theimportanceof: making changes

So, I’ve moved.
After two weeks of packing, lifting, carrying, driving, unpacking, changing, sweating, and so on, things are finally where they should be.

It’s a nice change.
I’m closer to the places I need to be, I don’t have to rely on transit, I don’t have idiots who can’t operate an elevator to deal with on a daily basis – the whole thing is quite freeing.

The only problem is that I’m now living closer to the ground (3rd floor) and living closer to several of my ex-boyfriends.
It’s not the worst thing, and I’ll probably never see them around, but it’s slightly unsettling, nonetheless.

Everything else feels like it’s for the better…except that I’m hosting a housewarming/30th birthday party, this weekend, and it looks like 45 people are coming.

45 people in a 1BR apartment on the third floor of a townhouse.
It’ll be…an experiment.
Like a clown car.
Wish me luck!

whatnottodo: talking about exes

There is a limit to what’s acceptable here…
For me, 1-3 stories PER WEEK is ok – usually there’s a trigger of some sort, like a song, or a location.
Once or more, PER DAY, is too much.

I try to limit my ex-related stories, good or bad.  Knowing that most boys have fragile egos, and don’t want to know that their current squeeze has ever been penetrated before, I RARELY bring up exes.
I expect the same courtesy.

But when a boy has been in a long-term relationship, or even a marriage, you get to hear a lot of stories about the ex, good or bad, whether you like it or not.  And now with social media, you can even witness them “liking” each others’ statuses and “tagging” each others’ photos.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind it – hearing stories about the ex gives me a window into how the boy thinks, feels, and reacts to various situations.  Seeing that a boy is friends with his ex on facebook is ok – it shows that they are mature people who can be civil after a breakup.

But I have my limits.
Everyone does.

Please be respectful of the people you are dating, and make some new stories together.
You know, to irk the next person with.

theimportanceof: being selfish…sometimes.

It’s a short week.
And I’m moving.
Downtown.

I haven’t moved in over 5 years.

This long-weekend was spent cleaning, patching holes in walls, sanding, painting, more cleaning and more painting.
With several trips to Home Depot.
And, some moving of stuff – all of which was fairly heavy.

I had planned on doing some volunteer work, but I had to cancel.  The time needed to be spent, readying this new space of mine.

My back hurts.
I’m dehydrated and very tired.

The truck comes for the big stuff on Wednesday.
At 9am.
And then, the unpacking will begin.

As a result, this will be my only post this week.
I’m looking forward to catching up on all of your adventures, once the dust has settled!

theimportanceof: pornamabees

After reading about a grown woman’s first experience watching porn, via the lovely Teri, I’ve decided to share my own.

Since my brother is 8 years older, I had a fair bit of early access to porn – he had magazines hidden in drawers and under his bed.  When I was 8 or 9 and had friends over to play, one of our choice activities was to go into his room and look at the pictures.

By the time I was 11, I knew about what sex was and the various positions and possibilities therein – but all in freeze-frame.  That year, I had a sleepover at a friend’s house.  There were 4 of us, down in her basement – the other girls were about two years older than me.

Around 1am, they decided that it would be fun to watch “pornamabees“.
I didn’t know what those were, but I was game – later on,  I was corrected and told that these were in fact called “porno movies”.  See?  I was innocent, at one point…

So, we gathered ’round the tv and watched people doin’ it.
In black and white.
And somewhat snowy/fuzzy.

I remember there was a girl in a forest and she was wearing see-through underwear and standing but bouncing or dancing to this really bizarre music (which was turned down really low)…and this was my first glimpse of what people actually did, rather than the static images I was used to.

I’ve seen a lot of pornamabees, since.

story 196

So, after the bar meet, and subway fiasco, Jayden* and I actually started a relationship.

Physically, he was perfect for me – tall and handsome with dark hair and green eyes.  He was intelligent and laid-back, with a kind heart…and I was swooning.

And, as in all wonderful scenarios, there was a catch.

We had been taking things very slowly – and even though we had had sleepovers (he’d come over for the weekend, as we lived two hours apart), we hadn’t done much past kissing.  I chalked it up to the fact that he was a gentleman.

Two months in, we were makingout on my bed, and after some clothes came off, he stopped me and said:

H – I’m a virgin.

M – WHA??!?  But you’re 21.  And you’re HOT!

H – I just wanted it to be special, you know?

M – well, it’s ok if you’re not ready or something…

H – no, I think I am.

And shortly thereafter, sweet smartypants Jayden had sex for the first time.
And he was pretty darn good at it, too!

But that wasn’t the catch…the catch was that he fell in love with me, hard and fast…and I didn’t reciprocate.

It was a number of factors…like his drug use (pot, mushrooms, E…all frequent)…but namely, it was the distance.  I needed an accessible boyfriend, and the pull-push of  the separation was making me anxious.  I couldn’t concentrate on my studies, and became increasingly edgy.

So, I drove the 2 hours to Jayden’s house, broke his heart, and drove the 2 hours back.
And, as much as that sucked, it was the right thing to do.

whattodo: say what you mean and mean what you say

Why do girls feel this need for their boyfriends or husbands to read their minds?

I get it – that want for someone to intuitively know how you feel…
But I have an older brother and, lucky for me, he’s been an open window into the inner workings of the [normal] male brain.

Don’t play those

H – what’s wrong?
M – nothing.

games.

They are passive-aggressive and they accomplish nothing. 

I feel badly when a boy isn’t sure what I mean by:

M – Nevermind on hanging out tonight – I’m just going to go to bed early.  See you tomo xo

When this comes back:

H – Are you ok?  Do you need me to come over?

I appreciate the concern, but this is not a test. 
Why do boys think it’s a test?
Because someone has trained them that way.

Just be up-front, girls – you’d be amazed at the results.
There’s no need for a boy to go into panic mode just because I’m tired.

theimportanceof: keeping track

So, back when I was dating 6 boys at once, I was on the subway with #5.

We approached the third stop on the line, and I assumed he’d get off and leave me to ride uptown to my apartment.

But, as the train slowed, he made no motion to get up.

M – umm…you know we’re at College station, right?

H – yeah…

M – …so shouldn’t you be getting off, now?

H – ummm…no?

M – don’t you LIVE on College?

H – no.

M – oh.

Awkward silence.

H – I live up by you.

M – really???

H – yeah.  So, what other boy are you confusing me with?

M – [ faking shock, since I'm totally busted] NO ONE!  I could have sworn you lived here!  I feel like I’m losing my mind…

H – are you sure?

M – Yes!  I have no idea why I thought you lived on College [yes, I do, because boy#4 lives on College].

If you’re going to date multiple people, make sure you are able to keep track of their details.

whattodo: sex shops

When I was 19, I visited a good friend, in Miami.

We went to the beach, went shopping for a while, drove around, and then, we stopped at “The Pleasure Emporium“.

She wanted to go in.
She had seen the place a billion times, but she wasn’t old enough to go inside.
And now, she was finally 18.

In we went, to the warehouse-sized sex store.
The walls, which stood 15ft tall and infinitely wide, were covered in videos, lingerie, toys, dolls, food, and truly anything you could think of.

Someone asked if we needed help.
My friend went beet red.

M – yes, I’m looking for a vibrator?

I wasn’t, but it was better than giggling and blushing and saying “No thanks!  Just browsin’ at all of the sex stuffs and such…” and then whispering “it’s our first tiiiiime!“

She walked us over to a wall of toys and pointed out a few of the big sellers.  I thanked her and we proceeded to mock every product that caught our attention.

That was the day I learned a new adjective off of the front of a box, which read:
It’s clitteriffic!

Everyone should go to one of these places, at least once.

whattodo: sex toys

It’s funny…I started writing this post, and then took a break to read some of my favourite blogs – only to discover that Lady J had written an entry along a similar line.

Blogger minds seem to sync up…like womanly cycles!
Yuck!!  Let’s pretend I didn’t say that!!

…but while I’m on the subject:
I saw the documentary Shut Up And Play The Hits (I’m in the crowd shots) with a dear friend of mine, and she told me that she refers to her ladytime as: Shark Week
Most excellent term I’ve heard!

But back to the subject at hand: sex toys.

This is going to sound silly, but I discovered I had one, when I was 13.
It was a pen, called The Wiggle Writer.
You loaded it with batteries, and it would buzz while you wrote, resulting in a continuous looped look on the page.

Basically, it was a vibrator.

Now, I have a real one – it’s purple and shaped like a dildo.
And even though it looked like it would function doubly as a dildo when I bought it, in actuality, it’s entirely too thick…and rigid (real penises have a bit of flexibility that internal battery packs won’t allow).

I bought it in the second year of my undergrad, during a trip to our nation’s capital with my best friends –one of whom also got the same toy.

It’s hidden, somewhere in my apartment…and I haven’t used it in years.
No boy has EVER seen it.
And I don’t think I’d ever want or use another toy

Recently, another dear friend reminded me that there was a time when a picture of a dildo would appear, when one google image searched my real name!  It wasn’t the one that I had, of course…but it was similar.  As a student, I had written an article on Fantasia Parties for my school newspaper – and the dildo was the accompanying image.

Lucky me.

typesofboys: egotistical

A very confident boy messaged me, on a dating site.
He was well-spoken, in his late 30s, worked in an advertising agency (which he was instrumental in starting), and was fairly easy on the eyes.

I agreed to meet him for a drink in his neighbourhood.
When I found him at the bar, he was already drinking – even though I wasn’t late.  I ordered and we jumped right into a conversation.

But as he spoke, it became clear what kind of a person he was…this was the type of guy who:

- was well-educated and knew how to tell people what they wanted to hear
- thought VERY highly of himself, especially in the looks department
- got drunk, often, and never went home alone
- would probably try to f*ck every pretty young thing that entered his office at work

This boy thought that he was a gift to womankind.
And I sat there on the bar stool, listening to him ramble on about his accomplishments in a bid to impress my pants off [literally], I decided that he needed a shove off of his high horse.

M – I’m trying to think of what celebrity you look like…

H – [very interested since we're talking about his looks, which he's proud of] oh yeah?

M – yeah, I can’t quite place it…I’d have to say that you’re a combination of two.

H – [biting my hook] go on…who?

M – hmmm…OH!  I’ve got it!

H – [on the edge of his seat, waiting for the ego stroke] – WHO?!?!?

M – you’re a mix of Jeff Probst and Bob Saget!!

I actually watched the wind leaving his sails.
His face dropped, he slouched on his stool, and looked at his [fourth] beer.
I was still on my first.

H – I so do not.

M – no no, really, you do!  Like, if it was possible for them to procreate, you’d be the result!

He really did look like a mix of both men – I wasn’t exaggerating…
But no boy ever wants to hear that he looks like Danny Tanner.

A half hour later [7 drinks for him, and 2 for me], I offered to give him a ride home, since he was on my way and he was a slurry drunk.  I also felt a little badly about bruising his ego.  We pulled up to his place:

H – thanks fer the ride.

M – no problem, thanks for the drinks.

H – umm…ya wanna come in?

M – gee, that’s a swell offer, but you’re slurring and I’ve got an early morning.

H – ah, can’t blame meee fer trying.

M – I’m sure it’s worked before.  Goodnight.

Not surprisingly, he never called again –and I was happy.