Lest I Forget

I have hesitated for a long time in writing this down, or more accurately writing it down publicly.  Last night, I lay in bed, the gears in my mind straining and smoking as I tried to recall all the names.  It gives me some joy to know I'm forgetting some things but also, I feel like I need to remember.  Each name carries a lesson, something I earned.  More than just a notch on my bed post, each name was a lesson, a step for growth, something to move forward and upward from.

Some of the names are associated with great memories, some with awful ones.  Some names are best forgotten but they're the ones that will never escape my memory.

So please forgive me, but I need to remember, I need to be able to look back and recall each piece of my growth, each portion of my progression.

Nicole - The First
Greg - The Honeymoon
Ben - The Rebound
Bryce - The Car
Melanie - The Bi-Curious
Sean - The Soul Mate
Jordan - The Beanbag
Kevin - The O face
David - The Midnight Toker
Brandon - The Oil Up
Jason - The "You're the one"
Valarie - The Misery
Morgan - The Sociopath
Allan - One Night Stand 1
TJ - One Night Stand 2
Chris - One Night Stand 3
Matt - The Drunk Attack
Anthony - The Lazy Fuck
Shelsie - Madam Craigslist
Shane - The Ex-Girlfriender
Vard - The Vacation
Bri - The Blind Girl
Carlos - The That's What She Said
Jeff - The Affair
Joel - The Youngin'
Jane - The Pseudonym
Kofi - The African

This list will evolve as I, in the shortest hand I know, pin down my growth to a few bits of data in the cloud.

Diary of a Nymphomaniac

Color me introspective.

My divorce has always, in my mind, been the jumping point for my discovery into my self.  Though, I can assume that some of the self I'm so happy with is the self that evolved during my marriage.  After cobbling my self-esteem back together and venturing out, hand shielding my eyes from the light of the real world, I have struggled with one specific piece of myself.

My sexuality.

For the past few years I have collected a seemingly large number of partners (always safely) whilst dodging mostly self fired shots at what that collection meant about me.  Having been raised LDS, one partner should've been enough for me, but it wasn't.  There's so much to try and so much to explore and from day one I wanted to do this, albeit on my terms.  Living in a conservative state, with conservative friends and a conservative upbringing I allowed myself to internalize the condemnation, verbalized or not, that was offered up to me in response to the cataloging of my experiences.  Particularly recently as I ventured into the world of "the other woman."  I've found myself justifying and rationalizing my desires and my adventures, to my friends and to myself, as though I had somehow to answer to the lot of us for what it was I'm doing.

I've had so many experiences now, some amazing, some horrid.  Some funny, some sad and some punishable by damnation at the very least.  But inside, while my face registered some guilt or shame for what I'd done, my soul was rejoicing in the experience.  I'd been cheated on in the past but now I've been the other woman and while the world is telling me I should feel guilty, my heart is telling me I shouldn't.  I acted willfully, knowingly and with the intent to dive into the experience head first and go where it takes me, let it teach me something that I can't otherwise have known.

There have been younger and older, wiser and weaker, gentle and forceful, caring and callous but every time there has been growth, expansion and acceptance.

But despite the passion in my soul for sex and my sexuality, I have allowed what I've been taught and what my peers, even my dearest friends, think and feel to color my response to my actions.  I've belittled my own desires based on what someone else tells me they should be.

And then, in a lonely hour on a lonely night in a lonely home filled with lonely thoughts, I settled into my couch and turned on a movie.

Diary of a Nymphomaniac.

In the final strains of a film that resonated in my heart, I heard my anthem.

"I'm a promiscuous woman, yes, because I want to use sex as a means to find what everyone is looking for.  Recognition, pleasure, self-esteem and, in short, love and affection.  What's pathological about that?  If you want to give me a name, go on, I don't mind.  But you must know I'm really a mermaid, a dryad, simply a nymph."

This is who I am.  A nymph, a mermaid.  Color me however you need, paint me in your limited palate but this,  this is who I am and I will no longer feel your guilt or your shame.  I am a siren and a seductress, a giver and a taker, a gift, a goddess, a potential home wrecker and a thief.

I am me and this is what I do and this brings me joy.  This chase for pleasure and love and affection and self-esteem, this is how I run it.

To quote one of my all-time favorite authors in my absolute favorite book -

"I will not go gently onto a shelf, degutted, to become a non-book.  All you umpires, back to the bleachers.  Referees, hit the showers.  It's my game.  I pitch, I hit, I catch.  I run the bases.  At sunset I've won or lost.  At sunrise, I'm out again, giving it the old try.  And no one can help me.  Not even you."

Look...About That...

I feel like Ebeneezer Scrooge being visited by the Ghosts of Ex-Boyfriends Past.  Over the last few weeks ex-boyfriends, ex love interests and all sorts of potential dates of different varieties have come crawling out of the virtual woodwork.  A text here, an awkward email there but seemingly all after one thing.

My vagina.

I've been down this road.  I have had my time with them, our relationships eclipsed for various reasons but the sun has set and I had very blissfully moved on.  But here they come, anyway, knocking on my figurative door with dying flowers and sugar-free chocolates in tow.  Here they come with offers of dates, random meet ups and potential sexual liaisons.

The amount of class displayed by these collective gentleman dissipates the entirety of my hope for humanity.

"What would you say if I got down on one knee and asked you to be my fuck buddy?"

To quote my favorite comedian...How romantic, Adolf.

Look, I get it,  we spent some time together, you enjoyed it.  Obviously not enough to keep it, but you at least enjoyed it a little, enough to assume you could crawl back into my bed.  So you're here again, just bored or needy enough to run down a list of girls you burned but still assume would take you back.

But you've misjudged me.  I might be single but I'm not needy, I'm not slutty, I don't have low self-esteem, I don't need to re-read chapters I passed long ago.  I don't want to reopen your chapter.  It sucked, I know it did, or maybe I would've tried harder to linger on it.  You might be dying for something wet to warm your dick but it's NOT going to be me.

I'm not interested in the bullshit you're selling, I don't need a fuck buddy, especially not one that looks like you when I've reached Ego Boost levels.  This isn't a Hollywood romantic comedy where I play the ditsy blonde that confuses sex for love.  I know you, I've figured you out.  I know what it is your after and while I'm very interested in the idea of a sex buddy, I can do much better.  It's cute that you think I'm that stupid, though.

Romance. Sticky, Sticky Romance.

I have long pondered over my singlehood-dom-ness and tried to analyze what it was that men wanted, what I was supposed to be in order to snag a man to marry.

Thanks to a man...whose name I have forgotten...that I had the great fortune to go on a first date with and then be summarily ignored for several months only to be accidentally rediscovered has FINALLY, after long last clued me in.

His succinct, unedited, uncensored statement on marriage is as follows:

"So lets fuck for three days straight.  Perfect!  You do know I'm kinky, right?  I mean I really like you, but I like a lot of things a lot of girls aren't comfortable with, but at the same time I'm looking to settle down."

Now I know.  First date attire will now be limited to nipple clamps and a strap-on.  Apparently, that's how you get the boys to put a ring on it.

And by it...I mean my finger...not the strap on.

Besides Which You See, I Have Confidence In Me!

Confidence is such a fickle beast.  One moment your gunning for a promotion with more than your share of confidence and the next you're in the bathroom crying because your hair looks just a little funny today.  I've had a roughly 24 year battle with confidence and self-esteem.

Just when I thought I'd done it, accomplished it, tamed the wild horse of valuing myself I got married.  To an asshole.  An asshole who took it upon himself to make sure he knew that my naturally curly hair was ugly, I'd look fatter in horizontal stripes than I did normally, my legs were too fat, my boobs were too little, I should lose weight, I didn't dress right, I talked too loud in public and just generally that I sucked.  All my hard work, torn up and thrown into a puddle of rancid rain water.  I tried to pick up the pieces, wiping them off on my jeans but realized it was futile.  I had to start over.

On the night I told my former husband that it was over, I laid the first brick.  I put down the very beginning of my foundation and I kept building.  Slowly at times, faster at others.  I remember that I'm very, very smart.  I realized just how charming I am.  I reevaluated and redeveloped my entire self-worth and, by god, I am worth twice my weight in AMAZING.

One thing that always nagged, though...I know I'm pretty, everyone is pretty but I'd never felt like I could get "that guy."  You know which one I mean.  The successful, smart, handsome and looks like he just walked off the set of '300' guy.  The one that seems like he has it all, whether or not he actually does is of less importance.  This is the one that you want simply because he exists.  In the end it wouldn't matter if he had the intelligence of a 2 year old, as long as he keeps his shirt off.

Selfish?  Yup.  Ego driven?  Yessir.  Classy?  Oh get off your high horse!  This one is all about appearances and I am A-Ok with that!  Is he a guy that needs his ego stroked frequently?  Probably.  Am I willing to stroke it?  God am I ever!

There has existed a man on one of my dating sites.  A gorgeous man, a man with a body like a god.  Pretty sure he's Adonis' twin brother.  By all rights, he definitely has more than just the body, much more.  I've long oggled his thumbnail sized photo, never quite daring to click on it so that he'd see I had visited his profile and scoff at what such an ugly duckling was doing there.  Once or twice I'd looked at it, drooled over his pictures and wondered what kind of woman he'd take, how leggy, skinny, big-breasted and blonde you'd have to be to land a guy like that.  I didn't at all think I'd make the cut, not even close.  I'm a bit doughy about the mid-section and am definitely no super model.

Would I want to fall in love with him?  Probably not, despite our high match percentage I'm quite positive we'd have little in common to build an actual relationship on.  But did that deter me from wondering what he'd be like in bed?  Pfft...nope!  He's hot, there's absolutely NO denying that.  He's gorgeous and I'm positive he knows it.  But really...what could it hurt to dip my toe into the water and see if he bites?

So without even a second thought, I opened up a message to him.  In very short order, no hesitation, no fear, no intimidation I penned a quick note and very pointedly told him that I wasn't really sure we'd be any good at a relationship but I was intensely curious about what kind of women he finds on the site and what he'd be like as a lover.  I fully expected a polite brush off at best and complete silence at worst but what did it hurt?

Then to my curious shock, only a few minutes later I had a reply.  He was hooked by my confidence, my boldness.  This started a fast paced exchange of conversation.  We were both neither shy nor afraid to make it perfectly clear that we had no real intention of dating in the romantic sense and that this was in fact a veiled negotiation to just sleep with each other.  I was clear, he was clear.  No pretense of interest in what he does or what I do, no concern over interests or hobbies.  I wanted him, in the most animalistic of senses and to my utter surprise he wanted me too.

Then I had it, he sent another response with his phone number and a request that I text him.  So I did and we continued texting.  To quote one of my favorite movies; "I got a number.  I got a NUMBER.  I GOT A NUMBER!"  I was elated and just a little bit stunned.

I'll be honest in saying that there was an exchange of a few photographs, nothing outright lewd but definitely something that would've gotten Weiner in trouble.  Then it happened, he started to compliment me, he started to tell me how much he liked what he saw, he was attracted to me.  To me!

A man, whom I would never ever have thought would go for an average girl like me was suddenly very muscular putty in my hands.  My confidence was written in stone.  I had reached what was, in my opinion, the Mt. Everest of men.  Someone who undoubtedly is viewed as an object by women of all shapes and sizes.  I had him, I had his attention and I had his interest.

Do I think I can believe everything he says?  No.  Do I think a guy will say damn near anything to have sex?  Yup.  Do I believe that guys have to be at least sorta attracted to get it up?  Yes.  Do I think he's a chubby chaser?  Possibly.  Do I think that this is anything more than just sex?  Nope and that's just how I want it.  This is not a love match, am I completely closed off to the idea that he might surprise me again?  No.  This is a huge ego boost for me, if it becomes anything else, so be it.  If it stays just sex, in fact if we only ever meet once, I'm happy.  I accomplished something.  I learned something about myself and about men.

I may just be prettier than I thought, the supermodel type may not be that desirable in the end, I need to lose the judgements, going with my gut instinct pays off and confidence really is key.  So please...for me, the next time you're too intimidated to do something like ask a man like this out

A special thank you to Mario Lopez for standing in for the man I am talking to.

just do it, just go for it!  It really can't hurt.  Even if they blow you off, that's just one guy with a bad attitude or an ego that you wouldn't want to be around anyways.  So just go, do, believe in yourself.  Take some bold actions and baby, they're bound to pay off!

I Want My Happy Ending.

I've come so far.  On my own.  I've survived abuse, a shitty  marriage, life on my own, paying my own bills, making my life what it is.  My life is great.  I have a great career with amazing coworkers, I'm getting a degree to open up my dream job.  I have a beautiful, quirky, charming and amazing son.  I have great, supportive friends and family.  I'm 25 and I've achieved so much and so much of it I've achieved alone, against great odds and through great challenge.  But here I am.

But there's a huge piece missing.  You.  Wherever you are.  I've spent a couple years (and time before the span of my marriage) looking for you and you still elude me.  I've hoisted my flag and sent out my courtiers in search of you and each time they return empty handed or with someone attempting to be you.  Why is it, the one thing I want so desperately, the one thing I'm missing and aching for is the one thing that seems to sneak through my open arms?

I have a collection of lessons I've learned over the last several years and not a single one of the lessons is good.  What I've learned so far:

1. Guys lie.  A lot.  They're masters of knowing exactly what girls want to hear them say but not a word of it is genuine.
2. I'm gullible, I'll believe anything a guy tells me as long as it's complimentary.
3. It doesn't matter one single bit that I'm successful/smart/talented/well-rounded/fun/kind/generous/a good mother/caring/compassionate/PERFECT because sex is the ultimate motivator and as a woman in full control and awareness of her sexuality I give men exactly what they want all the while thinking that I'm in control.
4. Success = intimidation.  Talking about my goals and achievements is not attractive.
5. The fact that I'm not a typical girl is a handicap, not a benefit.
6. Guys who claim to love kids do not love kids, they just love the idea of kids.
7. No matter how hard I try to be unattached or aloof to falling for the dirty tricks, they still get me.
8. I can sure put on a brave face but inside my heart is shattered.
9. My most successful relationships will be with the most unstable men.
10. When a man tells me he doesn't want to get married it means he just doesn't want to marry me.
11. Abundance of money and lack of money are the same, assholes are assholes no matter what their income.
12. Women have turned men into what they are.  We've created a master race of lazy, entitled, weak assholes.
13. I shouldn't have to change a thing about how I behave in a relationship, unless a guy gives me what I want and need he should be ruled out.  I shouldn't have to demand they treat me like more than a whore.
14. Romance is dead.
15. Dates = sex.  Sex = my only valuable feature.
16. I am not worthy of a true relationship, I lack something that creates life-long love.  What it is, I don't know.  Until I know, I will not succeed.
17. The good men are taken.
18. Other girls get their Prince Charming but just like they can't expect my lifestyle, I cannot expect their success in love.  I will not get my Prince Charming.
19. Prince Charming is a lie.  I'm not Cinderella, Snow White or Sleeping Beauty.  I'm just some girl with too much attitude, too much independence and way too much opinion.
20. Sex is a commodity and I'm on the trading floor shouting at the top of my lungs with a rabid bunch of men throwing up their hands and fingers, flashing offers that I'm not willing to settle for.
21. Happily Ever After isn't a part of my life plan.  I'm here for something else.
22. I'm an incredibly slow learner because I've been kicked to my knees more times than I can count and for some idiotic reason I keep getting up.

By the time you actually show up I'll be so bruised and bloodied that you won't be able to see through the damage and you'll wander away.  I'm done letting myself get hurt.  I'm done offering up my wrist to be slashed.  I'm tired and sore and beaten.  They win.  I've been destroyed.  Thank your fellow man for this one because they've trampled all over me.  They've made me the weaker sex and I hate you for it.

Don't get me wrong, though.  Like a moron I will still stand up again, I will brush the dirt and rocks off my knees, I will stand in the shower for hours, until I shiver and turn blue from the cold, just to wash the taste of them out of my mouth, the smell of their skin off of mine.  I'm building my brick wall and now I don't care if you take it down.

So if you show up, I'll apologize eventually for slapping you.  I imagine if you exist you'll be just as broken as I am.  I'll probably push you away, cringe at your touch, accuse you of lying and ignore your attempts at romance.

Look at me.  Who am I kidding.  You're as much a reality as that unicorn I keep hoping will wander into my backyard.

This Week In Awkward Dating Profiles!

• Probably the most important thing to be up front about is that I am dirty and I like being that way. I like the smell of human bodies (mine and yours) and that's not something I'm shy about. For some people (see most people) this is a bit of a deal breaker for even being in the same room as me, much less some sort of intimate relationship. jsyk. 

• The first thing people notice about me is...
  OMG hes a gangata!!!! or playa!!!!
  
  Neither are true but cool stero types i guess...
   
• Yea yea I know I am naked LOL !!! But keep in mind vanity and intellectuality are not mutually exclusive ....

• And this....