Exercising my right to orgasm.

Ahem…

If y’all need me, I’ll be at the gym. 

Via Sex with Timaree:

The rare and elusive Stage 6 clinger.

In 2013 after my breakup, I had a Year of Poor Life Choices. I dated before I was ready, tried to get over my ex, tried to get over the OTHER guy I’d developed a crush on. It turned into a few “relationships” that crashed and burned fairly spectacularly.

One was a friend of my sister’s, and I’m not proud of this, but I ghosted on him. We went on three dates before I realized we had NOTHING in common*, and I TRIED to be an adult and tell him I wasn’t ready to be dating. He asked if we could be friends and I said “sure,” because that’s what you SAY, but you both know you’re not going to be friends — or at least *I* knew.

Eventually I blocked his number and deleted him from Facebook because I am a coward. That was probably the summer of 2014.

THIS MORNING I got a Facebook message from him: “Hey Smug, tour name popped up on my phone so figured I’d say hi….Helloooo. How’s life treating you?”

It’s probably true he saw my name somehow since we still have mutual Facebook friends. But, like… Is there a Clinger beyond Stage 5?**

* When I say “nothing in common,” I mean I went to his Facebook page and he’s now an “all lives matter,” flag-fapping Trumpublican, and I am…NOT those things.

** I feel bad, he’s a “nice guy,” but…no. You are a reminder of a terrible time in my life. That’s not your fault, but it does mean you can’t exist in my world.

“Hi… I’m in Delaware.”

I am legit staring at this man’s face in his OkCupid profile, trying to decide if I’m physically attracted to him.
I don’t think I am, but he lives in goddamn Delaware, anyway. *shaking fist at geography*

I’m at least sending him a “we need to be friends” message.

Cupid is a premature ejaculator. Fact.

Hey, Netflix — how’s about you slow your goddamn roll here?

“Die mad about it.”

Exhibit A…

Respecting the boundaries of small talk

I told an OkCupid guy I’d gone to the Women’s Conference, and he wrote back asking what “the most inspiring takeaway” was.

The honest answers to this question are not suitable for the first few online dating messages.

1. No matter how crippling my imposter syndrome gets, I shouldn’t be afraid to speak, because chances are I’m NOT the stupidest person in a given room. (Though I still don’t believe that.)

2. We can put too much onto the ONE person in our paradigm of monogamous relationships, and it’s to be expected that we get different things from different people. I am not a slut or a bad person for getting those needs met, and I shouldn’t feel bad about it. (Though I still do.)

3. My knee-high black leather boots are better suited for your filthy sexual fantasies than for walking 6 miles at the Convention Center.

It’s not my fault people are dumb.

Tonight I told my therapist that I don’t think I have very much anxiety, and she raised her eyebrows at me in disbelief.

1. Um, so, hey, if I could just get a map of all my particular Crazy side streets, that’d be great. I didn’t know about Anxiety Alley.

2. I do NOT have anxiety. I worry the exact right amount — people who don’t worry that much are just fucking stupid.