The Truth.

So, I’e been doing a lot of soul-searching lately. This might come as a shock, but…

I think I’m gay.

I say “think” because it softens the “I’m gay” part of that statement. But I’m pretty sure about this.

There were signs. Many, many signs. But, naively, I convinced myself that most other – if not all – straight women fantasize about having sex with their hot female classmates, too. Or that being turned on by thinking of two women together [as opposed to a man and a woman] was completely normal. Or that even saying, “I could date a woman. I could probably go down on a woman. I don’t see a problem with this,” is something that other heterosexual women say. Or that whole “I have a girlfriend” thing doesn’t really make me gay. [But it really kinda does.]

Yeah…delusional much?

It’s just interesting that it took a chance meeting at a lesbian club and R’s presence in my life to help me put all the pieces together. And it’s even more interesting that while I was very okay with admitting I have a girlfriend, it’s quite…scary…saying all this now. But it’s how I feel. Being in a relationship with a woman is so much more fulfilling to me than any guy I’ve been with – or any guy I could ever be with.

So that’s it.

The Third Date.

Michael: In my opinion the third date is traditionally the one where you have sex. Does Holly feel that way? I don’t know. I will probably find out tonight. If she starts having sex with me I’ll know for sure.

Ah, the elusive third date. I’m trying to recall all the third dates I’ve had – and how they ended. As many of my regular readers [and real life friends] know, in my past dating exploits, I rarely got to the third date.

Actually, I think I only had proper third date sex once.

It was B, a guy I worked with – and the first guy I hooked up with after The Ex and I broke up. Though the first time we went out, it was just to a bar. The second time, he came over, spent the night, and we hung out all the next day. Twenty-four hours in total. That was a mega-date. Then the third time we hung out, he came over after work, and spent the night. It culminated in sex. He never called me to go out again, and five months later, I heard he got married.

Only one other guy I had sex with took me on a date. That was D. We met at Fenway. And even then, like with B, they were those borderline dates. We had sex on our second date. I awkwardly cried in bed before we went to sleep. He held me. I don’t remember why, but he was sweet. We had sex the next morning. He never called me to go out again, but I see him around the Park from time to time.

The other seven guys I had sex with were all drunken one-night stands. Two of the guys I was friends/acquaintances with before, but don’t really talk to now. Another guy lives in my neighborhood. He saw me with my girlfriend recently. He kissed her hand, said, “Hello, Gorgeous” and awkwardly walked away. The rest I am okay with never talking to again. Except one: he lives in Ireland. I still talk to him. He and I actually had sex two separate times [the only repeat performance], and I thought I was kind of in love with him. I even sort of proposed on our way to the train station. He accepted, too. So I think I might be engaged. If he lived here, and I didn’t have my girl, I might try to make something happen with him. He was the best sex with a guy I ever had.

On the other hand, there were several guys I went out with more than three times that I never had sex with. A couple last year, and more before I dated The Ex. The only reason I can think is that I just really wasn’t attracted to them. And maybe I really just wasn’t attracted to guys in general. When my girlfriend came back to my apartment after our first date, we made out. We hooked up the second night. I was very attracted to her. And even though at first it was awkward, and I wasn’t sure if she crazy or not, I liked her.

We’ve been together for almost 4 months. I can’t remember if we had sex on our third date. But you know…I don’t think it matters.

Lesbian Update, Part II

Bitches are CRAZY.

I feel like I now completely understand what men go through on a regular basis in dealing with us. We are insane. I now have a strengthened appreciation for men.

Yeah, who saw that coming? I’m appreciating men – not bitching about them?? I must be in Bizarro World…

Lesbian Update

To quote Katy Perry:

I kissed a girl, and I liked it.

We’re still hanging out. She’s very sweet, and I am looking forward to seeing where this goes.

That’s all for now.

A New Direction

All the recent man-hating and ranting has left me exhausted, and not really ready/willing to jump back into the pool of Boston Dudes. So, I’ve decided to go a new direction:

I’m going on a lesbian date.

Yeah, I know. It’s craaaazy. My best friend and roommate both told me [a while back] that I liked the penis too much to ever go lesbo. My roommate said [and I quote]: “There are girls who scream ’sausage.’ And there are some girls, who screeeeeeam ’sausage.’” Apparently, I seem to really, really enjoy…sausage.

Anyway.

I have a very close lesbian friend who has invited me to the lesbian club with her and her other lesbian friends on an occasional lesbian basis. * Sorry – I keep using the adjective lesbian, and it’s starting to modify nouns that don’t really need lesbian modification. After some coaxing [I was tired and wanted to stay home and be lame], I agreed to go. Rifling through my drawer, I settled on a hot pink, cleavage-baring top and jeans, primped up, and headed out. I decided if I was going to a lesbian club, I better at least get hit on.

The entourage consisted of me, my lesbian friend T, her lesbian friend E, and E’s straight guy friend D. Immediately, T and E were prodding me – “Isn’t D cute?” “Ooh, do you like D?” “If I were straight, I’d fuck him, would you?” – like I’d never seen a straight guy before. He was okay, but very much not my type. Example: On the drive to the bar in his souped-up Acura, he blew stoplights and whizzed past buses at an alarming rate, one that made me say aloud too many times, “I think I’m going to die tonight.” Regardless of the exterior, I just simply cannot date/fuck/otherwise interact with a guy who drives like a complete toolbag.

We parked and got to the club, entered, got a beer, and made the requisite lap. It was still early and the place was fairly empty. Some women in skimpy clothes danced on the stage. Others, fully-clothed, danced with each other on the dancefloor. A strange man, maybe 40, stood alone at the bar, holding a Bud Light. He surveyed the scene. I thought maybe he was security – I think he was actually just a creep. A middle-aged hetero couple stood by the bar as well, and every once in a while, the woman would walk away and start to dance near a group of girls – then return to her place at the bar. My guess? A married couple looking to spice things up with a third. It was an interesting circus. I felt a little awkward at first. T and E started running around like mad, dancing with other lesbians they knew. D and I stood to the side, and chatted about how out of place we felt.

After a few minutes, I noticed a girl across the bar. She was wearing a Celtics jersey and a Red Sox hat, cargo shorts, and was dancing with some other girls. Definitely on the butch end of the spectrum, but I was curious about her – which surprised me. But I couldn’t stop looking at her, and kept thinking that I really wanted to talk to her. It freaked me out a little – who was this girl, and why was I being so weird? Eventually, my group made it closer to hers, and then we were side by side. I wondered if she noticed me and wanted to talk, too. But then I thought, “You’re hetero. What are you doing??”

Later, after I realized this weird obsession wasn’t going to fade, I told T about it. “Oh, I know her friend! Let’s go talk to them,” she said, and dragged me over there. I was scared, and didn’t know what to say…so I said, “Hi, nice to meet you.” I find that usually works in social situations where you meet new people – straight, gay, aliens, whatever. There was no reason for me to feel weird, so I decided just to try to be…normal.

The girl in the jersey’s name is R, and her friend is S. We all decided to dance, and as we walked to the dancefloor, S turned to me and said, “You’re straight, aren’t you?” I felt like my cover was blown. “Yeah…why? You could tell?” She nodded. We kept dancing. I wanted to blend in, but apparently I didn’t look homo enough. Quietly, R said, “Well, all the prettiest girls are straight…” It kinda made me smile a little bit.

A couple beers later [but not drunk], some Lady Gaga played, and R and I danced. We talked over the loud thump of the bass and the lively lesbian chatter. She was cool. She was…cute. What the hell was I doing? She said in my ear, “So, you’re straight?” I said, “Yes…but I could be convinced otherwise…” and I told her she was cute. She said, “Well, you should give me your phone number.” So I did. Then she gave me hers.

I got a girl’s phone number.

T came running up to me as the DJ was announcing the bar was closing. Apparently E had drank too much and was puking it all back up into the trashcan. As I turned to leave, R said, “Okay, well…call me.” And I said I would.

After piling back in the Acura in the rain, we headed home. I asked T the rules for lesbian dating, and she said I needed to wait at least a week before making any contact. I thought that was ridiculous, and I wanted to text R to see if she got home safely. I don’t know how much she had to drink, it was a rainy night, and I was genuinely concerned.

So I texted. And she texted right back, saying she was about to text me. And then we made some tentative plans, that turned into real dinner plans. For tomorrow.

We’re getting sushi.

I’m definitely looking forward to this new experience. If it goes badly, then at least I know, and I’ll stick it out with dudes. And if it goes great…well, then we’ll see.

Fuck You.

Hopefully, for my own sanity’s sake, I’ll be completely over and done with these hate-filled, ridiculous blog posts some day.

But today is not one of those days.

For those that know me in real life, you are [probably] well aware that I put up with absolutely zero bullshit. Don’t even try – you will not succeed. I think that comes from all the years that I was a pushover to men. If someone liked me, paid me the slightest bit of attention, I was all mush and a fucking doormat. When my ex and I broke up, I sacked up [to use a masculine term] and started with a no-nonsense approach to men*.

When it comes to guys I encounter in my life now, do one thing wrong and you’re out. I don’t have time for your excuses, your bullshit, whatever it is. Just don’t even try to fuck with me. I’m not having it.

It’s just weird that, a year and a half after our break-up, my ex is still giving me bullshit. Sort of indirectly. But I’d really like him to disappear – poof – into the wind, never to be heard from again. Alas…this won’t happen**.

So, with no-bullshit attitude I have, even the smallest things just set me off. Hey, maybe it’s the hormones*** – but who really knows. Either way, he pissed me off tonight…and didn’t even have to try very hard.

I was reading the Facebook wall of a mutual friend of ours, and I saw the ex had recently posted something. But I couldn’t click on his name, and couldn’t see his picture – though I could still see his name and what he wrote. I know he had de-friended me back in the spring [which was really a blessing, actually], but this now meant he had blocked me. There is no way for me to search for him, message him, see our mutual friends – nothing. Not that I want to, but seriously – what was the point of him blocking me? Had I done anything wrong to him? Had I emailed or otherwise contacted him or his fiancee at any point since he told me he was engaged in January? No, I had not. I left him completely alone. HE is the one who wanted to be friends, and keep in touch, and all that bullshit. I have a feeling, though, that he got the hint that I didn’t feel the same say when he possibly read the Facebook event I made celebrating the year anniversary of me getting rid of “the douchebag toolbag ex who none of my friends and family liked anyway.” It was shortly after this event was published that I noticed we were no longer “friends.” 

Whatever. Just…fuck you, dude. FUCK YOU. I’m trying to move on with my life and not be so mad at the way you basically lead me on to think you really loved me, just to get me to move to Boston, pay half the bills, cook and clean, have sex once a week [at most - you know, whenever you wanted to], and betray me the way you did. And YOU have the gall to block ME! I’d block you back, but I don’t give a SHIT what you think about me. Hell, I’d let you see my whole fucking profile, just to make sure you know how much happier I am and how much better my life is without you.

But I’m pretty sure you already know.

One more thing: I pray to God that you won’t be moving to DC next year after you graduate, because that is my plan. If I see you around Capitol Hill, I may not be able to keep my right hook from connecting with your face. Just a heads up.

 

FOOTNOTES:
* And dating – which may be why I’m still single, almost a year and a half later. Regardless.

** …yet. He does have a serious blood disease where he basically has no immune system. So, should the apocalypse come, he’d be one of the first to die…ooh, is that too cruel?

*** I am about 5 days out from my period – and I do have a history of depression, which I believe exacerbates my PMS to a point just shy of homicidal rage towards men.

Purge.

Confession:

Sometimes I read your blog. It’s not bookmarked in my web browser or anything, so I have to Google it. But I know the right words to enter that will lead me to your beloved site that you are oh-so proud of having.

I roll my eyes when I read those phrases that I’m sure you felt so proud of writing. Or when you use words like “interstitial” or “in medio.” I gag when I read your mention of your “fiancee.” I cringe when you talk about “kissing her longingly.” For many reasons. 

Mostly because you are a disgusting human being and you make me sick. And I feel bad for that poor girl, who is obviously under some kind of spell of yours, or is drugged daily. She could do so much better than you.

I’m glad it’s not be being mentioned in your blog anymore. I’m glad to be rid of you. Well, physically, anyway. The thoughts linger sometimes. Like now. And I Google you to find out what sort of sickening things you’re up to. And I am reminded over and over again how much better off I am. 

It’s like syrup of ipecac, really. Thoughts of you. And there are some nights when I just need to fucking purge. 

Maybe the more I do it, the less traces of you will still be with me. 

Well…one can only hope.

The Houdini Effect

Fuck fuck shit piss motherfucker twat cunt FUCK.

OK, now that I got that out of the way…

As may be apparent, I am kind of pissed. It seems the Welshman has disappeared without a trace. This is just one of the many, many, *sigh* many guys who’ve done this to me – just another in a seemingly endless line of guys who walk around like they’re nice and make girls [read: me] think they’re charming and great, but they’re just masquerading douchebags.

The scenario: there’s a date [or three in this instance] that are very fun and wonderful. Then there are plans for another two dates. He tells me how much fun he has with me. I think maybe he likes me. I send a text the day after our third date – no response. I send another text the day after that – response, then nothing to a follow-up question. Days pass.The previous three dates he had texted to see if we were still on, but this time – nothing. The day of the planned date comes and goes.  Now it seems he is just another foot note in a chapter of my dating life: The Houdini Effect. Now you see him…now you don’t.

And the whole time I’m racking my brain trying to figure out what I did, or what I didn’t do, or what I said, or what I didn’t say.  Conclusion: I did nothing wrong. At least, that is my conclusion for now.

Next thing, I’ll be getting a text from him in two or three months just like all the others do. “Oh hey, how you been?” he’ll say. How have I been?! If you really cared, you would have asked, oh, three months ago…when you had a chance. GO FUCK YOURSELF. Ah well, I have his first season of The Office [British version]. Guess that’s my consolation prize.

Still need the subtitles to understand what the fuck they’re saying. Fucking Brits.

Other news:
- Still stressing about school. But I’m obviously procrastinating and thus causing my own problems.
- Finally got my check from work. My friend told me that it was in the office. Will pick it up tomorrow. Yay!
- My cat still has dandruff, so I put some bacon fat on her food. Maybe that will help.
- I had sex with my downstairs neighbor. This is a whole story in and of itself that I just don’t have time to address at the moment. He’s moving in a week. To Arizona. I was hoping for a repeat performance, but he is also currently blowing me off. Fuck.
- I’m putting $5 on the Welshman texting me sometime around July 4th. Any other bets?

**UPDATE: Just got a text from the neighbor. There could be a possibility for some more sexytime later this week. My vagina can’t wait.

The Last Sunday of April

It’s a gorgeous day outside. Over 80 and sunny. Supposed to thunderstorm later, but that’s a hazard of springtime and I won’t let it get me down. My new spring dress hangs ready in the closet for dinner tonight – a second date with a charming Welshman I met a week ago. We met at at Sox game. I told myself I wasn’t going to do that again [date customers] but he was lovely and sweet, so I said, ‘What the hell.’ Our first date was at a bar I always wanted to try – the Beantown Pub, downtown off Tremont Street. It was awesome. Six hours of chatting, laughing, stories. We have apparently both had problems dating recently – he said Boston girls suck, I said Boston guys suck. We’re perfect for each other. He’s texted me every day since. I don’t want to jinx it…but he is just so sweet and adorable, I could really see letting  myself  liking him a lot. At present, he has pretty much my full attention. Other quick facts: he’s 32, lives in Cambridge, and works for a consulting firm. But he doesn’t like to talk about work – instead, he likes to as me questions about myself. I think he might be an alien or some kind of hologram. If the CraigsList killer hadn’t been caught yet, I would worry about this one – he seems too good so far. But I like it. So long as things don’t fall apart tonight, he’ll be taking me to the Celtics Eastern Conference play-off game on Tuesday. The Celtics are currently up 2-1 over the Bulls. Hopefully they win tonight, and then again Tuesday – making for a spectacular evening at the Garden. Then barring any other disasters or me turning into a psycho bitch [which I am trying hard not to be], he has roof deck tickets to a Sox game the first week of May. It’ll be my first game attending as a fan. I’m very excited.

I’m also excited about this possibility…that maybe there are nice guys out there…and maybe I have found one, who seems genuinely interested…in me. Bizarre.

Other news:
- The semester is wrapping up. Cue massive amounts of stress. It’s cool, though – I have a to-do list that I have created, and am working on checking the boxes. I got one massive, stress-inducing thing out of the way already: “check.” Only four thousand left…
- Human resources decided not to process my paperwork creating the position for me that I’ve held since September, so I didn’t get a much-needed paycheck last week. My work-study money ran out, so my boss set it up so I could be paid from her grant. But nooo…HR had to FUCK SHIT UP and NOT do the paperwork that was submitted twice – the first time being back in December. So I’m broke until they can get me an advance paycheck – the same kind of advance I’ve had to get three times this year because they “forgot” to put in my hours. Ah, well. Who needs money? Not me!!
- My cat has dandruff.
- I finally put sheets on my bed. I’ve been sheetless for over a week. 
- Apropos the last item: I am a lazy bastard.
- I’m going to go do some work so I can enjoy dinner later. Twelve-page paper about the adverse developmental effects of IVF and assisted reproduction…here I come!

Updates.

• I went out to the bar on Thursday night, and ran into a guy I met and hooked up with on New Year’s Eve.** I’ll call him Neighborhood Dude. He’s a fun guy, so I went to talk to him and danced on him a bit. Things progressed, and he said, in a kind of cute, begging voice, “Come home with me.” I was already down before he asked – so I responded, “Well, we’ve already had sex, so it’s not like my numbers would be increasing. Done and done.” Then, we danced some more – and Bar Guy [who works there, and at whom I threw the paper airplane at a week before] walked by. I saw that he was there but I didn’t acknowledge him [because he was busy] and he didn’t acknowledge me [probably because he was busy]. But instead of acknowledging me at that point, he said to the guy I was dancing with, “If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it, [name]!” Yes, the song had just recently played. But the irony was not lost on me. I told Neighborhood Dude, “You have no idea how funny that is.” Then we left. We went back to his place, but it was a little weird. He’s not cuddly or very affectionate – not that I expect that, but it certainly helps getting…umm…the systems turned on. There was a little of this and a little of that, but we both fell asleep before the sexytime. I woke up the next morning to the alarm. I got up, put my clothes back on, and was going to leave. My hand accidentally knocked a mirror on his wall and made a loud noise, which woke him. I apologized, and said I was leaving, and walked over toward him. He stuck out his hand, I took it, and he kissed my hand. Then I said something about having a good day at work, and then, “…okay. Bye.” The last time we hooked up, I bounced before he woke up, but left my number on a bank envelope on his bed. Never heard from him. A few weeks after that I saw him at that same bar, and he came up, gave me a hug and said, “Hey! How are you? I woke up and you were gone…” I said some bullshit about having something to do. But the role reversal made me laugh. This update is getting really long. The point was about having Bar Guy see me with Neighborhood Dude. But Neighborhood Dude is cute, funny as shit, and intriguing. Just wish we’d intentionally hang out at some time instead of leaving it up to chance. 
• Oh, the sex. Yes. I should address that. I met a sweet guy from Ireland through a friend, and we had sex. A lot. And it was awesome, as I mentioned before. He’s adorable, dark hair and blue eyes, tall [at least 6 feet - though I didn't spend much time standing up with him...], funny in a cute way, cuddled with me, held my hand, told me I was beautiful and had awesome breasts [never a bad thing to hear]. But he lives in Ireland. Though, it’s strange…when we were lying in bed, talking, one of his arms around me, the other holding my hand, him telling me stories about Irish history, I thought: “Ohmygod…I would marry this guy.” In a second. I’d do it. If he said, “Hey, I’m coming back to Boston…let’s get married!” I’d most likely elope with this adorable Irish dude who was awesome in the sack and a complete sweetheart. Highly doubt it – but I’ll keep you all updated.
• School and work are fine. Nothing interesting to note there.
• My birthday is on Tuesday. YAY!
• Ugh, all this sex talk has mentally worn me out. I’m done for now.

**Just realized I never blogged about New Year’s Eve because I was on hiatus. It. was. awesome. and. INSANE. Briefly: Got drunk, went to a party, made out on a stairwell with a guy [he was all up in my Spanx], went to a VFW Post bar with some other random dudes, left, ran into them again on the street corner, they offered weed and convinced us to come back with them, we did, got high, met Neighborhood Dude, he put his face under my dress while we was in the kitchen with our friends, made out in the bathroom [all the while me being on another planet due to the pot smoking], then we left, went home, looked at the pictures the next day – and wondered how the FUCK any of that happened. And we really just intended on going to our friend’s party and having a relatively quiet night…