Just wanted to give a shout out to all the lovely people who used to read this blog before I disappeared off the face of the internet! I am planning one last post, an epilogue of sorts, to cap off this blog on a happier note. (Terrible use of metaphors, I know.) In case any of you have been wondering what I’ve been up to, or even if you haven’t, you can read all about it very soon. For now, have a great week and stay out of trouble you crazy kids!
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I know I’m only talking to myself.
I feel I should explain something, in regards to the last post…
It is not as if the reason for my zero-experience status has been completely involuntary. The fact of the matter is that I have had options, but they’ve honestly just been that little bit unattractive.
Should I have, for instance, kissed the boy in Jr High who wanted to take me out, but who I had absolutely no interest in? Or maybe the girl who held my hand at camp, who it didn’t even occur to me to be attracted to? Should I have made out with the boy in the attic, at church, who had already kissed almost every girl who’d ever gone there, and who failed to share my attachment to him? Should I have had sex with Evie, knowing she liked me, and knowing at the same time that my attraction was purely physical? Should I have done the exact opposite of that, and fooled around with someone I really liked, who would never really like me back?
All of these options have presented themselves, but never in a way that made them really tempting. I have had the chance at experiences. The only problem is, as far as I can tell, they would all have been bad ones. At least, that’s the way I felt about them at the time. And even from here, when some time has passed, I’m not entirely sure I was wrong.
This week has been my spring break, and I have been celebrating by sleeping in, watching Dr Who on Netflix, and eating way too much junk food. It may sound dismal, but the truth is that it’s been just the sort of holiday I’ve been craving. I have, of course, left the house on occasion; but the few attempts at enjoying the outside world have been surprisingly awkward. I find myself shutting down, while my outward persona displays an unexpected desire to fidget, apologize, and in all other senses hide, as if it is keeping some sort of secret. The only problem is, I don’t know what that secret is. Do I feel ashamed of my hermit-like behavior? Am I expecting some sort of reprimand for keeping my life in stall? Or is the secret something sub-conscious, and therefore unknown to my waking mind?
The truth is that I have been feeling ashamed. I’m not sure what exactly brought it on, but I have suddenly become keenly aware of the fact that I am perhaps the only 22 year-old in existence with absolutely no sexual experience to speak of. The virgin confession is awkward enough, what with just about every person who procures it feeling the inexplicable desire to offer me some sage advice about either doing or not doing it as soon as possible. But then there is also the fact that I have never kissed anyone, never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, and never really experienced a mutual attraction. When I make a new friend, there is always that nagging in the back of my mind that tells me that soon enough, they will ask me about my experiences, and I will have to tell them I’ve had none. They never seem to mind, but it’s still… embarrassing. It makes me vulnerable in a way that I can barely stand, and I always end up feeling like the awkward kid sister, no matter how nice the other person is about it.
It is with confessions like these that I learn of my own abusive tendencies towards myself. I realize that it is all in my head and that the only person who really cares is me. But be that as it may, I often feel like the Rip Van Winkle of sex, a girl who has unwittingly slept through her own adolescence. And in many ways, I am reminded that I have truly missed the boat on a lot of experiences. The promise of a first kiss seems to have disappeared entirely, being replaced by suggestions of sexual encounters that won’t last the morning. And, as flattering as that can sometimes be, I find myself disillusioned and bitter. And I wonder who to blame if not myself. I am hidden. I hide. I barely know myself, and I won’t have anyone discovering or defining that self until I do. This cocoon is getting crowded. But I fear that even with this much troubled sleep and involuntary transformation, I am still the same little girl I always was.
So how much longer, I wonder, until I am ready to fly? For now, all I really want to do is sleep.
Lately I have been thinking about this blog and feeling, well… nostalgic. I miss the good old days when the pages on this site were full of things like slutty fiction, musings on whether or not I could possibly end up in bed and sweaty with another girl, and hypotheses on the potential downfalls of taking a certain coworker into the backroom and, you know, discussing politics (and by that, I of course mean whatever heinous things your dirty minds can imagine.) I am sick to death of using this blog as a void for any and every complaint, and seeing it become my own worst enemy by venting frustrations that would have been better left to myself. I am resolved to fix this. Gone are the days of coworker bashing, moaning about my lackluster (read: non-existent) love life, and feeling sorry for myself in general. I don’t want to become that girl. I’m not that girl. However, being enthusiastic about life is not always a piece of cake when you are as moody a person as I am, and I don’t want to be the girl who fakes being happy to please others, either.
But never fear. Because I have a plan. A plan which you can all hear about tomorrow. Because right now I have to go to bed, as I will be getting up, like a freak, at 5am. I am sure I have mentioned it before, but it still surprises me. See you all tomorrow! (Not really, though. you know.)
Sometimes you just have too many things lying around.
Things you don’t need anymore.
Things you should really just get rid of.
So, even though it is clearly not quite spring, I am ridding myself (and this blog) of the excess. This is not meant to be a petty or dramatic move. It is not meant to symbolize anything. In fact, it is incredibly boring and probably doesn’t serve much of a purpose at all. My time would, in all honesty, be much better spent going through my piles of clothes and deciding which of them to get rid of! But, such is life. And also I am very tired. So… goodnight!
Ha! Someone found this blog by typing in “Slutty Confessions”… just had to share that!
Took a bath and cleared my head. Feel much better now. Thank God.
I have had this song stuck in my head for about 7 days now. I don’t mind really, because it just happens to be one of my favorites. But it can be a bit depressing. Released by the Pixies in 1989 (And later covered by Meaghan Smith, which coincidentally is the version that’s stuck in my head), the song sounds like a feel-good love song about the return of a lover. However, as a rather unfortunate viewing of a comment made on songmeanings.net has taught me to believe, the song is actually about devastation. Or, more specifically, about the 1945 atomic bombing of Nagasaki.
Combine this knowledge with the fact that my nervous/digestive system has been off since last week, the weather outside is dismal and gray, I am not completely satisfied with the state of my life, and I have just been watching Skins – and you get my current internal psyche. Sad, confused, with a propensity for staying in bed much longer than is strictly necessary. Oh, and I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t like someone whom I so clearly do. But you knew that already.
Honestly, I feel like there are about ten dementors at my door. And I keep opening it. Why?
Next week, there will be school. Which means something new to focus on. It also means hanging out with people who are not quite so moody as I am. Which is good. Because at the moment, nothing makes sense. Clearly, I need to stop thinking about things that are beyond my control. Clearly, I need to stop thinking about this song.
But I can’t help it, it’s stuck. And I honestly don’t mind it.
OK, So… after long and careful consideration (who am I kidding?) I have decided to ask you all for a little favor. Which you absolutely do not have to grant. But if you don’t that means no more sluttiness.
I think I may have gotten ahead of myself.
The favor is simply this, if you are among the somewhat ambiguous group who actually enjoy Slutty Sundays, you must at this time get just a little bit involved. I am not asking for pictures (please god, no pictures!) or guest posts (although…), what I want is for you to contribute options.
In the comment box, you must give me one of three things:
1. A celebrity to put into the scenario
2. An interesting location (Or any location really. On second thought- No! I demand that you be interesting! Or not.)
3. A scenario (Pour example: I have just woken up after a night of drunken debauchery to find that I am in the same bed as Adrien Brody. Only you can’t use that one. Because I have already done it.)
Or, you can simply tell me to, for God’s sake, stop the madness! And I will discontinue Slutty Sundays for good. Possibly.
Go ahead… tell me. I promise not to laugh.