-old tonight but I am tired and really want to clean my house. I am also feeling a little run down. I am going to see if he minds a rain check. I would rather get some laundry done, take some Motrin (thank you period for arriving this morning), and watch I Love You, New York with my pup and some take out pho. I hope he understands.

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The weather was so great yesterday, a reprieve from the month of bone chilling temps. I awoke in the morning with multi-layered guilt. It was a guilt trifle, if you will. My pup has had cabin fever from a lack of canine fun and I had stood up the Turk numerous times, so I decided to combine the two and remove the guilt in one train ride. The pup and I met the Turk outside Starbucks and proceeded to walk and talk , get a tea, then walk and talk some more.We ended up back at his house eating some sautéed shrimp, drinking some wine and making out, with my having to lay down the law on 2nd base making out only. He was pouty about this but dealt with it.

He’s nice, young, eager, stable BUT…. there is always a but, isn’t there? I don’t feel it. My toes don’t get all curly when we kiss like they did with the Peruvian. I am also fairly confident in my belief that he is a bit of a player. That, in and of itself, is fine, however, don’t play me. If you want to have sex with me, DON’T feed me a line of bullshit to get me to go to bed with you. I will if I am interested and I won’t if I am not. While I am not easy, per se, I don’t play sexual games of cat and mouse if I want someone. The only time games are introduced is if they are naughty and sexy and mutually agreed upon. So, why do I think he is a player? Aside from the truth of the night we met and that we were both making out with numerous people, his words feel too rehearsed at times and he has condoms everywhere in his house. A ridiculous amount of them stashed everywhere. I lost one of my diamond earrings when we were making out and realized it a couple hours later when we had moved from the living room into the bedroom. He has condoms under his bed pillows, stuffed in the couch cushions and under the couch. At all times. Just in case. In case of WHAT? In case of the need to relocate your building?!  He has enough condoms stashed to be a live action version of the film Up, if he were to inflate them all with helium. At least he is into safe sex, but oy vey!

I guess my general feeling of Meh in regards to the Turk also stems from many superficial things that I can’t seem to get past. He razors his head… like Yul Brynner. He shaves his back, sometimes (what about the rest of the time?) because he admits to being a “really hairy guy”. BUT, he doesn’t wax his one giant eyebrow. Really? Why not? Oh, and there is a weird thing he did when we were making out at his house. Not that WHAT he did was necessarily WEIRD,but that he chose to do it so soon and without testing the waters. He is a tit slapper. What in the fuck is with that?! Yeah, no, I don’t like that. That’s distracting and silly to me. Stop that.

So, I have a general degree of meh-ness when it comes to him. I’m not excited about him, at all and that seems unfair to him, however, I don’t think he necessarily cares HOW excited I am, as long as I am willing to make out with him. I am however finding myself excited when I think about the Musician,Writer,Assoc Prod guy. I need a new name for him, any suggestions? Even though our date had to be delayed on Friday, I find our gmail chats to be refreshing and something I look forward to. He has a sweetness about him that makes me smirk. A smirk is a very good thing.

All in all, a slow week. The foreigner friend of mine and I are headed out for cupcakes to soothe my menstrual craving, nomnomnom, and perhaps a hazelnut mocha as well.

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