Episode 12: Unlucky

I don't think things are working out with The Self Depricator. We're good friends, still, but he's emotionally unstable to the point where I fear I am far too invested in our friendship, and he is basically relying on me for emotional support. That's scary to me. I don't think I've ever been in a friendship where someone else is relying on me for emotional support. I'm more than willing to do this for him, because I genuinely care about him, but I question his dedication to me.

I'm back in my usual place of residence trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. I'm young... so young... and I have plenty of time to figure these things out.

I am realizing, however, that I am unintentionally abusing my friends who are in serious relationships. When I run into them, one of the questions to escape my lips is (before "how is your relationship"?) "Does your boyfriend have any amazing single male friends?"

I'm beginning to sound desperate. Pathetically so. I feel like I'm hunting. I've been back for about 24 hours and I'm hunting. My weaknesses are getting the best of me, and my vibrator is no longer giving me the companionship I need. The Self Depricator satisfies me conversationally, my vibrator is a bit of a sexual release, but I feel like I need to be fucked and then spooned; my vibrator and a telephone can't do that.

Have I mentioned I'm completely over phone sex? I've been in a few long distance relationships where phone sex was brought into play - even webcam shit went down - but I feel as if even calling up a booty call or two for a little phoneplay is not gonna get the job done anymore. Anonymous sex scares me (sorry craigslist) so I'm not sure what I'm going to do anymore. Geez.

Where is the untapped reserves of attractive, single, mature, young men? Can we drill for that in Alaska? I'll put in a call to Sarah Palin. God. Her political career is really going to be over when McCain loses the election.

But back to sex, and all of it that I'm not having... Things need to change or I'm going to start fucking my friends again, or even worse, I'll try women again and make a whole new world of hell for myself.

Episode 11:

In reflection of what happened in Chapter 10, I don't really regret it. I suppose that was a long time coming and it was bound to happen. It was just unfortunate that it sucked so bad, because it makes me never want to drive 6 hours for a booty call again. Lame.

I am beginning to question the direction of my life and if I am heading in a safe direction. As I'm gearing up to go back "home" (where I have an apartment by myself that currently possesses most of my personal belongings,) I feel a surge of inappropriate and immature behavior coming on. I see a fall full of drunken hookups and late nights dancing in clubs with men I've never met before. I see myself shopping for "club clothes" - I HATE THAT - and getting all hung up in "how do I look." I fear the fall because i know things are going to change with the leaves and I'm not really ready for change yet. I am not really mentally prepared for the repercussions of my future actions. eg: moral destruction and lack of self-respect.

But for some reason I have hope. I have hope that my future promiscuity and experimentation in the single life will be fun. I don't really want to beat myself up over these things anymore, and hopefully I can just let go and have fun for once. My happiness is now my priority, and I intend to keep it that way.

Episode 10: Poor Choices

I made some really terrible decisions recently. I am not proud of them. In fact, they go against most of the things I stand for, and I regret letting things get out of hand. Let’s break it down so I get embarrassed and never do it again:

First: Getting drunk. Usually I don’t have a problem getting drunk. I did have a problem with getting THAT drunk. The hangover made it almost not worth it. Whiskey is not my friend, nor will it ever be. That night may have changed my mind about drinking heavily… the thing is I don’t remember drinking that much. I had maybe 6-8 shots over the course of several hours (all in mixed drinks, never straight) and somehow, I ended up making the choices I said I wasn’t going to. Brilliant.

Second: Sex. Don’t get me wrong, sex is great. But this sex was licentious. I was completely disregarding my values and ideals regarding sex for the primal urges. This sex was not by any means amazing. This sex was dim witted (on my part, obviously licentious.) Almost annoying. Whiskey dick had struck him and I was forced into a position (not literally, well I guess literally) where I was forced to do most of the work, if you get my drift. He kept asking me to go down on him (in hopes of getting it up) and whenever I would, we’d have about 30 seconds of intercourse before he was soft again. Annoying.

But I don’t think you understand how annoying it actually was. The most annoying part of this entire ordeal is that I had hooked up with this guy once before, drunker, in fact (we’re talking black out) and had the same issue: severe drunk dick. It was a similarly upsetting experience and I did not have sex with him (partially cause I didn’t want to, partially because I was “saving myself for someone special,” which he teased me about the other night, but honestly didn’t bother me.) I guess I kind of made it a personal mission at one point to a) meet up with this guy again, drunk and b) have awesome sex with him – because obviously the chemistry was there and needed to be ignited.

Back to the most annoying sex of my entire life, I decide it’s far to degrading to tease him about not being able to get hard (he’s being hard enough on himself as it is) telling me how much he wants to fuck me and yadda yadda yadda. I go “great. Get a condom.”

And here’s what takes us to the biggest failure of the evening: Sex without a condom.

Ugh. I regret it. I regret it so hard I wish I could beat myself up more for it, but the hangover enough taught me a lesson. Well sort of. An STD would really teach me a lesson, but fuck that. No thanks. I asked for one, it was finally materialized (hah. He had to go downstairs and ask his roommate for one. Cute.) and promptly ignored. Erections were so inconsistent that getting the condom on would have been a buzz-kill and a half. Miserable. Ugh. It was terrible. And that’s when I think the drunk girl in me, gave up, and just went with it. He kept asking if I was on birth control, I kept not answering, and we kept having sex… until he finally came and we collapsed on the bed.

I fell asleep in his arms. That was the best thing about the night: the spooning was orgasmic. There’s something incredible about a man who makes you feel tiny wrapped in his arms.

I guess when I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of my entire life, I figured out it wasn’t worth the trouble. I felt guilty, like I’d betrayed someone… not just myself. I think it’s because I have sincere feelings for the Self Depricator that I’m not exactly comfortable with. I’m afraid to tell him, and I think it’s because I care what he thinks.

Oh. And my period just started? What a day.

Episode 9: Stay or Leave

I'm not quite sure what I wanted to write about today, but I'm going to just put my thoughts out there...

This guy (aka The Self-Deprecator) is killing me. I have fallen for it really bad. Our daily conversations have moved from just online to the phone, which to one degree scares me, because I feel as if I'm expecting him to call now. Everyday. On the other hand, its comforting. It's like having the emotional support I've been looking for in a relationship, but not having to deal with the messy stuff.

Actually, we've been playing games, and I don't think either one of us will admit it.

One of the games is the "I'm so glad you're my friend and I can talk to you about who I'm hooking up with" game. The SD apparently got more game than I expected him (bravo, sir) and has thrown a few stories I wasn't expecting. Then again, I think my past adventures also kind of catch him off guard: at times I sound like a bit of a whore, in reality of a comparison to my peers, I'm a pretty prude chick. Oh well. This game is pretty much him being like "I think I have a crush on this girl..." and the next day I'll throw in "I'm going out of town next weekend and I think it's a booty call." I think I'm a little more of an open book when it comes to my sexual past (go figure) but I'm unsure if he's just afraid of sharing anything like that, or if he's sparing me the gory details.

Another game we play is the "I hate my life game" where we both get into some funk about how horrible our lives currently on. You always want what you can't have, he tells me. But I honestly don't feel like I want anything else, I just don't like what I'm doing, and that's clear. I am constantly questioning my future path, and he's giving me his opinion, a direct response, which I so fucking appreciate, because people with fippy-floppy answers piss me off. Grr. He's comforting, yet just pushy enough that it will either push me further into my stubbornness, or make me see something I hadn't before.

Our final game is the "I miss..." game. This is usually when I say "I miss New York" and he goes "It misses you" or something to that extent. This translated into English means "I miss you." "I miss you too." It's odd, knowing that I could be on his mind right now. I try not to lie to myself, and I point out it is very well possible he is NOT thinking of me. This is true. But he is on my mind a lot, and for the amount of talking we do every day, I don't know how I couldn't be.

I simply adore his presence in my life and wish that fate would let it be something else. But I firmly believe that I'm here for a reason (even if it's a masochistic enforced reason) and that my mission, should I choose to accept it (already have), I have to complete what I came here to do in hopes of bettering my life in the long run.

My dilemma really lies in if I want this job I've been offered or not. On one hand, I know its the best opportunity for me, but i hate it here. I have never been happy in this city. I don't think I ever will be. My other option is to go back to New York, but I question at this point whether I'm doing it for me, or if I'm doing it for my friends. I miss them a lot, and I question my motivation for either one of my choices. I am going to have to stick to the hand I've dealt myself, and somehow float through time for awhile. I won't know I've made the wrong choice until after it's done, and it's a risk I have to take.

I have to stop now. I'm expecting a phone call...

Episode 8: The Self-Deprecator

Things have drastically changed and this guy and I have grown closer. Still as friends, but closer altogether.

But I've moved further... Moved out of New York for a job. And now I can't see him anymore.

However, we speak every day. I am curious to know who else he does that with, but there's no way to tell. Regardless, I feel special, and I treasure our correspondence even though sometimes it just includes "hey whats up" "nothing" "k". It's just nice to know you're being thought of sometimes. That's it, isn't it? You want to be on someone's mind. You want to be thought of. In his drunken stupor last night, he told me I had been thought of (over the day) "more than I'll ever know" which to me was kind of a loaded sentence...

Last night I also discovered he is really self-deprecating. He claims to be really open about it, but last time I had really seen him upset like that. It kind of scared me, but was also kind of endearing. I wish I could have opened up to him more, or really been there to talk him through this, but I wasn't. I can't. And for now, I'll just have to be there for him on the phone.

It's difficult to know where to go from here. I'm hoping my only option is "closer"...

Episode 7: Living in Oblivion

I met a boy who I am attracted to. I’m a firm believer that at first meeting, or even first glance, you can tell if you have sexual chemistry with someone. And I’m not one to really mix friends and fuck, which is something I’ve been clear about from the beginning. But I can’t read this guy, and although he could be a fuck, I’m unsure whether or not he wants to be “just friends.” I think I’ve been pretty forward thus far, but he’s been sending me seriously mixed messages, and I don’t know what to expect anymore.

I suppose I’m thinking about it too much. To a certain degree, I should let things happen naturally, but I’m not really a believer in that. I’m more of a pusher… I’m constantly working to get what I want, and if a boy is what I want, it’s what I’ll get.

The first time I hugged him, it was insincere. Awkward almost. He’s not a touchy feelie person. But the other night, as we said our goodbyes, his hug was different. It had meaning to it... less "I'm hugging you because it's the right thing to do now," more "I'm hugging you because you're amazing."

I honestly want to tell him what I think of him: How I find him terrifyingly charming even though he is tragically socially awkward in large group situations. How when he smiles, I can't help but smile; his toothy grin makes all things right. When he smiles, I just want him to hold me. I want to be the reason that smile exists. I want that smile to be for me. I adore how he seems wise beyond his years; how well-read and articulate he speaks. How he doesn't seem to care what I think of him at all. He blows my mind with the amount of kindness he shows towards others. His loyalty to his friends is inspiring. His honesty and openness make me feel like I'm not the only one who feels the way I do sometimes.

I suppose this is a certain level of infatuation that I am not comfortable with. He kind of takes me to a place that was once familiar, but is no longer a part of my life. I know for a fact he does not feel the same way, but I know he cares for me, which is what's important at this point in my life. I would rather have a strong group of talented, loving friends than a gorgeous fuck any day.

Episode 6: Sexual Harassment in the Office

Lately, I've been a little sexually harassed in my work environment. I'm sure it alarms most readers to hear that, but honestly it was the classic situation: Early on I allowed myself to be harassed because I thought it would raise my value to my employer. However, it soon accelerated, and I suppose I gave in because of my fear of being fired.

But it might be more than it, let's break it down:

The aforementioned "Boss" is actually my Boss's Boss. (From now on, we'll call my Boss's Boss "The Boss" and my Boss "Julian.") The Boss is someone I really respect as an artist. I decided to work for him because of that. Julian, who is my direct boss, is his assistant. Quite frankly, I could do without working for Julian (he's a bit of a nut sometimes) but I've honestly worked with more difficult people, so whatever. Anywho, I started working for The Boss because of what he does. He has an entire office dedicated to making his work happen; another example of an office like this would be like Steven Spielburg's company or something: people want to work for him because he's Steven Spielburg.

So I've been working for The Boss for awhile now, and the other day it was my duty to bring him into a meeting. I waited as he said goodbye to his girlfriend, and walked him into the building. We stepped into a mirrored elevator, and he turned and smiled at me.

"You have lovely breasts." The Boss said. "May I stare at them in the mirror?"

Now The Boss is an odd guy, I won't lie. But what artist really isn't? Creative minds are always a bit weird, and generally socially awkward.

"Sure." I smiled. No harm in staring at my breasts.
He touched me between the shoulderblades: "They don't hurt your back?"
Without missing a beat, I replied "Nah. I've had them for awhile." I'm hilarious, I know.

Then we exited the elevator and walked into the meeting where we met up with Julian. Things were as usual.

Today things got weirder. The Boss was in a really odd mood for most of the day (grumpy and tired.) Today was a day full of things he doesn't like to do, and I'm sure if he could, he'd pay someone else to do it, but would kill you if you did it wrong. (Again, artists = weird excentrics.) Anywho, day becomes night, and I call The Boss a limo to go home, which is a standard practice in my field. I wait at the front door and hold it open for him, he stops and smiles at me (the first smile I've seen today.)

"May I punch your breasts?" He asks.
What?
"Uh. I guess?"
He punches my right boob three times. Like a punching bag.
I stop him. "Get in the car..." I shoo him off. Julian appears soon after, following The Boss into the limo.

Had Julian seen the transaction that had just taken place, it is guaranteed I'd be fired.

---

I admit, the line has been crossed, and I'm partially responsible. However, did my first action sanction the second, and if so, should I blame myself, or the fact that I value developing a personal relationship with The Boss above my job and my dignity. I am by no means interested in him sexually, and his fascination with me is purely about my amazing breasts. (Sure, they're awesome.)

It's just a weird situation to be in. I get to be alone with an artist that people would kill to have a conversation with. Instead, all he sees is my breasts and not my mind. Secretly, I prayed to be noticed, but not like this.

We'll see where this goes.