"You would walk all over a dude like that." My brother said, slurping his Dunkin Donuts coffee.
Milk only, just like how mom used to drink it.
"I wouldn't mean to!" I argue.
"I know, Sweetheart." he said, "But look at the men that brought you up."
James had a point. I was raised by a long line of alpha dogs with calloused hands. I am of men with a firm stature, broad shoulders, white color minds but blue collar attitude. Because of them I appreciate stoicism, but am a vessel for sensitivity.
I'm over how weird it is that I need to be with a man like that, but I do regardless. Like anything good in this world, they are hard to come by. I'm not too sure a man like that would be into a woman like me.
Regardless, I am too content with my singularity to sacrifice my freedom for someone that is just "okay." I want it to be of a mutual, "No one else will do."
It makes me feel like I'm lacking, in a variety of different ways. Yet in the moments it gets to be too much, that's what my big brother is for.
"You're a diamond, Jess. Never forget that."
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Sunday, April 27, 2014
106. She Is
She doesn't need to spend $20 on cream at Walgreens just retain radiant skin.
She is well traveled, least in body. She was supported by her parents.
She has this femininity thing down like she never had to search for it. She has this sweetness thing down like life never tried to take it away.
She moves quietly. She doesn't drink down her bad choices. She doesn't talk about sex like her body retains virginity after each encounter if she has them.
She is the exact opposite of me.
I am like the lovely frock that is prone to wrinkles.
I am like the cigarettes I never smoked sometimes.
But I can still look in the mirror and see pretty,
thriving, jostled but focused-
I can see her and know that sometimes she can be too much, especially to herself but at the end of the day
She is
enough.
105. Nerd Dude at Filter
My 27 year old mental version of "Call Me Maybe" is
"Hey, I'm creeping on you at a coffee shop or bar, but you're cute and I think we should have started making out like 10 minutes ago."
"Hey, I'm creeping on you at a coffee shop or bar, but you're cute and I think we should have started making out like 10 minutes ago."
104. Whining Toddler
Dear Whining Toddler,
You combined with my cat puking this morning reminded me and my ovaries that parenthood is a firmer "NO" than I had been thinking lately.
When I consulted my biological clock, it laughed.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Late 20's Female Who is Not Sorry for the Bitchface She Gave You
You combined with my cat puking this morning reminded me and my ovaries that parenthood is a firmer "NO" than I had been thinking lately.
When I consulted my biological clock, it laughed.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Late 20's Female Who is Not Sorry for the Bitchface She Gave You
103. Short Haired Girls
I walked into my go-to writing spot and saw two girls right away with pixie cuts similar to mine. We exchanged a smile and a nod.
Tattoo culture used to be like that. Alternative culture used to be like that. Maybe it seems like it no longer is because I live in a trendy area of my city. Anyway, I feel like a woman having short hair is still taboo enough where it warrants recognition when I see another. I hope it doesn't someday.
Tattoo culture used to be like that. Alternative culture used to be like that. Maybe it seems like it no longer is because I live in a trendy area of my city. Anyway, I feel like a woman having short hair is still taboo enough where it warrants recognition when I see another. I hope it doesn't someday.
102. Goth Poet
My friends are incredible. The way they share information, music, writing and art with me is amazing. The older I get the more I feel like my personhood is a scrapbook of all the people, experiences, and things suggested to me. I am living Pinterest really.
That being said, my friend Kate introduced me to a poet today. She was curious about what I'd think given that she's getting into poetry and I've been into it as long as I can remember.
"A lot of people I know are obsessed with her." Kate said. So I checked this poet out.
At risk of shaming the poet, I won't link to her site. I will say this-
Writing poetry fluctuates between being the same thing as slitting your wrists and masturbating. This girl's poetry is her getting herself off to her own peril.
There is feeling, and expressing so someone gets it, and expressing your feelings so beautifully and articulate that it becomes art. Then there is feeling as though that your feelings are somehow unique, or that you are more broken yet better than everyone else because of them.
Your feelings are not unique-your means of acquiring them are, and how you express them are. Sadness is sadness. Joy is joy. You are not some special snowflake because a lover melts the ice in your heart that froze because your dad beat you as a child.
It is the same thing as loving a band because you love them, and telling people you love a band to make yourself look more cultured.
This poet is not a larger vessel for human emotion or understanding because of her way with words. In this regards, she is a skiff while she is trying to be tanker. She narrows herself by being full of her own heart.
That being said, my friend Kate introduced me to a poet today. She was curious about what I'd think given that she's getting into poetry and I've been into it as long as I can remember.
"A lot of people I know are obsessed with her." Kate said. So I checked this poet out.
At risk of shaming the poet, I won't link to her site. I will say this-
Writing poetry fluctuates between being the same thing as slitting your wrists and masturbating. This girl's poetry is her getting herself off to her own peril.
There is feeling, and expressing so someone gets it, and expressing your feelings so beautifully and articulate that it becomes art. Then there is feeling as though that your feelings are somehow unique, or that you are more broken yet better than everyone else because of them.
Your feelings are not unique-your means of acquiring them are, and how you express them are. Sadness is sadness. Joy is joy. You are not some special snowflake because a lover melts the ice in your heart that froze because your dad beat you as a child.
It is the same thing as loving a band because you love them, and telling people you love a band to make yourself look more cultured.
This poet is not a larger vessel for human emotion or understanding because of her way with words. In this regards, she is a skiff while she is trying to be tanker. She narrows herself by being full of her own heart.
101. Tinder Guy
A guy on Tinder messaged me saying he wants to lick my butthole. He asked if I would be interested. I declined, but said I hope he finds a girl who is.
Modern love is perfect.
Modern love is perfect.
100. Hobo
There was a hobo on my run yesterday who commented that he could see the outlines of my nipples through my sports bra-which was the exact reason that I went on the run to begin with.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
99. It's Friday-I'm in Love
I walk by him every now and then outside the bar he works at. He's smoking a cigarette, staring out onto Halstead.
He doesn't notice me as I walk by. I am likely not his type. Still, every time I pass him, I can't help but think how beautiful he is-medium brown hair, red beard, tattoos spotted up his arms, tall, broad shoulders, muscular build.
Today, I was feeling ballsey and said hello.
"Hello there!" He replies.
He smiles casually out the right side of his face. He's amused, adjusting his "I don't give a fuck" attitude that turned me onto him in the first place. So alpha. So blue collar. So New England.
"Where are you off to?" He asks.
"Off to a bar that's not yours, sadly."
He flicks his cigarette.
"Wouldn't be the first time I've heard that. Though mine is pretty awesome."
I say something about how his place is a stones throw to work, and that the place I'm going to is in Wicker and close to home. We exchange a few more words.
As I leave he reaches out his calloused hand to shake mine.
"I'm David."
"Jess. Nice to meet you."
I always say that you call tell exactly who a person is the first 30 seconds of looking into there eyes.
I pause to look into his. Sweetness. Rough on the outside but sweet internally sweet. I walk up Halstead swooning. I hope I see him again.
He doesn't notice me as I walk by. I am likely not his type. Still, every time I pass him, I can't help but think how beautiful he is-medium brown hair, red beard, tattoos spotted up his arms, tall, broad shoulders, muscular build.
Today, I was feeling ballsey and said hello.
"Hello there!" He replies.
He smiles casually out the right side of his face. He's amused, adjusting his "I don't give a fuck" attitude that turned me onto him in the first place. So alpha. So blue collar. So New England.
"Where are you off to?" He asks.
"Off to a bar that's not yours, sadly."
He flicks his cigarette.
"Wouldn't be the first time I've heard that. Though mine is pretty awesome."
I say something about how his place is a stones throw to work, and that the place I'm going to is in Wicker and close to home. We exchange a few more words.
As I leave he reaches out his calloused hand to shake mine.
"I'm David."
"Jess. Nice to meet you."
I always say that you call tell exactly who a person is the first 30 seconds of looking into there eyes.
I pause to look into his. Sweetness. Rough on the outside but sweet internally sweet. I walk up Halstead swooning. I hope I see him again.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
98. Elephant Journal
I lost the link, but I was reading this Elephant Journal piece by a writer who I respect about how we need to readjust our concept of what a happy life means. It got me thinking that if I stripped everything down,
"How do I define success?"
Having enough money to get by and to afford a vacation every now and then, people positively responding to my writing, and my niece growing up with a firm understanding that her Auntie Jess is a badass who loves her very much.
"How do I define success?"
Having enough money to get by and to afford a vacation every now and then, people positively responding to my writing, and my niece growing up with a firm understanding that her Auntie Jess is a badass who loves her very much.
97. CTA Guy
The morning attendee at the Blue Line Grand/Milwaukee stop greats everyone entering and exiting the station with a big smile and a happy,
"Have a great day!"
I appreciate this man so much. He's become about as vital as my coffee.
"Have a great day!"
I appreciate this man so much. He's become about as vital as my coffee.
96. FedEx Girl
Dear FedEx Girl,
You don't smile and you say nothing. I know you probably hate it when people tell you to smile, but you should at least pretend you tolerate what you're doing.
Sincerely,
A Reluctant Customer
P.S- I can refer you to places of employment if you really hate yourself.
You don't smile and you say nothing. I know you probably hate it when people tell you to smile, but you should at least pretend you tolerate what you're doing.
Sincerely,
A Reluctant Customer
P.S- I can refer you to places of employment if you really hate yourself.
95. Fucking
An acquaintance of mine recently told me I should write about my sex life more. Not going to lie, I have some fantastically awful stories. That being said, I feel like I can give more to the world than anything involving my vagina. I expressed this to her saying I'm still nobody in the grand scheme of things. Least not to indie, never mind mainstream media.
"Doesn't matter who you are, people care who you're fucking." She said
Kinda sad to think about.
"Doesn't matter who you are, people care who you're fucking." She said
Kinda sad to think about.
94. Sexism
Sexism is when a owner of a package (liquor) store will not sell you your favorite cheap beer because,
"Only old men drink that, not young ladies."
My dad called it, "chivalry."
Last time I checked, chivalry was supposed to make my life easier.
"Only old men drink that, not young ladies."
My dad called it, "chivalry."
Last time I checked, chivalry was supposed to make my life easier.
93. Jos/ Sometimes Cats
We would drunkenly sing to them,
"Sometimes cats, oh sometimes cats. You are sometimes in my house but forever in my heart!"
92. Steven
Steven will always be golden to me. Because of this, I hate to reduce our friendship to just one line. I am sure our conversations will lead us to a better verse.
On this past birthday, he said to me how proud he was of all that I accomplished in the past few months. When I expressed that I still had A LOT to do he said,
"Jess, enjoy your success. If only just for today."
On this past birthday, he said to me how proud he was of all that I accomplished in the past few months. When I expressed that I still had A LOT to do he said,
"Jess, enjoy your success. If only just for today."
91. Help Me Feed My Son
I was at the Clark and Lake Blue Line stop waiting for my train back home after a much needed shopping trip, when I'm approached by a man and his kid. He asks me with sadden eyes,
"Excuse me, Miss. Could you spare some change to help me feed my son?"
"I'm sorry, I don't have any on me." I replied.
I look down at the boy, who was probably about 5 years old, getting distracted by all the people in the station. He looks at me as his dad walks him away and says,
"Thanks mean lady!" And kicks in my direction.
Quite a bit ran through my head. I am halfway between, "This is not my responsibility" and "But it kind of is."
earlier in the week, I spent way too much in cash at The Flat Iron. My boozy night or food for that kid. This is how I think.
I once dated a guy who would get visibly angry every time someone pan handled him for change, his face getting red as he walked away saying "How DARE they ask me for my hard earned money!" Lack of empathy is one of the more unattractive qualities, in my sincere opinion.
The thing is, I'm happy to spare a little something if I can, but I can't often. If I flip myself to be on the other side, while I'm confident I would have a spot on more than a few couches between here and the east coast if I ever got close to that level of helpless, I still feel deeply for the people that aren't so lucky. At this point, my biggest pill is my education. The irony is insane. Still, I am not in the position where I can hang out of survival mode for more than a few seconds. I could spare change for every person I see with an empty cup, but could I?
I feel guilty until I get home. My roommate asks me for two dollars so she can take the bus to her dad's. I tell her what pocket she can find it in inside my purse.
I resolve that we have to take care of our own first, before we extend outward. While I'm not of the religious kind, I sent a shout out to the universe hopping that the man in the train station gets a consistent means to feed his son.
"Excuse me, Miss. Could you spare some change to help me feed my son?"
"I'm sorry, I don't have any on me." I replied.
I look down at the boy, who was probably about 5 years old, getting distracted by all the people in the station. He looks at me as his dad walks him away and says,
"Thanks mean lady!" And kicks in my direction.
Quite a bit ran through my head. I am halfway between, "This is not my responsibility" and "But it kind of is."
earlier in the week, I spent way too much in cash at The Flat Iron. My boozy night or food for that kid. This is how I think.
I once dated a guy who would get visibly angry every time someone pan handled him for change, his face getting red as he walked away saying "How DARE they ask me for my hard earned money!" Lack of empathy is one of the more unattractive qualities, in my sincere opinion.
The thing is, I'm happy to spare a little something if I can, but I can't often. If I flip myself to be on the other side, while I'm confident I would have a spot on more than a few couches between here and the east coast if I ever got close to that level of helpless, I still feel deeply for the people that aren't so lucky. At this point, my biggest pill is my education. The irony is insane. Still, I am not in the position where I can hang out of survival mode for more than a few seconds. I could spare change for every person I see with an empty cup, but could I?
I feel guilty until I get home. My roommate asks me for two dollars so she can take the bus to her dad's. I tell her what pocket she can find it in inside my purse.
I resolve that we have to take care of our own first, before we extend outward. While I'm not of the religious kind, I sent a shout out to the universe hopping that the man in the train station gets a consistent means to feed his son.
90. Little Girl in Shaws
When I lived in Boston I had a little girl go up to me and ask me if I was a princess. When I told her no and asked her why she said,
"Well, I am a princess and you should be one too!"
"Well, I am a princess and you should be one too!"
89. Ian
When I met my roommate's ex, he told me he stumbled across my OkCupid profile.
"Your essays mixed with your short hair make you come off as a lesbian." He said.
"Really?" I replied, "Because your words combined with your condescending tone make you come off as a douche bag."
He kept talking, further proving my point.
"Your essays mixed with your short hair make you come off as a lesbian." He said.
"Really?" I replied, "Because your words combined with your condescending tone make you come off as a douche bag."
He kept talking, further proving my point.
88. Peaches
I used to call my maternal grandfather "Peaches" because as he aged his hair looked more and more like peach fuzz. He used to call me "Doll," the pet name he'd given my grandmother. When I asked him why, he said,
"There are millions of women on this earth that say they don't take bullshit, but do and quite a bit. The only two I know that put their money where their mouth is are you and my wife."
When I thanked him he said,
"You're taking flattery which is a soft form of bullshit. Make me prove I mean it!"
"There are millions of women on this earth that say they don't take bullshit, but do and quite a bit. The only two I know that put their money where their mouth is are you and my wife."
When I thanked him he said,
"You're taking flattery which is a soft form of bullshit. Make me prove I mean it!"
87. Kyle (One Line)
Sometimes all you get is one line.
I could be friends with someone for decades, and have only one sentence of reference that sticks out more than the others. It could be a sad or happy line, and by no means sum up what my interaction with that human was like. Either way, by means of catching up, I am going to fill the next few posts with "one lines."
When I woke up he was going at me with his forearm pinned at my neck. His sorry at the time was that he didn't know I had fallen asleep. There is more to that part, but I'll spare the details. As I am trying to reason with the reality, I feel my horizon shift, and the vodka my 20 year old body had been consuming all night urging to get out.
I crawl to the bathroom, naked as he left me.
My stomach lets it out into his toilet and he doesn't hold my hair. He instead smokes a cigarette, his red pudgy body leaning smoothly in the doorway.
He takes a drag as I look up. Corner of my mouth crusted. Kyle smiles down at me and says,
"You look sexy like that."
I could be friends with someone for decades, and have only one sentence of reference that sticks out more than the others. It could be a sad or happy line, and by no means sum up what my interaction with that human was like. Either way, by means of catching up, I am going to fill the next few posts with "one lines."
When I woke up he was going at me with his forearm pinned at my neck. His sorry at the time was that he didn't know I had fallen asleep. There is more to that part, but I'll spare the details. As I am trying to reason with the reality, I feel my horizon shift, and the vodka my 20 year old body had been consuming all night urging to get out.
I crawl to the bathroom, naked as he left me.
My stomach lets it out into his toilet and he doesn't hold my hair. He instead smokes a cigarette, his red pudgy body leaning smoothly in the doorway.
He takes a drag as I look up. Corner of my mouth crusted. Kyle smiles down at me and says,
"You look sexy like that."
Sunday, April 6, 2014
85. Nathan
Sometimes I get names stuck in my head for no real reason. Maybe it's the writer in me-I'm always looking for alternate names of people I know so I can put them in a story. Maybe I just feel names like I feel other words or moments on whim. Anyway, this morning I was feeling the name, Nathan.
I spend my work week adult-ing harder than I ever have with a job previously, so when it comes to my weekend, I try to adult as little as possible. I sleep late and crack open a beer upon my my waking. I procrastinate EVERYTHING. Even my writing has hit a slow patch. Why? Because that's what adults do, and on the weekends I'm 21 you guys.
But today I opted to go get my bike fixed, simply because riding to work > spending $25 a week on the CTA. Being resourceful does not quite equal adulting, least in my opinion.
I hit my pedals and road to Boulevard Bikes. My poor girl, The Purple Nightmare, had seen better days. Her chain felt scratchy, the handlebars were bent from my accidents in the fall. The front tire couldn't keep an inflate for longer than a day or two. When I brought her in, the bike mechanic, a big burly dude with long black hair and a wide brim hat, put her up and checked her out.
"She needs a lot of love," he said.
"A hundred dollars worth of love?" I asked, "Because that's all I have right now."
"Maybe a little more than that, " he said, "but we can make it work."
After checking it out he gave me the ticket- front wheel realignment, a brake tune-up, a second hand set of handle bars, and grip tape for $73.
Fair enough. He told me he would call when she was ready.
When he called a couple hours later, I walked back to the shop. Something about getting work done on your mode of transport makes it feel like new even though it isn't. The teal grip tape on her handle bars completely clashes with her neon color and I love it. He fastened it together with bright pink duct tape because he thought it worked.
I smiled and paid him. I shook his hand thanking him for getting all the work done in just a couple hours.
"No problem, Miss!" He said, happily.
"Hey!" I shouted back as I was leaving the shop. "I didn't quite catch your name!"
"Nathan." He said.
I spend my work week adult-ing harder than I ever have with a job previously, so when it comes to my weekend, I try to adult as little as possible. I sleep late and crack open a beer upon my my waking. I procrastinate EVERYTHING. Even my writing has hit a slow patch. Why? Because that's what adults do, and on the weekends I'm 21 you guys.
But today I opted to go get my bike fixed, simply because riding to work > spending $25 a week on the CTA. Being resourceful does not quite equal adulting, least in my opinion.
I hit my pedals and road to Boulevard Bikes. My poor girl, The Purple Nightmare, had seen better days. Her chain felt scratchy, the handlebars were bent from my accidents in the fall. The front tire couldn't keep an inflate for longer than a day or two. When I brought her in, the bike mechanic, a big burly dude with long black hair and a wide brim hat, put her up and checked her out.
"She needs a lot of love," he said.
"A hundred dollars worth of love?" I asked, "Because that's all I have right now."
"Maybe a little more than that, " he said, "but we can make it work."
After checking it out he gave me the ticket- front wheel realignment, a brake tune-up, a second hand set of handle bars, and grip tape for $73.
Fair enough. He told me he would call when she was ready.
When he called a couple hours later, I walked back to the shop. Something about getting work done on your mode of transport makes it feel like new even though it isn't. The teal grip tape on her handle bars completely clashes with her neon color and I love it. He fastened it together with bright pink duct tape because he thought it worked.
I smiled and paid him. I shook his hand thanking him for getting all the work done in just a couple hours.
"No problem, Miss!" He said, happily.
"Hey!" I shouted back as I was leaving the shop. "I didn't quite catch your name!"
"Nathan." He said.
84. Gus and Gaba
The weekend Gus and I ended, my roommate gave me a dose of Gaba. I knew the drill. For slow affect take it with water, for immediate relief, shotgun a beer-any beer will do.
I knew it was either going to end or not progress that night. Things between us were ok but not enough-least not for what I was looking for. He was fine within himself, but I was spending way too much time with him given how casual things always seemed to stay.
When my intuition was confirmed, I felt uneasy, but not enough to take the Gaba. Given all the crazy that's happened since, it's still there.
I think I'm saving it for a total fall out. I recently confessed to Abby that my biggest heartache would be my dad dying and I could deal with just about everything else. In the past three years I have gone through most of the heinous growth hazards that life could throw at a person in a first world country.
But I love the Gaba sitting in the secret compartment of my purse in case I need it. Most of all, I love that Gus didn't cause me to use it.
I knew it was either going to end or not progress that night. Things between us were ok but not enough-least not for what I was looking for. He was fine within himself, but I was spending way too much time with him given how casual things always seemed to stay.
When my intuition was confirmed, I felt uneasy, but not enough to take the Gaba. Given all the crazy that's happened since, it's still there.
I think I'm saving it for a total fall out. I recently confessed to Abby that my biggest heartache would be my dad dying and I could deal with just about everything else. In the past three years I have gone through most of the heinous growth hazards that life could throw at a person in a first world country.
But I love the Gaba sitting in the secret compartment of my purse in case I need it. Most of all, I love that Gus didn't cause me to use it.
83. Magic Number
He rolls off me and does the awkward condom removal maneuver before he climbs back in my bed, nestles in a bit and asks,
"So what's your number?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well miss, you seem like this isn't your first song and dance. What number am I?"
I don't know. At this point it's all a statistic.
How many did I love? 3.
How many was I actually in a committed relationship with? 2.
The year I lost tract of the number? 2012.
Does it matter if you're safe about it? I get my tests yearly just to make sure a mistake wasn't a terrible one. I no longer go into these trysts feeling dead inside, trying to get something more out of it than what it is. I don't think it's anyone's business to know my number, especially when I'm not so sure myself. Why don't I know? Because I don't care, especially when the story behind each fellow is a lot more interesting.
If I had to guess, the number is somewhere between salacious and apathy, between someday I'll have a boyfriend and feeling like I'm going in for the kill. It's a number that knows I'm attractive but doesn't want to sit and waste my youth on some knight on a white horse bullshit. My number is sometimes ambition and other times nothing better to do. You're special if you make it to the next round of me cooking you dinner, otherwise you've more or less been voted off this island.
When I tell him I don't know, his face changes. From curiosity to disgust he tells me I should know, that as a pretty girl not knowing means I don't care, like I don' have respect for myself.
My blatant lack of virginity is not out of personal disrespect. I enjoy affection and companionship in varying degrees. Denying myself that would be silly, especially for a sake of some archaic concept of how my womanhood should be. Furthermore, I recognize anything I do as a woman with a negative connotation would be a high 5 and a round of shots at a bar if a dude did it.
Sex is not the deciding factor in morality or human compassion. By sleeping with x amount of men, it does not make me less efficient in my career or makes me unequipped to read my niece a bedtime story. It does not mean I won't do my taxes on time or give up my seat on the bus for an elderly person. If you're going to judge my entire being based on my sexual expressiveness then maybe it's you that lacks respect for yourself, not me.
I own it.
Yeah, maybe I wish I was loved more and fucked less, but it is what it is. If a guy coming into my room is going to judge me based on the only reason that he's there, than he can leave. Do not pass go! Do not collect an orgasm! Lose $15 on a cab fare without getting anything out of it. I literally and figuratively could not and will not give a fuck.
I tell him I that my lack of a firm number doesn't bother me and he gets into some big rant about the issue with dating and sex these days, like he's still at the bar and didn't go home with a stranger. I wake up as he's putting on his jeans and overcoat. When he leaves he kisses me on the cheek and takes his soap box with him.
My roommate is in the kitchen making tea. When I join her she asks,
"Was it at least good?"
I snort and shake my head, "No."
We're both laughing when she says,
"Yeah.. didn't sound like it!"
"So what's your number?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well miss, you seem like this isn't your first song and dance. What number am I?"
I don't know. At this point it's all a statistic.
How many did I love? 3.
How many was I actually in a committed relationship with? 2.
The year I lost tract of the number? 2012.
Does it matter if you're safe about it? I get my tests yearly just to make sure a mistake wasn't a terrible one. I no longer go into these trysts feeling dead inside, trying to get something more out of it than what it is. I don't think it's anyone's business to know my number, especially when I'm not so sure myself. Why don't I know? Because I don't care, especially when the story behind each fellow is a lot more interesting.
If I had to guess, the number is somewhere between salacious and apathy, between someday I'll have a boyfriend and feeling like I'm going in for the kill. It's a number that knows I'm attractive but doesn't want to sit and waste my youth on some knight on a white horse bullshit. My number is sometimes ambition and other times nothing better to do. You're special if you make it to the next round of me cooking you dinner, otherwise you've more or less been voted off this island.
When I tell him I don't know, his face changes. From curiosity to disgust he tells me I should know, that as a pretty girl not knowing means I don't care, like I don' have respect for myself.
My blatant lack of virginity is not out of personal disrespect. I enjoy affection and companionship in varying degrees. Denying myself that would be silly, especially for a sake of some archaic concept of how my womanhood should be. Furthermore, I recognize anything I do as a woman with a negative connotation would be a high 5 and a round of shots at a bar if a dude did it.
Sex is not the deciding factor in morality or human compassion. By sleeping with x amount of men, it does not make me less efficient in my career or makes me unequipped to read my niece a bedtime story. It does not mean I won't do my taxes on time or give up my seat on the bus for an elderly person. If you're going to judge my entire being based on my sexual expressiveness then maybe it's you that lacks respect for yourself, not me.
I own it.
Yeah, maybe I wish I was loved more and fucked less, but it is what it is. If a guy coming into my room is going to judge me based on the only reason that he's there, than he can leave. Do not pass go! Do not collect an orgasm! Lose $15 on a cab fare without getting anything out of it. I literally and figuratively could not and will not give a fuck.
I tell him I that my lack of a firm number doesn't bother me and he gets into some big rant about the issue with dating and sex these days, like he's still at the bar and didn't go home with a stranger. I wake up as he's putting on his jeans and overcoat. When he leaves he kisses me on the cheek and takes his soap box with him.
My roommate is in the kitchen making tea. When I join her she asks,
"Was it at least good?"
I snort and shake my head, "No."
We're both laughing when she says,
"Yeah.. didn't sound like it!"
82. Frida
Frida, when you found out your husband was having sex with another woman, you stole her away from him.
I discovered your paintings when I was 15, the same year I found Neruda.
You remind me that I don't have to be typical to be beautiful, that not everyone needs understand my art.
But I am over the kind of love that plagued you your whole life. I am over the run around. I know that's easier said than done. Diego didn't love you so much as he loved the power, and I will never give a man that kind of luxury. Least not again.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
81. Guy Who's Currently Banging My Roommate
I didn't quite catch your name. I'm not sorry. I like you though because you're not trying to figuratively kiss my ass, as though you know this could be one night, a few, or more moons than I'd really want to count.
But you don't care either way. You're just down for whatever, even if it's just to fuck.
I hope you stick around though. For one, you're the most agreeable of the men she's ever brought home. For two, I'm sure you have cute friends.
And let's be honest, I'm really selfish-least in terms of my romantic/sex life.
Sincerely,
.
Jess
PS: I hope you like punk rock because that's primarily what I'll be using to drown out the sound of you two love birds knocking boots.
PPS- Hook me up with the Harvard Law Grad friend guy that you talked about. I don't care THAT much about what he looks like, but the company wouldn't be a bad thing and it would make for a great story
But you don't care either way. You're just down for whatever, even if it's just to fuck.
I hope you stick around though. For one, you're the most agreeable of the men she's ever brought home. For two, I'm sure you have cute friends.
And let's be honest, I'm really selfish-least in terms of my romantic/sex life.
Sincerely,
.
Jess
PS: I hope you like punk rock because that's primarily what I'll be using to drown out the sound of you two love birds knocking boots.
PPS- Hook me up with the Harvard Law Grad friend guy that you talked about. I don't care THAT much about what he looks like, but the company wouldn't be a bad thing and it would make for a great story
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