Archive for the 'Sex' Category

distance makes the heart grow fonder?

August 11, 2010

I’m not sure how it happened, but I think I’m kinda, maybe, somewhat, perhaps, a little bit… on the verge of entering into a long distance relationship.  You guys remember how Nate came down to visit last month, right? 

Well, he’s been down THREE times since then.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but 300 miles each way is pretty far to drive three times for just a booty call.

I’ve been a little scared to write about it, out of a silly fear that I’d somehow jinx it… or he’d somehow find these posts, (both of which are highly unlikely) but every time he’s been here it has been nothing but great.  Now, it seems like we’re kind of at that stage where we aren’t together together, but we’re both not really trying to sleep with anyone else (at least, this is what I’ve inferred from our VERY indirect conversations).

So, the real question is: What the hell am I doing? 

Not only is he 300 miles away, but he’s also in the Air Force.  Which means, he spends a good amount of time over seas every month.  I’ve somehow managed to see him every couple of weeks so far (and I’ll see him again in 10 days), but I’m thinking there is some real potential for me to go for much longer stretches without him. 

The last week or so since I’ve seen him have been TORTURE.  Do I really have the capacity to handle something long distance? Do I have the self control?

And it’s not JUST the sex – all contact is pretty scarce while he is overseas.  All of a sudden I feel like a military wife, anxiously awaiting his email to come in from Spain so that I’ll know if he made it there safely.  I’m missing his abundant amount of texts to keep me company during the day.  I’m literally crossing off the days on my calendar until I get to see him again.

But I guess with all things there is a plus side.  He can’t get jealous when I want to hang out with my girlfriends on the weekend, he’s got his own life and will not be expecting to hang out with me every day.  And the freedom that comes with that, I have to admit, is really really nice.

So for now, I’m just seeing where things go and hoping for the best.  (He’s even mentioned taking me snowboarding in the winter.)

10 days and counting,

Q

no shame here.

July 16, 2010

Some women treat buying condoms like robbing a bank.  They scan the store to see who’s in there, make sure it’s no one they know, tuck the box beneath one of the other 14 items they’re purchasing (all of which are purely props), make the purchase, and get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible – probably with a getaway car idling out in the parking lot.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less who sees me making this purchase (except for maybe my mother… that would be weird.  And, I’m pretty sure she still hasn’t recovered from finding my birth control in my suitcase that weekend I was visiting from college. )  In fact, I kind of see it as empowering and sexy.  No, I don’t wave them around in the store, or wear a big sandwich board with the words “IM HAVING SEX” written on it, but I’m not ashamed. 

It’s 2010.  I like sex.  I’m being safe about it.  What’s the big f-ing deal?

We all know you can’t rely on men to BYOC.  Let’s face it, men are pretty damn unreliable.  (Hell, I couldn’t even get my ex to remember to pick up pasta sauce on his way home from the office.)  I’m not about to stop in the middle of whatever’s goin down to run out to 7-11 to pick some up, either.  I’m a believer in always having them on hand and always within an arm’s length of my bed.

The last time a dude was tryin’ to get a piece of all this sans rubber outterwear, I told him “hey, I like sex… but AIDS is for hookers” and that was that.

So listen up, ladies.  Quit your cowering in the “family planning” aisle.  March right into your local Wegman’s and make that purchase with your chest out and your head held high, ’cause you’re taking your body and your life into your OWN hands, and that is something that we all ought to be pretty damn proud of.

So can I get a “hell yeah”?

Q

miss pennsylvania.

June 7, 2010

If I was in the Miss America pageant (which, at this time, hell would have also frozen over and pigs would be flying) and in the interview portion I was asked about my “wish for the world”, without hesitation, I would reply that I wish that everyone on Earth could have an amazingly satisfying, no strings attached, drama free booty call.  Forget about ending AIDS and world hunger for a minute, don’t you think the world would be a better and happier place?

Think about it.

There are no expectations.  No need to buy birthday gifts.  No family function obligations.  Just unadulterated unclothed sexual bliss and instant stress relief.  For this reason, I’m willing to bet that Hitler and Stalin weren’t getting laid on the regular.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m a classy girl.  I don’t bring strangers home from the bar (well, ok, maybe ONCE), but I’ve never had a one night stand.  Even that awkward night with the stranger turned into a couple of dates.  I used to have a backlog of potential booty calls : shoo-ins that I could call up for some “drinks”, both of us certain what the result at the end of the night would be.  Some are old boyfriends, some are pretty good guy friends that I like to see naked every now and then, and I’d love to keep it that way.

For some reason, I feel good about “recycling” men from previous segments of my life.  Hey, my “number” doesn’t go up and I feel like I’m doing something good for the environment.  (Go Green!)

The problem is, my booty call Rolodex is drying up.  A few have gotten girlfriends (or wives), a few have moved away, and one has inexplicably dropped off the face of the Earth.  Even in it’s most perfect form, this whole arrangement is kind of a slippery slope.  I do not tolerate 2am texts from boys looking to “hang out”.  It’s only fun when I am the one calling the shots and each rendezvous is on MY terms.  Selfish?  Maybe.  But, there’s something really sexy about being in control like this.

Currently taking applications,

Q

two times the awkwardness.

June 3, 2010

Palms sweaty, heart beating a little bit, you make your way to your pre-arranged meeting spot.  You check for spinach in your teeth, put your best face forward, and awkwardly suffer through the new few hours, tell yourself that you had a good time, and leave praying for a call back.

Sound familiar…?

Is this a date…? or a job interview? Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

As a single girl that’s ALSO looking for a new job, I feel like I’ve had enough stress and awkward situations to last the average person 12 lifetimes.

Having just left yet another job interview that will undoubtedly pan out to nothing (due to a lousy HR director that failed to screen for compatible salaries), the similarities to dating and job hunting nearly smacked me in the face.  It’s like this never-ending cycle.

Everyone’s faking it at first, wanting to be liked.  Then the one YOU actually like wont call you back and the one that is all about you doesn’t pay enough or has poor hygiene and those ungodly bright colored sneakers (you know, the ones that look like they were thrown up on by a box of crayola crayons).  What’s worse, one of you will likely wind up bored with the relationship or career in a year or two and the cycle begins again.

But the sad part is, there’s nothing you can really do about it.  It’s all part of the game, my friend.  As cheesy as it sounds, you gotta keep putting yourself out there, and keep sipping that proverbial porridge until you find the one that’s the perfect fit.

So for now, you can call me “Goldilocks”,

Q

like a fish needs a bicycle.

June 1, 2010

I never really intended for this to be a blog about my love life or a “Sex and the City-esque” retelling of my weekends.  But i suppose that is somehow what it is becoming.  I always said that I would simply write about what was on my mind, without holding anything back, so I guess this says something about my priorities right now.

It’s been four days since I’ve heard from the boy with the crooked smile.  I’m here practically sitting on my hands to prevent myself from texting him.

I won’t do it.

I refuse.

Instead, I’m making up excuses for the reasons why he was possibly too busy to do so all weekend long and willing my phone to light up any second now.

Maybe he was tragically killed while pushing a small child out of the path of a moving bus.  Or maybe he was stricken with horrible food poisoning and spent the last 3 days in the hospital.  Or maybe he is just so gosh darn into me (duh) that he is waiting even LONGER than the obligatory three days so that he doesn’t seem over-eager and blow it?

…or maybe I am certifiably insane and it is completely and utterly clear that he is “just not that into me”.

Sigh.

So now I guess I just pick myself up, dust myself off, and start reminding myself that I’m awesome and amazing and totally fine alone.  Hell, I even put my AC unit in without any help!

I don’t need no stinkin’ man,

Q

table for two.

May 27, 2010

I had a date last night.

Let me be the first to say that dating sucks.  It REALLY really sucks.

There’s all this pressure to pick out a cute outfit, there’s the awkward greeting (do you hug?) then there’s the awkwardness of who’s going to pay, then there’s the awkward goodbye (do you give him a quick kiss?  or does the situation call for a heavy duty make out?).  For this reason, I secretly envy my married friends for being free of this clumsy dance.

So last night I wore my quintessential “I look hot but I’m not trying too hard” date night outfit – cute black top, white skirt, black flats and met him at the bar.  I was there before him (damnit!), so I plopped myself down on a bar-stool, ordered a beer, and hoped it would give me courage.  He showed up and I immediately got butterflies.  He cleaned himself up for the evening and was looking ridiculously adorable clean shaven and polo-shirted.

The conversation was good (although I admittedly become less and less articulate with the more beers I consume).  He paid.  We left the bar and went to a diner for some late night food and more (drunken/sleepy) conversation.

At around 1am he dropped me off back at my car, and feeling brazen and unable to resist the crooked smile, I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him towards me.  Let it be known: I will melt for any man that bites my bottom lip. (sigh).

So I went home, did a slight celebration dance alone in my room.  And now, the next morning, I’m doing the “omigod, does he like me? will he call again?” obsessed freak out.

See?  Even when it’s good, dating is bad.

Think he will call?

Q

dazed and confused.

May 24, 2010

This weekend went far too fast in a drunken sleep deprived haze.  I had a few too many beers and a few too many snoring boys in my bed (more on this later).  But all in all, I would call it a success.

I have decided that I may need to find a new “home base” bar.  Or at least lay low for a while.  It’s not so fun when the bartenders question and judge your dates (“Really, THAT guy?”) or attempt to step in while a cute guy is chatting you up (“You ok? this guy bother you?”).

Im FINE. Really.

But now, even worse, the middle age owner has gotten my telephone number and is very very very creepy.  I don’t know what I would expect the owner of a bar such as the one I frequent to be like.  But I don’t think I would expect him to text me at 9:00 in the morning about how he was going to do some, ahem, “things” while thinking of me.

How is one supposed to respond to that?

Um… Thanks?

A friend of mine wrote a pretty great article about women and sex that I just absolutely love.  Right on, sister friend!

Some things I just don’t need to know,

Q