i don't have the heart to write step 5 yet. mostly because i am obviously not fully recovered, but also because i don't have a good title.
anyway, that doesn't mean i didn't come up with a killer coping mechanism today.
in college i invented a game, the o game. to pass time in ann arbor after looking at the same tired student faces everyday, i decided to guess exactly what face this person would have on at climax.
there were your general versions of ectasy and its aftermath, but there were also fun favourites like the jocks who screamed "mommy", convulsion carols, and the cryers ("oh that was so beautiful todd..."). I highly recommed this game in any overpopulated location.
but, as the third anniversary of the game has rolled around, i have realized it's possible alternative use.
should you ever desire to fuck a stranger in a back alley, consider his mug added to the grotesque menagerie already emblazened on your brain from experience rather than creative thinking. it's not a collection anyone would like to see multiply, and will certainly stop you from going at it like rabbits by sheer revulsion.
16 November 2005
14 November 2005
nymphette the 5 step programme - step 4 : magic fingers
remind yourself you don't need a man, or woman, or vibrating latex mammalian-shaped substitute by locking yourself in with some killer tunes, a cliche candle or two, and fingers so dexterous carpaltunnel is imminent at this rate. turns out i didn't play the violin for nothing.
ps - funniest shit ever. i love my brother: oedipus the douchebag
ps - funniest shit ever. i love my brother: oedipus the douchebag
10 November 2005
nymphette, the 5 step programme - step 3: misplaced idolotry
may your sentiments deny that which your selfcontrol can't. this may be seen as backtracking, but knowing your limits and setting your standards higher than is possible to attain curbs otherwise disasterous inclinations.
a girly night of drinks and debating the finer points of harry potter's theology (snape must be good for the sake of christianity) and jonathan strange and mr. norell (who we still think the servant may have done it all along) - yes this counts as girl talk amongst those of uis with simple lives and shared past partners which one should never mention in good company - segued into an evening with neil gaiman.
a long time hero, a minor fantasy in the dark mysterious artsy way most of us have fallen for, and much too unattainable in his cult. but as he read in his posh southern english accent in an overly dramatic leather jacket and specifically-mussy hair i was equally enthralled and repulsed at the deliberation behind such an image.
any possible lustful thoughts still lingering in my general person were dashed like waves on Dover when the Q&A turned to a level of gothgeekdom i had heretofore only read about. when Mr. Earplugs- and-Skull-branded-Leather countered Ms. velvet-cape-and-untrimmed-locks (which were less flowing than she imagined) with a "but Sandman #50 was well before the first Gulf War much less the bombing of Baghdad..." I lost all faith in humanity much less any glimmer of hope for sex.
perhaps step three should be "surround thyself with repulsive freaks to ban any interest in intimacy from thy thoughts".
a girly night of drinks and debating the finer points of harry potter's theology (snape must be good for the sake of christianity) and jonathan strange and mr. norell (who we still think the servant may have done it all along) - yes this counts as girl talk amongst those of uis with simple lives and shared past partners which one should never mention in good company - segued into an evening with neil gaiman.
a long time hero, a minor fantasy in the dark mysterious artsy way most of us have fallen for, and much too unattainable in his cult. but as he read in his posh southern english accent in an overly dramatic leather jacket and specifically-mussy hair i was equally enthralled and repulsed at the deliberation behind such an image.
any possible lustful thoughts still lingering in my general person were dashed like waves on Dover when the Q&A turned to a level of gothgeekdom i had heretofore only read about. when Mr. Earplugs- and-Skull-branded-Leather countered Ms. velvet-cape-and-untrimmed-locks (which were less flowing than she imagined) with a "but Sandman #50 was well before the first Gulf War much less the bombing of Baghdad..." I lost all faith in humanity much less any glimmer of hope for sex.
perhaps step three should be "surround thyself with repulsive freaks to ban any interest in intimacy from thy thoughts".
07 November 2005
nymphette the 5 step programme, step 2: harmless encounters
so the job is good. hard and weird and so busy, but really good (i think). i got my first free book today, which is a damn fine start.
also, i walked home in the companionable but not entirely devoid-of-flirting company of inexplicably good guy from work ("good guy" in the michael bluth sense. oh jason bateman. insert shudder of pleasure.), who although not a looker or available, is a good bit of banter and general distraction.
it is nice to have work friends.
also, i walked home in the companionable but not entirely devoid-of-flirting company of inexplicably good guy from work ("good guy" in the michael bluth sense. oh jason bateman. insert shudder of pleasure.), who although not a looker or available, is a good bit of banter and general distraction.
it is nice to have work friends.
06 November 2005
nymphette, the 5 step programme - step 1: deny temptation
so i have significantly chilled out since writing the below (i love the phrase "writing the above" though it so rarely makes sense in a world where no one writes on scrolls anymore, so i've darwined it into blogger compatible prose).
this is in no small part to my awarding myself brownie points for not sleeping with stranger-friend of phil's. there is nothing more tempting that a cute no-strings attached backpacker showing up at your party. but i was still feeling a little dirty and am atoning through nominal piety.
it didn't help i was holding a bottle of holy water at the time (long fabulous story) and jack mentioned i might melt or burst forth into flames of damnation at any minute from coming in contact with something blessed. turns out he was wrong (we tested by spraying me with it), but still.
plus sarah the gossip queen was of course grilling me for details about lee (of course he told people) and her friend phil who apparantly fancies me something dreadful after her last party
audience aside: i know it sounds like this is griping as a facade for showing off a la "oh it is so tiring to be adored" Helen of Troy (you really must read Atwood's Penelopiad) but it isn't. sadly, i am still in the pubescent mindset "why would anyone be interested? what is wrong with them?" mentality and have no way of processing such things other than writing them down hoping there is something i've missed. i'd say the "data does not compute" but even i am not that dorky all the time.
...so i was less than inclined to continue with my recent indescretions until at least we all couldn't vividly recall my last few.
besides, he was canadian. someday i'll tell you about my canuck curse.
anyway, yeah. so my party was good. i was good which is even better, and i start my job tomorrow. holy fuck.
this is in no small part to my awarding myself brownie points for not sleeping with stranger-friend of phil's. there is nothing more tempting that a cute no-strings attached backpacker showing up at your party. but i was still feeling a little dirty and am atoning through nominal piety.
it didn't help i was holding a bottle of holy water at the time (long fabulous story) and jack mentioned i might melt or burst forth into flames of damnation at any minute from coming in contact with something blessed. turns out he was wrong (we tested by spraying me with it), but still.
plus sarah the gossip queen was of course grilling me for details about lee (of course he told people) and her friend phil who apparantly fancies me something dreadful after her last party
audience aside: i know it sounds like this is griping as a facade for showing off a la "oh it is so tiring to be adored" Helen of Troy (you really must read Atwood's Penelopiad) but it isn't. sadly, i am still in the pubescent mindset "why would anyone be interested? what is wrong with them?" mentality and have no way of processing such things other than writing them down hoping there is something i've missed. i'd say the "data does not compute" but even i am not that dorky all the time.
...so i was less than inclined to continue with my recent indescretions until at least we all couldn't vividly recall my last few.
besides, he was canadian. someday i'll tell you about my canuck curse.
anyway, yeah. so my party was good. i was good which is even better, and i start my job tomorrow. holy fuck.
04 November 2005
this got long. and explict. this is me. and i am sorry.
so now when i get online, i have to decide where my ramblings will be posted - general censorship and audience restrictions make it feel like i have multiple personalities sometimes.
anyway, this wins because the name is most fitting.
i've gone and done it again.
as i have been telling chris (we have of late been having long involved emails about the meaning of love and intimacy generally concerning the numbers game and our sex lives or lack there of), i am still (perhaps desperately) clinging to the idea of forever and meaningful and an all round prince charming who gives great head.
but this desire and deep seated belief in the possibility of special and sacred does not incline me to spend the rest of my life waiting for it sexually frustrated and lonely.
here in lies the dilema.
so, in my misguided and unplanned coping scheme, i generally do not foray into socio-physical encounters as i generally feel i can hold out for better and figure something good is on the way. but every once in a while i snap and then for a brief period would shag anything that moves since the rest of my 'self' and moral high ground are overpowered by blood lust and insatiable hormones. it's kind of like that volcano of emotions of puberty. back then i would scream and cry and fall asleep and now i get myself some play, then drop them like a hot potato. neither is recommended if you want to look sane.
this scenario, while not flattering or all together healthy for my reputation or emotional CV, keeps me balanced. cathardic almost.
but so anyway, my point was, unexpectedly, i've gone and done it again.
last night met up with jack and some of his work friends - real guys, who drink beer and have girlfriends and all that. and little irish lee was totally hitting on sonja all night. seriously, they were talking about victiorian literature and i had to interupt a dickensian-austenite debate to buy the next round. well, when she went home i made a point to chat to him, field the territory, feel it out and invite him to my party in one of my matchmaking attempts (the likes of which i have not attempted since probably back when we went to lock-ins and those after school 6th grade non-commital "dance" things).
and i totally pulled a kylie.
drunk little lee forgot all about sonja and tried to feel me up under the table. apparantly i didnt know how amazing my tits look in the top i was wearing and he pretty much lost all sense of decency after another round.
and me being me, i wasn't going to turn down a little play so i let him walk me home (if by walk you mean make out on a park bench and get fingered in an alley).
but me also being me, i made it very clear i wanted nothing from him, i was not going to sleep with him, in all likelihood i would pretend this never happened and was perfectly happy to go our seperate ways and he was allowed to pursue sonja in a gentleman-like fashion and i wouldnt feel put upon or used. in fact i pretty much wasnt interested, but if he was giving handjobs for free i wasnt going to say no.
as i write this i cant help but feel a little dirty - the major downside of this sexual coping technique.
what was i thinking? have i no shame? or worse, no standards? i wasnt even interested and he was totally into sonja. i have no problem apparantly making short work of my reputation and personal boundaries, but when other people are involved it feels like betrayal.
somewhere i blinked and crossed a line and who the fuck have i become?
i still don't hold much stock in the fact i hooked up with a stranger. i never have. maybe a bit embarassed at the public space portion, but like i've never been that before. but i guess i never really considered the implications of all this shit for other people.
he text me three times today. three. is this going to be a thing, because i really didn't want anything. i still dont. i really thought we could just be mates. i am such a man.
and now what kind of weirdness have i made for sonja? if she likes him do i tell her? is it my job? my business? my fault? what was i thinking? i am emotionally retarded to be having 90210 dilemas at my age. why couldnt i have fucked my best friends boyfriend in high school or college like a normal whore and got all this shit out of the way? there should be deadlines for these kinds of mistakes.
or jack for that matter. they are work friends. like he wants his watercooler conversation this morning to be about my lack of decency. like i need him to hear that shit about me from virtual strangers. i don't even know the kid for christ sake, why did it have to be someone who'll share trophy stories at the pub with my best friend? why did it not occur to me this is socially awkward before i copped a feel?
sometimes i really need to think with something other than my box. and sadly, i have no idea how. it's like call of the wild or some shit. i have no self control. its shameless. animalistic. raw. and rude.
is there a drug to make me sane? do i want to give up my fleeting but satisfying encounters to be normal? how many times must i brush with disaster before i realize sometimes people are more important than my libido?
this is what catholic school and an extended and late puberty does to you. enforced asexuality means a decade of overcompensation at least.
yours,
hoplessly whorish
anyway, this wins because the name is most fitting.
i've gone and done it again.
as i have been telling chris (we have of late been having long involved emails about the meaning of love and intimacy generally concerning the numbers game and our sex lives or lack there of), i am still (perhaps desperately) clinging to the idea of forever and meaningful and an all round prince charming who gives great head.
but this desire and deep seated belief in the possibility of special and sacred does not incline me to spend the rest of my life waiting for it sexually frustrated and lonely.
here in lies the dilema.
so, in my misguided and unplanned coping scheme, i generally do not foray into socio-physical encounters as i generally feel i can hold out for better and figure something good is on the way. but every once in a while i snap and then for a brief period would shag anything that moves since the rest of my 'self' and moral high ground are overpowered by blood lust and insatiable hormones. it's kind of like that volcano of emotions of puberty. back then i would scream and cry and fall asleep and now i get myself some play, then drop them like a hot potato. neither is recommended if you want to look sane.
this scenario, while not flattering or all together healthy for my reputation or emotional CV, keeps me balanced. cathardic almost.
but so anyway, my point was, unexpectedly, i've gone and done it again.
last night met up with jack and some of his work friends - real guys, who drink beer and have girlfriends and all that. and little irish lee was totally hitting on sonja all night. seriously, they were talking about victiorian literature and i had to interupt a dickensian-austenite debate to buy the next round. well, when she went home i made a point to chat to him, field the territory, feel it out and invite him to my party in one of my matchmaking attempts (the likes of which i have not attempted since probably back when we went to lock-ins and those after school 6th grade non-commital "dance" things).
and i totally pulled a kylie.
drunk little lee forgot all about sonja and tried to feel me up under the table. apparantly i didnt know how amazing my tits look in the top i was wearing and he pretty much lost all sense of decency after another round.
and me being me, i wasn't going to turn down a little play so i let him walk me home (if by walk you mean make out on a park bench and get fingered in an alley).
but me also being me, i made it very clear i wanted nothing from him, i was not going to sleep with him, in all likelihood i would pretend this never happened and was perfectly happy to go our seperate ways and he was allowed to pursue sonja in a gentleman-like fashion and i wouldnt feel put upon or used. in fact i pretty much wasnt interested, but if he was giving handjobs for free i wasnt going to say no.
as i write this i cant help but feel a little dirty - the major downside of this sexual coping technique.
what was i thinking? have i no shame? or worse, no standards? i wasnt even interested and he was totally into sonja. i have no problem apparantly making short work of my reputation and personal boundaries, but when other people are involved it feels like betrayal.
somewhere i blinked and crossed a line and who the fuck have i become?
i still don't hold much stock in the fact i hooked up with a stranger. i never have. maybe a bit embarassed at the public space portion, but like i've never been that before. but i guess i never really considered the implications of all this shit for other people.
he text me three times today. three. is this going to be a thing, because i really didn't want anything. i still dont. i really thought we could just be mates. i am such a man.
and now what kind of weirdness have i made for sonja? if she likes him do i tell her? is it my job? my business? my fault? what was i thinking? i am emotionally retarded to be having 90210 dilemas at my age. why couldnt i have fucked my best friends boyfriend in high school or college like a normal whore and got all this shit out of the way? there should be deadlines for these kinds of mistakes.
or jack for that matter. they are work friends. like he wants his watercooler conversation this morning to be about my lack of decency. like i need him to hear that shit about me from virtual strangers. i don't even know the kid for christ sake, why did it have to be someone who'll share trophy stories at the pub with my best friend? why did it not occur to me this is socially awkward before i copped a feel?
sometimes i really need to think with something other than my box. and sadly, i have no idea how. it's like call of the wild or some shit. i have no self control. its shameless. animalistic. raw. and rude.
is there a drug to make me sane? do i want to give up my fleeting but satisfying encounters to be normal? how many times must i brush with disaster before i realize sometimes people are more important than my libido?
this is what catholic school and an extended and late puberty does to you. enforced asexuality means a decade of overcompensation at least.
yours,
hoplessly whorish
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