For Your Consideration

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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Getting What You Don’t Want and Where to Put It

Confession: Sometimes I read this blog when I am bored. (And you can’t judge me for that – look! You’re doing it right now!) And sometimes, more like most of the time these days, I am nothing short of horrified. However, being the complete and utter saint that I so clearly am, I have decided to turn my chagrin into a helpful guide for the easily tempted. Read it, and avoid a similar fate.

The Rules for Blogging Anonymously:

1. Ask yourself a simple question: Do I want this blog to be anonymous? Yes? OK. Pick an assumed name, create an e-mail account specifically for your blog, and continue.

2. Take into account which details of your writing could potentially blow your cover. Names of people, places, and events should probably be avoided. Choose an alternate name, or give people titles, such as “The BFF” or “That guy I accidentally stabbed to death that one time.”

3. Network through blogging communities using your assumed name only. Under no circumstances post an actual picture of yourself to these accounts.

4. Tell no one. If you’re going to keep this blog from getting back to you, it would probably be a good idea not to give the link out to any of your friends, co-workers, or family members. Remember that, as people, we are all essentially turncoats and will pass along the link to anyone who can give us a good enough reason to do so (i.e. anyone who even remotely suggests that they want to read it.)

5. Tread lightly and leave your big stick at home. When we are frustrated with people, we tend to exaggerate. And give details. And specific quotes. And lots of other things that leave very little to the imagination. We are trying to prove to the world that we are right in being upset, and we are usually (annoyingly, foolishly) relentless in our efforts to do so. Such behavior, in the blogging world, means that you are only moments away from being caught. Either that, or you have just recently realized that you were caught a long time ago, and are acting out in attempt to ease your own terrible mortification. (Or was that just me…?)

6. Don’t blog about people you are working with. Ever. JUST DON’T DO IT! Unless, of course, you are saying something nice. But let’s not forget that there is such a thing as too nice. And you should probably leave your sordid fantasies about your hot coworker out of it entirely. Even if he is asking for it. Even if you are asking for it. Even if – OH JUST SHUT UP ABOUT IT ALREADY!

*I swear to God, I am actually over this. But how else will I get the point across if not through over-dramatization of events long since past?*

And now we come to the second part of the Rules: What to do if you are caught.

1. First, don’t get caught.

2. When you do get caught, try to react appropriately. Laugh it off or apologize, but never confuse the two. Horrible Boss just discover the post in which you called him a wart-infested cretin capable of nothing and over-assuming in everything? Put on your humiliated face and apologize profusely. If he reads your post aloud, try not to laugh, even if you are hilarious. Hot Coworker confesses that he’s read about your incredibly distracting need to corner him in the storage room and snog his brains out (or worse)? Laugh. Apologize in a non-serious manner if you feel it’s necessary. Or, simply take him in the storage room and demonstrate what you were talking about. Either way, keep calm, don’t get angry that you’ve been discovered, and for the love of all that is holy, don’t write a post in which you tell everyone how much of a victim you are in this situation. You’re not. In fact, this is pretty much all your fault. And that’s what stings.

3. Once you’ve sufficiently calmed down, get in your car and drive to the nearest Barnes and Noble. Walk in and buy a journal. You are now done with blogging.

**

In fact, maybe you should just go out and get a journal right now! I know we’re all dying to be recognized and desperate for connection and blah, blah, blah… but since when did journaling become so out of fashion? Even if your little sister reads it and shows it to your parents and they freak the fuck out, at least no one at work will have ever heard of it. Right? Or hey, maybe you are so self-sufficient that you’ve achieved the rare privilege of living on your own. Even better! The point is, it is much better to have one book under the bed than a hundred posts swirling through cyber-space. Speaking of which, all those posts I now realize I should never have published in the first place? Deleted. Well, most of them anyway…

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Can You Please Repeat the Question?

Can I just say?  OkCupid is seriously disturbing. And not just because of all the weirdos and freaks, Oh no! (And yes, I do realize that I would technically be one of the weirdos I am referring to.) But because for me, someone who has never been in a relationship before and is more than a little gun-shy with the whole getting-to-know-someone-to-see-if-they-are-a-potential-mate-type-person fiasco, deciding what I want, on the spot, and then putting it out there for all the world to see is a little… well… impossible.

The worst part of the whole scenario is the “questions” section, a never-ending survey in which you can not only select answers that match your political views and religious beliefs, but also rare treasures such as, “If someone wanted to put a collar on you and command you during sex, would you go for it?”  Or, “Say someone asked you to pull out a knife and bleed them whilst in the middle of full-throttle sex, would you do it?” Of course, these are both silly questions that should obviously be answered “No” unless you want a deranged lunatic for a boyfriend and later possibly a husband/cell-mate, but there are others that are less obvious. Questions like, “Would you ever consider an open relationship?” and “Would you date someone who didn’t want to have sex for at least 6 months?” Of course, being me, I have answered no to the first one and yes to the second. But do I really know? Not really. And what’s more is, I’m not so sure I want to know what answers a potential “match” has chosen either. Obviously I am glad there are ways of finding out who might be a psychotic killer on the loose, but other than that, isn’t mystery an essential part of the equation? If I’m going to be with someone, do I really need to know every detail of all their little kinks up front? The whole point of a relationship is that you decide to be with someone and then get to discover all the completely horrific things about them! Of course, the whole idea is to rule out the people who would be completely wrong for you and find the ones who would be… I dunno… nice to be with? But on the whole, given the option between knowing everything and knowing what you usually know when embarking on a relationship (which is, let’s face it, almost nothing), wouldn’t you choose something with a bit more… mystery?

In the end, I will be the last to know.

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Don’t Worry

I know I’m only talking to myself.

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Counterpart

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.

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The Long, Long Wait

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.

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Yeah… About that

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.)

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And They Called it Puppy Love

There is something strange that can happen when you get in the habit of meeting people online. Something so odd, and often wonderful, that you will feel like a crazy person for even mentioning it. But then, how could you not?

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine suggested, in a rather forcible tone, that I sign up for an account on OkCupid. (And yes, I can literally hear your groans, laughter and sarcastic comments from here – because they are quite possibly the exact same ones I made when he brought it up!) At first, it really wasn’t much of a diversion. I would visit peoples’ profiles, be mildly amused, maybe send a short message, etc. It seemed that all the cute ones lived in the next city over, and that most of the guys interested in talking to me were just a little bit off.  Every once in a while, I would get someone wanting to instant-message and a little message box would pop up in the bottom-left corner of the screen, usually with a pretty lame attempt at conversation. Usually from someone I wasn’t really into.

One such lame attempt appeared as follows:

“Awesome look in that last photo of yours :P”

However, as I’d remembered seeing his profile and not being particularly creeped out by it, I decided to respond. And then, seconds later, he called himself out on the lame attempt and started an actual conversation.

We talked for four hours.

The next day, we talked for five.

The shortest length of time we’ve talked so far has been an hour. And that is only because I told him he was being cut off so I could get some sleep!

The point is, we’re pretty much in love. I kid! But honestly, it’s been a nice week. We talk about whatever we want, laugh about the stupidest things, and flirt uncontrollably. It’s fun, it’s sweet, and it’s absolutely no work whatsoever. It’s not love, but it is infatuation!

But like with all things, when one area of your life is going really well, another part will turn supremely crappy. Unfortunately, both these parts are contained within the same specific area. Because he lives… in another State. and while he likes to say that the distance is the clincher, I’m more of the mind that the distance is the reason it’s even possible in the first place. Because the fact that we can’t meet anytime soon also means that we have nothing to lose. Which means we can be completely honest. Which means we can fall for each other much faster and more readily than we would in real life. And also, none of our flaws are very apparent. Because, you know, there is so much distance.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely happy that I met him, even though we would in all likelihood never work out. But doesn’t it just suck that the one person who can make me this happy by a) joking around with me non-stop, b) keeping up with and sometimes even outsmarting my sarcastic/combative side, and c) saying sweet things for no particular reason, has to be so fucking far away?! It’s completely unfair. And yet, it’s perfect. Because it really isn’t real.

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Spring cleaning

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!

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Amazing

Ha! Someone found this blog by typing in “Slutty Confessions”… just had to share that!

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