Sometimes I wish I didn't like sex so much. It would be nice to be able to use my head instead of my penis when it came to major decisions... like who I let in between my legs, and how long I wait after meeting slash dating them to do this.
If I didn't care about getting laid, dating would be a lot easier because I would remember to ask the important questions before I spend a significant amount of time on my back (or knees) with someone.
I wish I didn't swoon over big muscles or a nice musky scent as he walks by. I wish the entirely feral ideas of what I really want to do to him (and him to me) weren't streaming through my mind like the real subtitles to the movie that is my life. I wish I could go 15 minutes (okay, more like 5) without thinking of how lovely a guy looks under me... or on top of me, or with his face in between my legs. I want to not get the cosmic horn any time I drink making me willing to fool around with people I probably shouldn't be fooling around with just because I can't properly use my lady toys when I'm stumbling drunk or remember how to reload the batteries.
But alas, that is my fate. Since the ripe old age of almost seventeen I have know how amazing it feels to do the between the sheets dance with someone.
And, by almost seventeen I mean I thought it felt amazing. Teens just don't know good sex, which is fine with me. It takes practice; you might as well have bad sex with someone else who is bad at sex so you can both learn without wasting anyone’s time.
I now long for it. I crave it. I want to feel the warmth of another body with me as I hit the highest notes in my range. I want to feel incubused by someone as they put it inside me. I want to hear as they breathe in and out, working to get us to a place that makes no sense at all while still being absolutely the best thing that could ever happen...
I love sex.
It makes my brain shut off and I do stupid things.
Like sleep with someone I barely know.
This gives lots of room for awkward moments like, "You're a republican?!??"
"Yea, aren't you?"
"NO! Are you crazy? Why would I be?"
Now, this was totally my bad. It didn't occur to me that by taking me to a gun show he was waving his republican flag high. I forget it's mostly those types that like to play with guns. They do give gun enthusiasts a bad name... that's for sure. Oh, and they aren't funny; their jokes seriously suck.
Another lovely thing to come out of his mouth, "I don't think anxiety is a real thing you should get medicine for. I mean, it can be treated other ways and most people who take anti-anxiety meds misuse them anyways. It just leads to a bunch of pill poppers."
Side note about me: I've been seeing a therapist weekly since August for depression and anxiety. I didn't sleep proprtly for over a year because of it. After four months of this weekly therapy I still wasn't sleeping. I got a prescription for anti-anxiety medicine and one for insomnia. That night was the first night I had slept in what felt like forever.
He knows this.
So, basically in his mind I'm a druggie who will eventually turn into one of those stepford-esque women who are mentally unstable and eventually kill themselves while no one noticed anything was wrong since she was just so medicated all the time. Because I need medicine to help with my anxiety I can't possibly have valid opinions or other things like that.
Maybe that's not what he said per se, but that's how I feel about what he said. I can't get over how he could think that anxiety isn't something that may be so intense it'll require medication.
Do you know how many anti-anxiety medications are out there?
Me either, but I'm sure there are lots.
Mine happen to be on the four dollar list at Giant Eagle, which means it's commonly enough prescribed that they don't charge you out the ass for them. I am sure that no matter how many people Tom knows that abuse their medication, there are a hundred more out there who thrive on it. And, people abuse anything they can get their hands on.
People are idiots.
The habits of those few people who abuse anti-anxiety medication are not the majority. Those things are monitored by a medical doctor, you can't get a new prescription without talking to one unless you have one of the crack pot ass hole of a doctor types that just collect your payment, write you a prescription and show you the door... which I am aware that they exist, but again, not the majority. His prejudice against us pill poppers comes from his republican views of the world. No faith in people, no reason to help fellow man.
I'm a firm believer in the fact that most people will not work if you don't make them. I know that people are idiots, and lazy, and predominantly useless when it comes to anything useful. However, I don't think that everyone is an idiot. And I don't think you can ever say the majority of anything is anything without any facts to back it up.
I'm a statistics gal. Talk numbers to me and not only will I get on my knees to thank you but you'll make sense to me every single time. I'll agree with you because you're right, with proof, and facts can't be argued. But, walk up to me with a brash idea/opinion with no proof whatsoever and I won't listen to you. I'll think you're an idiot. I'll probably tell you're an idiot too. I think if you feel something strongly enough and are willing to say it and call it your opinion, I at least deserve to know your reasoning behind why you feel so. And, I pray that as an intelligent person you have facts. Don't tell me what your father thinks, or you mother. I don't care what your pastor told you or a friend at work... I want to know how you came to the conclusion and I want you to try to persuade me to feel the same.
Off subject, so sorry.
Sex distracts me from getting to know someone and their views on matters that are really close to my heart (homosexuality, suicide, mental illness...). I give advice all the time I don't follow. I know; yes, I'm that girl, but seriously, my advice is good.
I once gave the best relationship advice ever: wait.
Now, if only I could freaking listen to myself...
Wait till you're sure. Wait till you know if they like strawberry or grape. Wait so you won't be an idiot for talking about how wonderful they are on your blog until you know they are wonderful enough to grace it (this, of course, doesn't count if they provide you with a moment of hilarity that just must be shared). Wait so that your most fond memories aren't of what his ceiling looks like. Wait. Because if you don't, you'll be a stupid whore.
Or, you'll just find yourself emotionally invested because it's hard to not. It's hard to love someone physically over and over on a regular basis and not begin to love them emotionally.
That is another thing I hate about myself; why do I have to have emotions when I just want to use my head? Why do sex and feelings always prevent me from doing the logical thing?
On the other side of that, why am I obsessed with doing the logical thing? Isn't love supposed to be something you fall into? Isn't that implying you're not really looking for a foothold or place to land, you're just doing it, because it feels right, right?
Because looking into the eyes of someone you love and never needing logic is why love makes sense at all. It makes sense by not needing to make sense.
I don’t know if that makes sense…
All I know is that I’m sitting here, mulling over the past few days in my mind and so many things are pointing to this not working, to this never working.
But, here I still sit. I am torn because of all the good, all the potential if things just play out how I know they can, and all the great no sense making stuff that I really do want, despite what I say about wishing my feelings didn’t get in the way.
I wish sex didn’t clog my mind, but feelings… I guess I can deal with those. Feelings are why I’m here, right? The whole David fiasco, internet dating, and now dating a real person who I didn’t meet online; I did it all for the feeling of love. For the feeling of being safe and wanted. For how it feels to be in someone’s arms as you fall asleep. For hearing someone pull in the drive way and your stomach gets butterflies while your heart swells with joy. I miss those things, I want those things…
If only my carnal need for sex didn’t get in the way. If I could let my feelings to all the talking we’d be golden. Stupid vagina…