Earlier today I had just a moment of concern that the days of this blog were ‘numbered.’

See, I met an interesting guy last night.  He texted me this morning and then we texted for a while this evening and I’m wondering if/hoping that it could lead to a possibly positive and well-adjusted interpersonal experience.

But amid his somewhat awkward slightly endearingly geeky ‘getting to know you’ texts, I received a text from my girl Genevieve.  She was inviting me out to see Green Lantern.  She also asked me to try to persuade two more of out mutual girlfriends.

There is a lot to the story of Genevieve and her current significant other, but that will need to wait.  I actually hoped for a bit that this would be a ‘girls’ night.

No dice.  Our other two friends, (one is married the other in a ‘facebook official’ dating relationship) both bailed.  And when I spoke with Gen about meeting up prior to the movie she informed that she was with hubby.  So it was to be me and the not-so-blissfully wedded couple.  I could deal with that.

But then when I met her she said we were waiting on yet another married couple and they were people I didn’t know at all.

Sitting in a dark theater with two couples, one of whom you barely know isn’t too bad.  Sitting in a dimly lit tiki-bar alone with two couples who really have nothing in common with each other is way worse.  I couldn’t hack it.  Two sips of my margarita in I knew I needed to vamanos.

I finished my drink, paid, gracefully and graciously exited and on my way back home decided to give Sam one more chance to not be a complete and utter douche bag.

Nothing amplifies being alone like being with couples and I thought he might be home from work and have the rest of the evening free.  Well, I was partially right.  I texted Sam and after a while he responded that he’d be hanging out with Tommy tonight.

I didn’t bother to respond.  He didn’t invite me out or anything.  It just felt like yet another one of many successive slaps in the face he’s given me since we ‘bumped uglies.

What made it 10,000,000 times worse was that he was in the house when I got home.  He was getting ready to LEAVE but he was still at home.

He was in the shower when I got in.  I could feel the angst creeping into my gut.  Fucker didn’t say ‘hey’ or anything.  Just got ready.  As he was leaving he stopped to give me a little more rent money.

Then he talked at me (his nervous habit/tell) out on the front porch for a few minutes while I tried to get my cat inside.

He stepped around me like I had the plague, no hug or friendly pat or anything.

“You okay?” he asked uneasily.

I could tell he didn’t want an honest answer.

“Yep.  Have fun.”

And I turned and walked into the house and did my best to shut the door without slamming it.  Then I sat down and proceeded to write the following letter by hand (I don’t have a printer.)  There are some weird capitalizations (mostly intentional for emphasis) and some run on sentences because when I’m just free forming with a pen things tend to come out more organically – ya know?


                I totally get that there’s Nothing going on between us and since we’re not in a relationship we don’t ‘need to talk’ and you don’t ‘need to listen’ or ‘understand where I’m coming from,’ but I have been feeling like shit the last two weeks and the only way I’m going to feel any better is if I get this off my chest.

You don’t even “have” to read it – although I kind of hope you do – but as I mentioned before I’m not pinning you with any accountability – I just REALLY NEED TO VENT.

I DID NOT ASK FOR THIS.  I DID NOT INSTIGATE OR INITIATE a physical relationship here.  I promise you – it was all your idea.

I agreed.  I agreed because I’ve been lonely.  I agreed because I needed a distraction.  I agreed because it seemed like a step in the right direction toward gaining a little sexual confidence back after my last gruesome and totally pathetic heartbreak and yes – even just a touch cosmically humorous and ironic.

Sure – I wanted to get laid – what’s wrong with that?  And here you were – offering and I thought we had some variance of an understanding.  I was under the apparently completely FALSE impression that it was going to fall under “Fling” or “Friends w/Benefits” status.  I truly believed for just once – for a brief change this would be more than just a ONE NIGHT ONLY – Limited Time Engagement.  You drew the comparison to your Amanda Fling, so I naturally assumed we’d fuck a few times.  Apparently the sex however did not reach your expectations and now you are acting like you’re so terrified to be alone in the same room with me that it makes me feel like you think I’m going to try to rape you and force you to have substandard sex again.

I’m sorry that it was so horrible/awkward/unfulfilling/dissatisfying/uncomfortable (Feel free to insert derogatory adjective of your choice here) that you don’t want to be alone in the same room with me for fear I might threaten you w/my vagina yet again.

Some people aren’t sexually compatible.

I get it.

I certainly never intended to make you feel uncomfortable.  I actually enjoyed it and thought it was fun so at least you can sleep soundly in the knowledge that at least one of us enjoyed ourselves.  If you’re looking for some sloppy tear-soaked confession that I have feelings for you beyond friendship, you don’t have to worry about that either. But I am kinda more than a little ‘friend’ pissed at you for A) Not really hanging out with me as a friend anymore since all this happened and B) Being just another dick in a long string of guys to reject me sexually – especially when it was your Brilliant Fucking idea in the first place.

Do you have any idea how much it fucking Blows to feel like shit about getting rejected by someone you weren’t even trying to get with in the first place?

So you don’t want to fuck me again.

Yeah, I won’t lie – it totally hurts and makes me feel like shit, but I can deal with that.

But in spite of whatever stupid fucking rumors and stories might be floating around about me I AM NOT A RAPIST.  I WILL NOT FORCE Myself on you – EVER.  So chill the fuck out – and hopefully, someday soon – we can be friends and hang out again – cause honestly, I really miss that –

Unintentional Slut

No – I didn’t really sign it Unintentional Slut.  I used my name.  And now it’s on his pillow in his room waiting for him to get home.

I don’t know if he’ll read it.  But one thing is certain.  I actually do feel better after writing it.

It still feels like shit that he’s rejecting me, but at least now I’ve been honest with him about how his juvenile behavior is making me feel.  Now maybe at least I’ll be able to get a decent night’s sleep…



I was planning on keep you waiting a little bit longer.  You know, make you sweat it out just a bit.

“When is she coming back?  What happened with Anderson?  What’s going on with Sam?  What relevance did Neil Patrick Harris’ Tony Wrap up Rap have to that last paragraph?”

(To that last question – Duh – it didn’t need any – it was just EPIC!!!)

Buuuuutttt – my TV isn’t working.

So I guess that means instead of drowning my hormonal angst in a couple of sexually frustrating yet comedically gratuitous hours of back-DVRed  Tosh.0 I get to vent online a little more.

Actually my plan HAD been to come home from the show lookin hella good and get Sam to put out for me again.

Turns out he wasn’t avoiding me after all.

He told me so on Saturday at a party that we both happened to turn up at.  He said he wasn’t back with Reggie (even though she was trying) and he hadn’t been avoiding me (even though he figured that’s probably what I thought by this time.)

So we walked into the party and had minimal interaction, but he agreed to drive me back to my car.  What I didn’t realize was that he was spending the night elsewhere that night yet again.


Sunday I got home around 10 or 11ish.  He came home after me, but then proceeded to call his family because of some big family emergency that took him into his bedroom – alone.


I finally gave up and went to bed.  The next evening I saw him at our group’s Monday night rehearsal.

I had to pull him into another room momentarily to ask how things were with his family and if he was okay.  He assured me everything was fine even though he had sunken dark sockets where his eyes should be.

“You coming home tonight?”

“Probably not.  Tommy’s taking me to my car and then I promised Beth (former roommate – but she has a boyfriend) that I’d stop by tonight.”

“You look like hell.  Wherever you end up, get some sleep.”

He’s been spending a lot of time at Beth’s.  Whatever.

He stopped in momentarily this afternoon to change clothes and leave.

I called him on my way home from tonight’s show to see if he wanted me to grab him anything on my way home and to verify with him that he was on the cast list for tomorrow.

“Don’t bother with food.  I’m really tired.  I’ll probably be asleep when you get home.”

I’m so glad he cleared up the whole – avoiding me thing – otherwise, I’d really think he’s still avoiding me.

But that’s just CRAZY talk – because he can’t STILL be avoiding me if, as he initially told me Saturday night at the party, he never WAS avoiding me to begin with!

I mean, can you imagine how little I’d see or talk to him if he actually WAS avoiding me?  Cause in this ‘non-avoiding’ mode I’m only getting about 3 minutes of communication every 3 days or so.  I mean, hell.  If he WAS avoiding me I probably would have had to fill out a missing persons report by now!


Sam is still alive.

He performed in last night’s show with me and did a good job I might add.

Beth was at the show.  She stopped and talked to me for a while about how she’d like to audition for us but she felt insecure about it and we got into a good long ‘girl-talk’ in the parking lot about believing in yourself and not letting doubts hold you back.  I actually think Beth has the potential to do well with us.

But as we stood there I noticed Sam starting to back his car out, so I thought I’d check in with him one more time.

“Where you crashing tonight?”

“Beth’s.  I gotta work at my other job in the morning.”

“Okay.  What time do you get done tomorrow?”

We had talked briefly about checking out Super 8 on Saturday when he ‘wasn’t avoiding me’ at the party.  We’ve actually been to a couple movies together – as friends – paying for ourselves – NOT as a couple.

“I go straight to my other job.”

“Hmmm – and you don’t go to movies on Fridays or Saturdays…”

(A personal aversion he told me about.  He hates watching movies on ‘date’ nights when the theaters are so crowded.)

“Plus I’m working all weekend.”


“Spending the day with my grandparents and then work my second job.”


“Work in the morning, but I’ll see you at practice…”

“Fine.  I’ll see you Monday night then.”

“Oh, come on, I’ll see you before then.”

Then from across the parking lot his buddy Glenn yells, “Hey Sam, whatcha doing Saturday morning?”

“Saturday morning?  I’m totally free.  Gimme a call.  We’ll hang out!”

Knife in my gut.

Here’s the deal.  I know we weren’t, aren’t and never will be ‘dating’ or a ‘couple’ and that was NEVER my objective.  But I was under the distinct impression that we were in the process of becoming ‘friends with benefits.

However, since he fucked me, not only have I not received any more ‘benefits,’ I barely feel like we’re even still friends!

What fuckin’ gives?  I haven’t been calling or texting everyday.  When I see him I keep it completely casual.  My attitude and behavior toward him has stayed EXCRUCIATINGLY benign.  I would like NOTHING better than to just jump him one night when we are both in the same time and space and ravage his scrawny ass and fuck him till he came so hard it was squirting out his nose and eye sockets.

Because the problem with human physical contact is that it is a HIGHLY addictive substance.

Sure, I can go for months without any, but it’s like that one thimble-full of wine to an alcoholic.  I get just a little and then I’m ‘off the wagon.’  I’m hornier than John Philip Sousa’s marching band…  76 Trombones… anyone???

S’rsly.  Just ask my cat.  She will literally DEMAND that I pet her sometimes.  She’ll practically rape my hand while I’m trying to type or do housework if she feels she hasn’t gotten enough ear scratching or belly rubbing on any particular day.

But I have bottled up my 30+ year old raging female hormones in order to try to at least salvage what I deemed a worthwhile friendship.

Back to the parking lot.

“It’s my cat isn’t it.  You haven’t been coming home because she was getting a little to demanding.”

“I want to fucking KILL your cat.”  (This was actually said as a joke – he’s very affectionate toward her.)

“I knew it!  You DO hate my pussy!”  (Also delivered as a joke but with enough of an edge to let him know how I’m really feeling.)

He’s laughing – kind of.

“You know that’s not it.”

“Right.  See you Monday.”

And like so many other nights, I walked through the nearly vacant parking lot to my car to drive home, alone…


I used to tease ‘Anderson’ about being easily distracted.

Hell, he used to tease himself.

“I’m not easily distracted,” he’d say.  “I’m totally… Ooh!  Butterfly!”

So maybe that’s why he never saw how much I loved him.  Or maybe he did, and he thought if he distracted me long enough it would go away.

Nope, you didn’t miss a blog.  I haven’t told you about Anderson yet.  But it turns out Anderson is the exact reason that I needed Sam for a distraction.  And maybe NEED is a strong word.  I don’t use that word often – especially when it comes to people.  But I guess in truth, it really isn’t Sam that I need.  It’s just a distraction – and yes – I NEED it.

Four and a half years ago I met Anderson for the first time.  One of the girls who was moving away was in a Christmas show with him and tried to convince him to try out for our performing group.  He poked his head into the auditions and I saw those incredible blue eyes and I was hooked.

But he didn’t try out that night.

A couple weeks later I saw those same piercing blue eyes peering at me from the row of basses behind me in choir through the mirror we were facing.  It almost looked like he was looking at me through the mirror.

He probably was.  Our mutual friend had pointed me out to him, and I was probably sporting purple hair that day – LONG STORY…

He was tall and truly, and I am NOT fabricating this – RUGGEDLY handsome.  I know it sounds cliche, but honestly it turned out lots of things about Anderson were cliche – but only in the best ways.

He had broad features and just the right amount of stubbly facial hair so that everything about his physical being and fashion sense assured me he HAD to be close to my age – at least 27 I thought.

Imagine my elation when he stayed after concert choir for musical theater ensemble.  And then – it turned out the boy could play piano too.  I’m pretty sure my heart actually skipped a beat or two.  He was a musical theater junkie and so far appeared to be straight.

Eventually he and I and oh, let’s call her… Genevieve, (and she’ll become VERY important in time) were enjoying lunch at Olive Garden after rehearsal one day when my entire fantasy crumbled apart.

The fucker was only 19 years old!!!  I don’t know how many K-pop fans might be reading this – but JuJu Club really cornered the market on this one…

“Oh come on,” you’re saying.  “What’s a few years in matters of the heart?  Plus the age disparity would mean exceptional sexual chemistry.”  Right?

I had just turned 31, barely recovered from a life-threatening illness and was still duking it out legally with my not-quite-yet ex-husband.  No F-in way I was getting mixed up with Barely Legal Boy.

I put him on my no-fly list – not that it would have mattered – I don’t think…

At any rate he seemed pretty infatuated with Genevieve, who was dating er… Dave – who for a few months had been my roommate.  See?  Tangled web…

However, in the years that followed, Anderson edged his way into the group.  He and I performed together in singing ensembles, he and Genevieve and I used to hang out after rehearsals and sing show tunes in the practice rooms, and, in spite of him being severely socially awkward and just a little too sweet and gullible – especially where chicks were concerned – at first, – I found in this lovely man-child a truly kindred spirit.

He finally wound up joining my performing group a little over two years ago.  He actually ‘back-door-ed’ his way in – the only member ever to not have to go through any kind of audition.  We brought him on board as a musician and then let him work his way ‘in’ from there.

I actually dragged him to a wedding with me as ‘arm candy.’  I told him that’s what he was and promised him any numbers he could get from chicks at the wedding and a free meal if he would just ‘wing’ for me with the bride’s adorable and emotionally vulnerable cousin.

Turns out he had a sister.

Turns out all four of us had a night we’ll probably never remember clearly and probably more sex than than the bride and groom, cause they were both more wasted than any of us were!  Now no… the cousins were brother and sister so the sex was not en mass!  Get your minds out of the gutter!

However, that night, in some twisted fashion Anderson and I bonded over our mutual fornication with people we’ll probably never see again.  And for us, things really took a turn.

We became best friends.

We hung out together, did shows together, grabbed food together, and sat by each other at movies.  I became a regular at his dad’s Ubervilla – quite possibly the most awe-inspiring home in the county.  We called, texted, facebooked, sang spontaneously, worked on writing, engaged in pun wars, developed catch phrases, inside jokes, finished each other’s sentences and communicated entire conversations just by looking at each other.

And he was kind and considerate.  He’d return calls, make time for me, keep promises he made, get me water when I was drunk and passing out so I’d have it near-by when I woke up, offer to get me stuff when he went to the kitchen and cheer me up whenever I was having a shit day.

Needless to say, I fell desperately in love with him.

Not many other people even treat me like a human being, let alone a soul mate.  He made me feel valued, and cared for, and human and real.  And I even imagined that he loved me…

But he was always out there looking for other chicks.  And I was tremendous wing woman for him.  Hell, it’s really easy to sell a product you completely believe in.  But over time, winging got harder and harder.  Dating other guys got more and more ridiculous.  Why the hell would I want to go out with some other guy when I could hang out with Anderson and KNOW I would have a great time – even if I wasn’t getting laid?

And people used to think we were a couple all the time and even though it never seemed to bother him, he never really seemed to get the fact that it REALLY didn’t bother me.  And several of my girlfriends would say shit like, “It’s so obvious he really cares about you. You two really <a title="I so totally act like people in love with each other.  There’s definitely something going on there.”

Stupid bitches.

What were they thinking giving me hope like that?

A little over a year ago, Anderson announced that he was moving to NYC.

I was thrilled for him.  And heartbroken.  But I told myself it was all going to work out.  I wasn’t sure how but…

The month leading up to his departure was whirlwind of outings and parties and packing and events that culminated in a crazy weekend that coincided with my birthday.  We both wound up completely shit-faced and for the first time not on stage or as part of a show he kissed me.  He kissed me decisively, with tongue and everything.

And then he passed out.

I wasn’t far behind him.

And then, the next morning, for the first time ever of any of the times that we’d slept in the same room and or bed, he snuggled up close behind me.  He started kissing me and caressing me, and even undressed me and all the while the Hallelujah Chorus is playing in my head and my still somewhat inebriated brain is desperately trying to wake up and I keep thinking over and over, “This is IT!  This is finally really happening…”

And he’s there and he’s ready and I’m straddling him and I’m ready and there’s actually a pile of condoms on the floor beside the bed because of joke from the night before and yeah, it’s my birthday and all but that doesn’t mean I want to have to go buy myself a Plan-B chaser as a present so I pause just before I take him inside of me and say, “If we’re going to do this we should probably grab a condom now…”

And breathlessly he responds with, “We probably shouldn’t do this at all.”

You know that sound effect they use in movies of a record needle sliding across the vinyl so that the music grinds abruptly to a halt?

I SWEAR I heard that come from somewhere inside the house – or at least my vagina…

“Um, what do you mean.”

“Part of me thinks this is just a really bad idea.”

I was sitting directly astride of the part that didn’t.

“Let me guess which part doesn’t.”

I blew him, briefly though.  It wasn’t supposed to be a main event, just a side-dish to scramble his brain back into consent.  After all, he initiated this romp and it was my party and I’d give head if I wanted to – or something like that.

I kissed my way up his fuzzy navel following he sternum up to his delightfully downy chest and gazed earnestly into those excessively brilliant eyes, still a bit blood shot from all the tequila and sangria (not a combo I recommend by the way.)

“I’m not a rapist.  We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Who was saying this???  I couldn’t possibly be me!  This was all I had been able to dream of, and may I add rather vividly, for MONTHS – k- maybe closer to a year!  And it was my GD BIRTHDAY!!!

“Everything but?” he countered.

We kissed and I consensually if maybe somewhat halfheartedly went back down to suck him off a while longer.  I absolutely despised how well he used his mouth on my lower orifice.  I actually got exasperated in the middle of it and rolled away.  I wasn’t ‘done’ but I was most definitely done.

But I tried not to let on how frustrated I was.  I mean, I’m really NOT a rapist.

Things should have been weirder than they were after that – but they weren’t.  I never really demanded a full explanation.   The best I got was at the end of his final going away party when he said, “It would have been a mistake.  You know why.”

“No, I really don’t, but I guess for your sake I’ll pretend I do.”

He held me so close and hugged me so hard and kissed me one more time – goodnight.

And a couple days later he was gone.

For a month.

Then he got hired to come back and play the lead in a locally produced musical.

So there’s a part B to this story – but right about now, I’m sure you need a distraction…


The avoidance marathon continues.

Sam’s got it down to an art form.

After giving up around 3am due to falling asleep on the sofa, I crawled into bed only to be awakened to sounds of him rummaging around in the kitchen a little after 4am.  Too exhausted to deal with his shenanigans, I went to the bathroom, turned off my light and proceeded to listen as he idled restlessly about in the room next to mine.

There was so much activity in fact, that I started to wonder if he brought company.

I still might discover some this morning – so – fingers crossed…

But when I finally drifted off to sleep this morning again at nearly 5am, I had some strangely linked dreams that included a rather steamy lesbian sex scene in one.

I had found myself at some sort of Summer Stock actor’s camp – or at least that what it seemed to be.

It seemed like there were a few different ‘teams’ of actors (we would actually call them troupes in real life, but this was after all a dream.)  We competed in weird camp-style and Survivor-style games and then got show and casting assignments at the end of the games.  Even though I am an actress in real life, in the dream I was just filling in temporarily for one of my old friends – who coincidentally is NOT really and actress…

But in one part of the dream, I found myself in a bath tub with two other women.  The one woman was the HBIC – or Head Bitch in Charge of the whole camp.  In my dream she had been sort of bullying the other woman in the tub, a slightly more reserved and much less confident woman in a rival acting troupe.  The HBIC was naked as the tub was filling up.  A handful of people from the team I was playing on sat on the other side of the ‘bathroom’ spectating – sort of…  The shower curtains were closed, but ironically they had an opening in the middle like stage curtains would.

“Be sure to fill it all the way to the top!’ they hollered as I stepped into the tub and behind the curtains.

Seeing the HBIC naked I assumed this was a primitive bathing situation where we had to share baths because it was camp.  I stripped down too.  The other girl (I’m not making up names for random chicks in my dreams that I’ve never seen before!) was in a swimsuit and looked rather uncomfortable.

As the water rose higher the HBIC stepped out.  I don’t remember what she said, but it seemed like it was sexually derogatory to the other woman.

“All right,” an unseen voice from somewhere around the tub coaxed.  “Give it a go then.”

I looked at the other woman for some sort of guidance.  She just stared back at me nervously.

“Kiss her,” someone jeered.

Then I guess I just assumed that this was another camp competition.  We were all actors after all.  I started making out with the chick in the tub.  She was terrified and trembling, but she didn’t fight it.  Needless to say, I did wind up doing pretty much all the work until her sexual identity was thoroughly shattered to the point that she got out of the tub.

Did I win immunity?

The HBIC who had been watching in close proximity the whole time mumbled something about wanting to be next contender and I shrugged, got out of the tub and dried off and in true Inception style jumped to the next scene where we were all somewhere else and fully clothed.

I don’t remember much else as vividly.  Although it seems like I did keep asking if I would be getting paid and asking if I would be getting cast in any of my team’s shows.

So does that make me a thespian lesbian?

Was my dream urging me to audition for more theater, get cast on a reality TV show, begin a career in lesbian porn or just switch teams for a while so I don’t have to put up with bullshit from guys like Sam?

This was not the first ‘lesbian erotic’ dream I’ve had.  And as one might have guessed from earlier mentions in my blog, my sexual encounters with women have not been limited to steamy bathroom scenes in my dreams.

I don’t really feel like going into all the dynamics of what led me to same-sex sexual experimentation at this moment, but I feel like I can say with some certainty that I’m not really gay.  I don’t even think I qualify as bi.  In my mind, a person who is truly bisexual would be open to a committed relationship with both members of the opposite sex ala Callie and George or members of the same sex ala Callie and Arizona.

Motorboats, strip clubs, threesomes and hookups aside, I can’t ever envision being in a relationship with another woman – unless it was a Big Love sort of affair in which there was a man involved.

And how f-ed up does it make me that I think I might be down for a polygamist relationship if there was at least another wife or two that was hot and also ‘played’ with girls?

But that’s fodder for a whole different blog right there;-)

I think I fantasize about male exclusionary relationships with women at times like these just because my heart is so over this shit.  But in my brain I know women can be just as bad if not worse.  And I have a very unsettling fear that I would probably treat women just as badly as any guy has ever treated me if I tried to be in a relationship with one.

You see, it’s undiagnosed, but I believe that I am a Dick Addict.  I suffer from Penile Dependancey. A Cock Compulsion…

Call it what you will.  It just seems to indicate that steamy bathtub dreams are just a fairytale escape from an all-to0 phallic reality…

The good news – for guys at least – Reality blows…

Use You’re ‘Intuition’ and tell me what you think of Sam’s behavior!

Read the ‘Sam Saga’ (Avoidance and Intuition) and take your best ‘educated’ guess:)



So I guess I need to give just a touch of back story sooner than I’d anticipated.

You see, Sam and I almost hooked up about a month ago – make that an even 28 days ago.

When he first moved in he had a girlfriend – lets call her Suzy (and you WILL hear more about her in the future as well) who really wasn’t a good match for him, but she was excessively hot.  I will give her that.  And she has an AMAZING rack.  Perhaps my deepest regret about her is that I never took advantage of any of the times she was recklessly drunk around me to motorboat the hell out of those titties.

After about a month or so though, things headed south for Sam and Suzy and they broke up.  And then he and I started spending a little more time together.

Although Sam just moved in with me in March, we’ve been friends for a number of years now through our performing group and mutual acquaintances.  So although I never really entertained the idea of either a romantic or a physical relationship with him, I’ve liked him in that easy, breezy, platonic way for a while now.

So on that night in Mid-May when we stayed up all night talking and he was showing me old year-book photos of some of our mutual friends and telling me stories about them that had me gasping for air laughing, I was more than a little surprised when he very seriously asked me if it would “be weird’ if he kissed me.

“I don’t know.”

I really didn’t.  After slightly more discussion it was agreed that there was only one way to find out.

It was several things, but – at least for me – weird wasn’t one of them.

After a little bit of making out, we parted ways into our respective bedrooms and I woke up feeling surprisingly chipper and not weird at all.

It wasn’t until later the following evening that I got up the nerve to ask him what his ‘intentions’ were.

He was blunt.

He wasn’t ‘interested.’  He thought I was hot and felt there was a good deal of sexual tension/chemistry between us, but he didn’t ‘like’ me like that.  In fact there were a couple girls he did ‘like’ but nothing was going on with any of them at the moment. Soooo…?

I was torn.

Half of me was relieved, because as nice as it was to have Sam express interest out of the blue, the other half really wasn’t sure how I felt about him.  And so I was glad that he wasn’t about to pressure me for a relationship or commitment.  However, a little nagging insecure voice in the back of my head that was still trying desperately to get over my most recent heart-break squeaked in my ear, “But why DOESN’T he like you?  What’s wrong with you?  Why doesn’t anyone seem to actually like you?”

I yelled at the voice telling it to shut the fuck up.

Sam could be a distraction and that’s about all I really wanted him for anyway.  Something to get my mind off of a memory that just kept resurfacing with every stupid text from an asshole that just didn’t…

But that’s another story.

I told Sam I’d be happy to rock his world.  In about 4 more days.

I had my period and even though Sam assured me it was no big deal, I’m a little old-fashioned about a few things.  One of those being, the only way I’m putting a guy (and myself) through the embarrassment of period sex is if we’re already in a relationship.

We had a particularly steamy make-out session Thursday night.  Friday our schedules didn’t line up very well, so I really only saw him in passing until I left Saturday for a friend’s wedding out of town.  But I told him I’d be back and ‘in the clear’ Sunday night.

He did not come home Sunday night.  Monday he pretty much dodged me all day too.

Yep, it was late Monday night – or maybe Tuesday even that he came home saying how exhausted he was from work, wasn’t even going to shower, going straight to bed, good night…

And I realized he was blowing me off.

A couple hours later, I was still awake, and pretty pissed and hurt because I realized what was going on, when he ‘woke up’ and came to my room and confided in me that he’d gone on a date while I was out of town and this was with one of the chicks he ‘liked’ and he was going to see her again, and he thought he’d better tell me because he didn’t want to be douche and fuck me and then tell me a day or two later that he was seeing someone when he knew it was already heading in that direction.

Let’s call this new girl Reggie.

The thing that surprised me the most in the next couple of days was just how devastated this whole thing made me.

Granted there were other factors which I’ll embellish upon down the road, but the deal is, if he’d never kissed me, if we’d never had that conversation, if he never told me he wanted to get into my pants, I would have been fine.  I would have been MORE than fine.

I didn’t ‘like’ him or want a relationship with him, or even particularly want to fuck him.

But he showed interest and I kinda needed that at that moment and it really did feel good and I had just enough time to get used to the idea of having this fun little short-term secret fling while we’re playing house together and I decided it would be really nice.  Only, I didn’t get the chance.

I made it though an excruciatingly depressing week and then I left town for a week long family reunion.

When I got back the dust had settled and everything felt more or less normal between us again.

Last week we even went to see a movie together.

Then Monday night I came home from a night out with our friends remembering why I’ve been feeling so rejected and alone lately and I was just about to go to bed and hide my stupid girl tears when he got home and told me he and Reggie had just broken it off that night.

I felt bad for him.  I felt ashamed for feeling so sorry for myself when he really had an actual reason to be bummed out.  I wanted to make him feel better.  I sat close to him on the sofa.  I let him put his arm around me – maybe even encouraged it a bit and before you know it…

Fast forward to last night.

The string of texts asking me to bring his clothes to the show and one thing that I hadn’t planned on – Reggie showing up at the end of the show.

Monday night, he told me that Reggie had told him she probably wouldn’t come to shows for a little while.  He told me that he’d encouraged her against that decision.  But last night, there she was.  They didn’t really seem to talk or interact.  I said something to him and he kind of ignored it.

And then he came home tonight – ‘exhausted.’  More bravado about how he didn’t even want to shower, he was just going to drink his beer in his room and go to bed.

And a couple hours later as I was cleaning shit up in the kitchen, it hit me like a Mack Truck.

He’s giving it another chance.  Somewhere between me leaving for my Tuesday afternoon appointment and seeing him at the show Tuesday night, they’d had a ‘talk.’

And instead of just coming out and telling me the son-of-a-bitch is playing it off by avoiding me instead.


My period started again today anyway.  It’s two days early.  But obviously it doesn’t matter.

No more ‘hush hush nookie’ for me.

Not with Sam anyway.

And no – I don’t think I’m jumping to conclusions.  I believe it was Jewel who called it – Intuition…



Good – I spelled it right.  (I hate how they only enable ‘spell-check’ in certain places – as if you WANT to leave a typo in your title or subject line – grrr!)

So here’s the tricky part.  I want you to read this.  Scratch that.  I NEED you to read this.  Because although the inevitable purpose of this blog is to prove that I’m not actually a whore but a victim of circumstances and nagging raging hormones, I must cop to the fact that I am indeed an unabashed ATTENTION WHORE.

Is this too dirty for WordPress?

I feel like maybe I need to find the ‘Adult’ section.

I was looking at all the top blogs and they’re all so benign and wholesome.  Baseball draft picks and Korean pop culture’s influence on Indonesia – (Really?  They have computers in Indonesia???)

I don’t want to write anything ‘useful’ or safe.  The whole point of this blog is purge all my insecurities and indiscretions.  Sort of like ‘Sex in the City‘ only real – and not safe for publication in major news papers.

But I certainly can’t invite my friends to this blog – primarily because I’m going to be talking about them – a lot.  So it’s not like I can just publicize on Twitter and fb – hey everybody – I’ve got a new blog!  I talk about my sex life – your sex lives and all the common people we’ve banged!  It’s gonna be so much fun!!!

Which leads me to the primary reason I’m writing this in the first place.


I have NO ONE I can tell this shit to.

I was raised in one of those religious sects that Bo Burnham refers to  – you know where you can’t have sex with members of different sects and you  – can’t sex with members of the same sex…

So talking to anyone in my family, ESPECIALLY my mother, is definitely out.

And – well, I’m kind of in a – um, let’s just say high-ish profile position in my peer group so most of my trysts within the group tend to stay on the DL.

I have a few girlfriends, but they’re all blabber mouths and I really can’t trust them with detail – plus I KNOW they judge me.  And, well, maybe we’ve quasi-shared half the guys we’ve been with (it’s a tight circle) so if I told them anything they’d just be grossed out.

I have one girlfriend outside of that immediate circle who I do confide in from time to time.  But we occasionally engage in threesomes with her husband and I think she gets just a little jealous when I tell her about other people I fuck and or have feelings for.

I only wish I was making this up.

So help me out here.  If you read this and you’re even mildly amused, share it, recommend it, repost it, Tweet it etc.

And comment.  Ask me questions.  Call me  names.  Share your similar experiences.  I promise I will be totally honest with you and give you full disclosure – to a point.  I don’t want you to know who I am.  I really don’t.

I guess just lately I feel pretty alone.  As Stephen Sondheim pointed out, feeling pretty is good.  It was Heart that embellished on the fact that it’s the alone part that sucks…


I’m living dangerously here.

I didn’t read all that helpful info about my dashboard.  I’m just jumping right in to the writing.  That IS why I’m here after all.

I have a LOT to divulge.  I mean a TON.  We’re talking Baggage City and I’m in the Samsonite Towers Penthouse Suite.

But tonight, I really feel the need to just start right in where I’m at.  There will be plenty of time to catch you all up.  So the history lessons can wait.  Tonight I feel the need to live in the present.

I hooked up with my roommate.

In case you’re wondering I am female and he is male.

This was Monday night.  Tonight is (was) Wednesday.

We’ve barely spoken since.


“Is this going to be weird?” he asked me as we tousled for a bit of morning follow-up sex entirely too early on Tuesday.

“I don’t see why,” I calmly responded earlobe nibbles and bottom-lip-sucking kisses.

And when we’d completed our mission I got up to start my day and he went back to sleep.


He continued to sleep and stayed in his room until I left for an appointment around 1:30pm.

At 1:42pm I received a text reading simply – I know this goes without saying, but let’s keep last night hush hush.

To this I quickly responded (and I quote) Duh…:)

I didn’t see him again until later that night at a show (we’re both in the same performing group – ah life in the arts.)  One of our friends was celebrating a birthday after our performance, but at first my roommate – for convenience, let’s call him Sam – seemed reluctant to hang out en mass with the rest of the group.

In fact, he even excused himself claiming that he had already made plans with his former roommates that evening.


We were in our pub of choice for about 10 or 15 minutes when he walked in, gave me a strange look and said that he needed to at least buy our friend a birthday drink before he went to his other engagement.  At first he sat across the table from me, but then he moved before his drink even arrived to complete other end of the table – farther away from our Birthday-boy friend.


30 – 45 minutes later he left without really saying goodbye.  I’m not worried.  I’ll see him when he gets home… right???

I stay much later.  I roll up to ‘our pad’ right around 2pm.  I stay up for probably another hour watching some DVRed shows thinking if I can stay up just a little later I might get a little more ‘hush hush nookie.’

But he doesn’t show.  He doesn’t text either.  The latter IS unusual.  He’s typically hyper concerned about me making it home alright – especially if he knows I’ve been drinking.

Finally, even late-night sloppy sex is no longer enough to keep me awake.  I head to bed around 3am and am just drifting off when I hear him walk in.  He doesn’t say anything.  He just quietly maneuvers around the house and I fall back asleep.

This morning I arise right around 10:30.

He is still asleep.

Just a little before 1pm I realize I’m starving and I start to cook ‘brunch.’  I hear some talking coming from his room.  I holler out from the kitchen, “Everything okay?”

Crickets… (proverbial ones of course as I do NOT live in a barn)

I eat.

He stays in bed.

I do more work.

He does not emerge.

Around 2pm I am on the phone with a client and dashes for the door saying – “I’ll see you at the show tonight.”

And he’s gone.

Then, just before I need to leave for the show, I receive a string of texts from him asking for me to bring some various clothing items for him because after the show he is planning to spend the night at this old apartment with his old roommates.  He claims in his text this is because he has to be at work at 9am and thus insinuates that because his old place is closer to the job it makes more sense to leave from the show and go straight there.

These things may in fact be facts.  But they aren’t ‘the truth.’  Because even though as facts I generally accept them to be true they are certainly NOT the reason he didn’t come home tonight.

He’s totally avoiding me.

I really didn’t think a) this was possible to this extent and b) he’d pull this shit.  We were both pretty up front with the whole, “okay, this is just for fun,” agreement.  And I swear I never once said, “I love you,” “I think I’m in love with you,” or “You’d make a great Dad,” prior to, during or following our encounter.

So what gives?

Why do guys find it so completely necessary to blow a chick off for a few days after sex?  Why can’t we just have more sex?  Since it’s only convenient, temporary, hush hush and physical anyway, why waste precious days between menstrual cycles that we could be gettin’ freaky with him asserting the fact that this is most certainly NOT a relationship – which he already asserted (even though he sort of treated me like a girlfriend by asking me to bring him all his frikin clothes?)

True – I signed up for this particular fling knowing full-well that I was not on his list of people he wanted a relationship with.  But I’m a single woman in my 30’s who hasn’t been in a relationship for about six years now and I’m just horny enough to make concessions for the sake of proximity especially when I feel pretty comfortable with the person.

Sam really is a pretty decent human being.  Of course, when I fill you in on some of the particulars from the last couple of weeks your opinion on that might change – but really, he’s not a bad guy.

He’s just a guy.

A guy who finds it easier to hide out in his room and then sleep over at his old place a few nights in a row than to share space with a chick he recently shared his penis with.

And no – the sex wasn’t bad!  It was pretty much the opposite of that…

And it wasn’t even my idea.  It was all him.  I was merely easily persuaded.

So hopefully this bushlit (I actually did that on purpose) doesn’t last too much longer.  I miss my roommate and friend.  And besides I really was hoping to go another round or two before my next crimson tide and his next girlfriend.

Keep your legs crossed for me!

Sweet dreams –