Reading Mary Higgins Clark on my Kindle on my iPhone
I feel dizzy
I look up
To make sure the world’s not spinning
Just the train
I try to brace myself
I’m not going crazy
You’re not going crazy
You’re just depressed
Suicide is not the answer
Suicide is never the answer
Death is never the answer
And what if you regret it?
Then it’ll be too late
And you can’t do that to your mom
Which is the thought that saved me in high school too.
I just want to get away
Is that too much to ask?
But I got to let it out somewhere
Before it explodes in little explosions
And I have to clean up my little brain splats on the floor
Sometimes I wonder if life was easier before I started getting attention from men. And then started craving it.
I remember in 1st grade, Joey Stills and Angela so-and-so were a ‘thing’ for a brief minute. I thought she was obnoxious and he was lame and not worth all the attention being thrown at him. In high school my best friend and I lamented that we couldn’t get boyfriends. But I thought 99% of the guys were immature jerks anyways. But I still felt lame. Then in my twenties I had a serial monogamist streak. I thought “I just keep meeting people.” It wasn’t my fault that I kept meeting one guy after another. I jumped from one relationship to the next. Only in hindsight did I finally acknowledge that I just couldn’t stand being on my own. That was much too scary.
It was the abusive guy in Hawaii that broke me of that habit. After him I didn’t want to have anything with anyone. Including sex. Or a relationship. After a while I started dating again but I still didn’t want to sleep with the guy.
My girlfriend reminded me this weekend, “Guys will always be interested in you. You just have to learn to say no.” “No, thanks. I’m not doing that right now.”
I was in the line at Macy’s yesterday and the man getting helped in front of me turned around and said, “The wife sent me on errands today. I have to go get a purse for her next. Something ox-blood color at Michael Kors.” He wears a smile. He’s stepped back a couple of feet and is half-facing me a few feet away instead of being hunched over at the register where he was before. He’s a 6’4 brunette with black, horn-rimmed glasses, and a fashionable Mr. Rogers’ sweater. I smile back and say, “Well, she must trust you right?” Then I remember that New Yorkers aren’t actually friendly for no reason and why is this married man paying so much attention to me? I realize he is posing, leaning on the clothes rack next to me, instead of standing in front with his back to me. I decide I’m not going to have any eye contact or initiate any conversation. I mean he looked all of 37 for god’s sakes and he’s already tired of his marriage and feels the need to flirt??
A few years ago I went on a date with a handsome middle-aged Chinese doctor (too bad I don’t remember his name too—Ho or something) and it wasn’t until we were half hour into our coffee date that he tells me that he has a wife and three young kids at home. “You still live with them?” I sputtered. Because I was insanely giving him the benefit of the doubt, secretly thinking maybe he’s separated or something. (Which I’d like to add is a typical female phenomenon, given when someone does something truly outrageous, rude or just plain unforgivable and we really need to stop.) Yes, he said. “So why did you go on a date with me then?” It’s just coffee, was his reply. With a smile. As if lies and pretense, and gross flirting— when you have a wife at home— are much better delivered with a smile.
But I really don’t want to talk about cheating and married men because those can and do fill novels and movies and self-help books and dating websites, and I’d rather focus on women and what we want. Just like the Sex and the City episode where Miranda, finally fed up with all of her girlfriends endlessly and unawarely complaining about their men, walks out. Let’s talk about ourselves and what we want for once.
I had a lot of reactions to my last couple of posts, “My First Cunnilingus Orgasm” and “I Don’t Actually Want Sex All the Time”. People were upset, mad, confused, concerned. Even concerned phone calls, voicemail, and email from the ex. It was kind of a tumultuous last couple of days digesting and processing all the comments and learning not to take them personally. It’s always been hard for me to not be liked or be hated by people. Maybe subconsciously I’m doing this to test myself and conquer it.
“Why do you write?”
“So that I can share the lessons learned from my mistakes and experiences and share that with other young women—”
“Thank you. What’s one of the mistakes?”
“…When I had unprotected sex with a guy. When I fell into that..”
Thus was one of the quick exchanges while I was in the “hot seat” during a game with that name. One actually volunteered to sit in the front of the room of a 50+ audience while random people asked you any kind of personal question they wanted. You could choose to lie, tell the truth or refuse to answer. Interestingly enough, it seemed that everyone ‘tried to’ stick with the truth. Though one guy was very good at evading using humor.
This was TurnON New York, an event hosted by OneTaste. OneTaste was founded by Nicole Daedone and “offers training in orgasm, communication, and man-woman relationships.”