A watched iPhone never beeps with a text that saves your faith in humanity.

Having given this some thought, and having STILL not heard from this guy…

I had sex with a person I liked, and who, at the time, I honestly thought liked me. Not LOVED me, not falling for me, but like…we could be friends.

THEN he started fading away. We haven’t had sex since.

So, that’s not this guy keeping me around to get his dick wet, not any reason for me to feel slutty. That’s a relationship that started, was fine for a few weeks, then…ended? I guess? It’d be SUPER great to be sure of that. I don’t think I’ll be convinced until we get to the weekend and he’s still radio silent. (We had tentative plans.)

I WILL actually be hurt if he just ghosted. Not BADLY, but I slept with him because I thought we were at least THAT cool. Like, hey, I swallowed your semen — show some goddamn respect.

But I can handle “ghosting;” I’ve been on the other side of that. Nice person, fine in bed, but just not for me, but I’m a little bitch who can’t just say that, hence the fadeaway.*

That helps.

*For the record, though, it DOES feel shitty and I’ve tried to learn to be a goddamn grownup and tell people. It sucks, but it’s not THAT bad. Tell people. Don’t be a dick.

The Rhythm Nation Method

Today someone found this blog by searching for “slutty Pandora stations.”

I’m confused. Would that be music ABOUT sluts? Music that MAKES us slutty? (I have those songs — put on Rihanna’s “S&M” and I might as well have a pole.)

Is the station ITSELF slutty? Does it sidle up against all the other stations, all, “Hey, Top 40, how YOU doin’?”

And come on, aren’t ALL Pandora stations a little bit slutty? I mean, they all give it up to pretty much anyone.

Next up on Pandora’s Slut Station: “Runaround Sue” gets freaky with “The Wanderer.” (I’m not really old enough for that frame of reference, but I AM pretty pleased with it — that there’s some OG slut shame.)

“That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works.”

I’ve been talking to other “open relationship” guys on OkCupid, because apparently I’m open-minded now (?), and motherFUCK me — leave it to me to find a Clinger in an open relationship.

How are you texting me every day, morning and night? Go text your main Bunny, Hef. The point of me exploring this option was that I wouldn’t meet clingy people. How have you pushed a potential sidepiece to my “Please stop talking” threshold in less than 4 days? Do you have to have the open relationship because you talk too much for one woman to handle?

I get the sense his lady has had more success with this setup than he has.

He asked if I was OK because my most recent texts haven’t been as enthusiastic or flirtatious, so I mentioned I was at work, and still debating if I can handle the open relationship.

He’s still talking, “joking” that it’s OK if I just want to be friends, but that I’ll change my mind when I meet him.

OK, Karma, you’ve made your point: I behaved like a desperate, slutty Clinger with That Guy. I realized that on my own, and have tried to adjust accordingly, even with friends (minus the “slutty” bit). Are we done here?

And good work, dude — congrats on being the reason I go back to giving people a Google Voice number instead of my real one.

Thankfully there’s still another open-married guy. Hee. We like him — he’s dreamy and wants to go down on me. I’ll have to name him. Probably, like…”Matt Trimony.” Heh. I’m clever.

Slut Shame and the Blame Game

I had scheduled a date. I was going to meet an OkCupid person. We were going to go to a Philly taproom I’ve wanted to go to for years but never had time/company. They have fried PB&J, and I KNOW y’all don’t think I’m above eating the HELL out of that on a first date.

Yeah… I can’t. I started thinking about our conversations, the number of red flags I’d been letting pass because they were “just little things” that made me go “Hmm…” But when considered together, they make me really uncomfortable. I have a bad vibe I didn’t get from the initial OkC messaging, but have had for the past few days of texting. I told friends about less than half of those “little things,” and they told me to cancel, and cancel NOW.

But something in my brain felt guilty, like I should meet him because I said I would, because I said we’d at least be friends, because I flirted, because I took the flirting further than I should have, because I am a sexually frustrated attention whore, and because what did I expect would happen when I behaved that way?

Sound advice from a friend: “Don’t help them think only with their dicks until you’ve at least seen their face.”

On occasion it seems a self-proclaimed male “feminist” bloviating that, “Women should be able to express their sexuality without fear of being judged!” translates to, “I’m going to make demands on your time and behavior, and treat you like you owe me something, even when you’re sick, or busy, or clearly don’t want to.” I guess I’m only free to express it when the whoring works in your favor?

But I am legitimately concerned, all bad Spidey Sense, and fuck that. I’m not gonna get axe murdered just so everyone at my funeral can remember me as NICE. (My friends wouldn’t — they’d be like, “GAWD, how was she such an accommodating asshole when her asshole never actually accommodated anyone?!” My mom would probably be proud I died polite, though… [Ahem. Too dark?])

Anyway. I should’ve known when I found myself telling him we had to go out Monday because I was “busy” on Thursday — busy watching Scandal, but busy nonetheless.

It’s possible I have more feelings than one normal person should, like maybe I evolved wrong, or missed a meeting. Because I shouldn’t be blaming myself for being “slutty” here. (“Well, yeah, I feel like he’s overstepping my boundaries, but how would he know I even HAD boundaries?”) And if I’m actually worried about my safety (not a TON, but…a little), I REALLY shouldn’t feel bad about either just saying “no” or blocking his number.

Slutty McSidepiece and the Stage 5 Clingers

Talking to a friend…

Me: “I’m thinking about hooking up with an ‘open marriage’ guy from OkCupid.”
Friend: “You could try it. I mean…you’re already IN therapy.”

There’s immense appeal in a guy who’ll come with me to a movie, come with me in the bedroom, then get the hell out. When I try to date proper, I attract Clingers, get anxious, and make terrible choices. That shouldn’t be an issue with one who’s already housebroken.

But I also know myself, and I may be too insecure to come second…literally or otherwise. If Dude satisfies my needs too well, I may catch feels, and if I fall for him, I’m SOL. The wife’s gonna stay the wife — I’d just be Slutty McSidepiece. I do not do well as Slutty McSidepiece.

I wonder if I’d rather fend off Clingers and hold out for a person with whom feels are at least an option, even if we never get there.

Then again… I don’t HAVE to date the guy long. Maybe I NEED a naked friend to fuck some clarity into me without all the relationship crap.

Also, if you consider where I am mentally, I might as well be in an open marriage, too. I have one guy I’d drop anything and anyone to help and/or be with, so as far as my heart and brain are concerned, I also have a “primary partner.” Then I still have the second guy in the back of my head, just for bonus emotional fuckery, so I have even worse trust issues than before. I can’t handle a real relationship, are you crazy?

Plus, if the guy turns out to be boring, I can just say I can’t handle playing second fiddle. (And that may actually turn out to be true.)

I can spot a Clinger at 50 paces now, anyway — “Oh, you’re doing THAT? Yeah, I’ve done that. I INVENTED that. Don’t even.” So far I’ve encountered three on OkCupid, and I’ve dodged them all without ever meeting them.

I’m a Recovering Clinger, and I approved this message.

P.S. I actually ran this by the therapist and she says I’m in the clear as long as I’m safe. She told me it was good for me to explore options, to be aware of those emotional attachments I still have, to be conscious of what I need, and possibly work out a way to GET it without pressuring myself about being in a “proper” relationship. I think this is a good intermittent step, and she seems to agree.

P.P.S. Dude is ADORABLE and I want to make all the sex with him.

WordPress is watching you.

WordPress is kind enough to track the search terms that lead people to my page.

Here are a few:

• “Miranda Lambert slutty” (If by “slutty,” you mean “fabulous.”)
• “Kerry Washington receiving oral sex” (I wish I didn’t want to see this, but I’d totally watch for at least a few minutes.)
• “Anal smug” (Nooope.)
• “americanwomanfuck” (Yes, please.)
• “woman on top sex positions” (yes, please, pretty please?)
• “glad I don’t have balls” (Always.)
• “Netflix and chill pajamas” (THAT’S THE DREAM!)

I love you all, you depraved bastards.

Slutty von Slutwhore and the Case of the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy

Therapist assures me she can change my thinking of myself as “Slutty von Slutwhore.”

*challengey face* You go ahead, dearie. It’s so much a part of my lexicon that my phone knows the word “Slutwhore,” so let me know how that works out for you.

Unless you’re gonna, like, “Eternal Sunshine” me? Yes. I would like my mind to be spotless, please.

“Well, it sounds like you didn’t feel slutty until [Thing] happened.”

Um, yeah, in which “Thing” = “I started being slutty.” Christ, I pay you for this?

Seriously, though, I’m glad she’s planning to help me get past this, because I could REALLY stand to get laid without torturing myself after. It’s quite a lot of tension at this point — I almost feel bad for the unfortunate soul who has to be under me when I get unleashed. I might need backup dick.

N.B. Some of this has dissipated just with the passage of time. I know I wasn’t “slutty” — I made a few bad choices and fell for one wrong person who, intentionally or not, made me feel that way. But I learned from all of it, including the very valuable lesson that sometimes I NEED to get laid.

Besides, “slutty” is in the eye of the beholder, and everyone who beholds me doesn’t see it. (And if you do, fuck you, go away.)

Liquor is quicker but pills make me brill.

My doctor recommended hippie sleeping pills made with, like, valerian root and unicorn meat, and I should write more often while they’re taking over my body, because Christballs, I’m BRILLIANT.

I mean, we’ll see how it looks in the morning, but at the moment I’m basically a slutty Chaucer.

The Urban Legend of Squad Goals

I’ve been debating joining a local blogging group, but I’m hesitant, mostly because I really do want this page to stay… I guess SEMI-private? I don’t mind if close friends see it, because they know I’m a sailor-mouth nutcase, but I’d prefer that my dad not, because…ew.

Also, I have some issues with the content, like… I don’t know if I’m ashamed of this stuff or not. This page is basically my id’s blog — it’s what comes out when I let go of my filter, which is admittedly faulty sometimes. I was in mixed company the other night and made some jokes I’d make here, but I was thinking about it afterward, like, “Why did you say that? They’re going to think you’re slutty and you’ve never even DONE that.”

I alternate between a blustery, “Pfft, whatEVER, I give ZERO fucks what these people think. I am awesome and hilarious and my tribe gets me” and “I am a Carrie-Bradshaw-wannabe hack who’s not funny OR sexy, and they’re going to think I’m trashy and find my grandpa and tell him I say ‘fuck’ on the Internet.'”

Much like the rest of my life, I guess it’s time to give some thought to what I want this blog to be — if I want to continue the id of it all, or maybe write something else under my real name. Or both. Or neither.

UGH. THOUGHTS. We’ll add this to career and personal goal development, because you know what I found out, you guys? There are some people who don’t just obtain a job and then pray they don’t lose it. They, like, DO shit to advance their careers and their lives, and they have these, um… “aspirations,” I think was the word? Freaky, right? Next you’re gonna tell me people really floss.

Six degrees of sluttiness

Me: “I just RSVP’ed for a friend’s wedding. I need something to wear that’s church-nice but still vaguely slutty. I’m actually looking forward to shopping for this unicorn of a garment.”

Friend: “Actual slutty or YOU slutty?”

Me: “Me slutty. I can’t rock actual slutty.”

Friend: “Yes, you can! You can be that slutty and more if you just believe in yourself.”

Me: “HA! Therein lies the problem — I don’t, so I’d just be all wonky and uncomfortable. I’m good with my nunnish sluttiness.”

#LadyOnTheStreet
#FreakInTheBed