Virginity (Or The Lack Thereof)

There are so many things I wish I’d known before I lived.

I keep reading these articles that all have the same title:
“Things I Wish I’d Known Before Having Sex.”

I guess, for a lot of people, sex is a really big thing that happened in their lives. It marked the end of their childhood, or… something…

I have a hard time relating to people that see having sex for the first time as a really big major thing. To be honest, I don’t even remember the first time I had sex, except that the bleeding wouldn’t stop, which made me really scared and generally upset, and it turned out that was because I also got my first period that day. It was a big day for me all around.

The guy was not significant. He wasn’t my first boyfriend, and he wasn’t at all special, unless you count that about a month prior to me letting him stick in I told the school counselor that he was suicidal and got him thrown in the looney bin for a week. He was, literally, suicidal. He even detailed it out for me how he planned on doing it. Apparently, he had a lot of problems, because the counselor was aware of who he was and didn’t even flinch at the idea he might shoot himself. So…
I made such poor life choices in high school.

What did I wish I knew before I let a large half-Egyptian-half-Irishman violate me?

The articles address a lot of things I understand but can’t relate to, such as the concept of “losing” something by having sex. I never saw it that way, and even though no one had ever really told me that virginity was special or that having sex out of wedlock makes you less valuable as a person, I knew a lot of people that WERE told that. For me, having sex was just a thing that had to be done, and that most people did in high school. I wasn’t good at fitting in with my classmates, since I was a year younger than them all and completely lacked normal social skills. It was for this reason that I dove head first into having sex freshman year. I was 13 and historically a late bloomer, so I just got it out of the way. Was I ready for it? I dunno, prolly not, but I don’t think it left any lasting effects on my psyche.

They also tackle things like, “it wasn’t like the movies,” and “I thought we’d be together forever.” I’m consistently baffled by the number of people that really thought anything in life would ever be the way they thought it would be. I went into it knowing that A, it would prolly be gross and painful, 2, that we would NOT be together forever, and D, that it would probably be laughably short on top of not being very fun. I knew that. I’m a realist, and it lived up to every single one of my sad, sad expectations. It hurt, it was brief, he sweat a lot, and we broke up within the month. Honestly, he should have been a LITTLE better, since he was three years older than me and a giant fuckboy (man-slut, for those of you not up to date with the lingo). I would later find out just how terrible he was, along with how much worse he could have been.
I wonder if thinking about the past is this disappointing for everyone….?

Real talk: I wish I’d known that I was asexual before I had sex. I’d still prolly have had sex, because why not, but maybe I wouldn’t have spent the next decade plowing my way through everything with a pulse trying to figure out why sex was so boring to me.

It’s a little bit fitting that my first time was with a crazy person, seeing as how I was on the fast track to being crazy myself. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t upset when that relationship ended at the four month mark. I WAS an idiot 13 year old, after all. I don’t look back and miss or desire that terrible crap, though. Like, some people look back on their first time with fond memories, like making love on a blanket next to a lake, surrounded by the lights of fireflies at the end of summer… and then they had to return home from wherever they were, but they’ll never forget that night for the rest of their lives! Then there’s me. I just went through a period where I wanted a happy ending… and Hallmark slash Disney promised me that I could find those with a high school love. They are dirty, dirty liars. This is why I’m so fucking cynical.

None of my high school boyfriends were worth a damn. Actually, none of my boyfriends, short of the most recent (who I should make a post on, because there was really nothing at all wrong with him) were REALLY worth a damn if I’m honest with myself. A lot of my romantic and sex life is made up of me seeing a man (or woman) and my brain going, “Maybe that one can fill the gaping hole in your life where a sense of security and well-being should be.
Spoiler: They did not.

If you’re reading this, I’d love to hear what YOU wish you’d known before you had sex, or if you have a particularly lovely or horrible first time story, I’d also love to hear that.

Super Don’t

So I was talking to this guy on OkCupid back in November and December. He wasn’t really that interesting but these days I try to give everyone a proper shot. Our schedules never lined up for a real meeting, and then he went radio silent in mid-December.

I wasn’t about to lose over it. It’s not uncommon for internet conversations to die out.

About a month later, he sends me this at 9pm on a Wednesday:

“Hey, so we were talking and I enjoy chatting with you. The thing is I was…. I was curious if you remembered me. I thought maybe you did? Or maybe you would? We were already together. And by that I mean we dated slightly and had sex a couple of times. It was 7 yrs ago. I never forget a face. Especially a beautiful one lol. I immediately knew your name. I even remember basically where you use to live. As far as what happened? Idk your not sexual or you seem kind put off by everything then, and you just disappeared. I guess I’m telling you because I just wanted to be honest.”

So let’s start with, I super don’t remember this human being at all.
I drank a lot when I was 20. I also got around. The ages of 17 to about 23/24 are a blur of alcohol and dick. They all blur together and I don’t remember anyone in particular outside of the people I actually had a really real relationship with. I used to keep track, because when I get a pap-smear sometimes the nurse asks me how many partners I’ve had, and it’s always an awkward moment when the fat chick in the room just looks at you and says, “I dunno.” Once, when I was 18 she told me to count real quick and I was like… it’s over 30… do I tell her it’s over 30? I refuse to answer the question, now. I tell the nurse that I’ll discuss it with my doctor.

I don’t regret that, just to be clear.
I’m not ashamed in the least. If I were a dude I’d get a trophy for the amount of sex I’ve had in my life, but because I’m a chick it’s supposed to be shameful. Fuck that. I regret nothing. I was the queen of hit it and quit it. Mostly I used a lot of them for free food… but my ulterior motives don’t diminish my bitchin’ dick score.

Anyways.
I ended up being honest… I debated lying and pretending to remember, but I was worried he might ask follow up questions, and since that whole part of my life is just a blur, I would prolly fuck that up. I never lie if I doubt that I can follow through with it.

I asked him how we even met, trying to spark a memory… Just for the sake of remembering if he’s one of the ones that had a weird kink, or was really bad at sex, or maybe he was just boring as shit…
Apparently I picked him up at a club, proceeded to take him to a gay club, then took him home and after about a week I ghosted him.
I’m so class. (please note the sarcasm) Sounds like me, though!
I remember nothing.

So, obviously shit is different now… I’m an aromantic asexual that would rather punch you in the throat than let you get your dick near me. I don’t blame that on being over-sexed. It’s just who I am at the moment. Shit changes. People don’t changes, but everything else does.

He still wanted to talk to me, especially knowing that I wasn’t messing with him and seriously didn’t remember him. Apparently… I’m gorgeous. (duh). Also, I seem to have left a good impression in spite of being the female embodiment of every douche college guy that picks up girls in nightclubs. He remembers me as spunky, funny, Invader Zim loving chain smoker.

I guess that’s nice.

But he’s boring as shit…. I know that’s awful… but he is… he really is.

But… I shall try not to judge till I see him in person… whenever that might be, since he’s got a whack work schedule.

Why is this my life?

Totally Not My Business

So I’ve mentioned previously that I am friends with what I would call “An Inordinate Number of Poly People.”
Is it REALLY an inordinate number? I have no idea, but I know a lot of them.

Anyways, one of the primary couples are splitting up.

Of course, that’s none of my business, so I was excited to hear about it.

I don’t even understand how poly relationships really work, anyways, because even though I’m aromantic and asexual I am also a crazy possessive, jealous psycho. So the idea of sharing just doesn’t work with me. But, just because I don’t like relationships myself doesn’t mean I don’t like watching one deteriorate.

I never understood this couple, even if you remove the poly element. The guy is quiet, reserved, doesn’t like people to touch him, and doesn’t care for parties. He doesn’t say much in a crowd, and I have no idea how he’d manage to score multiple women, just because he’s so quiet. The girl is the opposite of that. She’s loud, outgoing, and tends to be too touchy-feely for my taste. I know that relationships aren’t for me to pick apart, but I never got this one.

A while back I was in a Facebook group for asexuality, because sometimes it’s nice to have that sense of community. I have since left, because communities are full of idiots, but before that the guy in this couple joined. He expressed surprise that I’m asexual and we chatted about it. He’s just coming around to the idea he probably is too, and he wanted to get together and talk about it sometime. I was not opposed, but we just never scheduled a time for it.

So when I saw that the girl was looking for a place to live, I had to ask why. The response was one of those big blocks of text you get when someone upset is telling you something. It breaks down to this:

  • Stuff’s been bad for a while
    • I already knew there was poly drama
  • He’s been trying to sabotage the relationship
    • Touches on that he’s autistic and depressed, but how that’s no excuse for his behavior
  • He wants to cuddle, but nothing sexual
    • She relates this to him just wanting a friend and not a relationship
  • He suggested them being “just friends” and how painful that was for her

Okay, so she’s equating love to sex. That bugs me, but I guess that’s how she sees it. Some people do. My mother doesn’t understand a romantic relationship devoid of sex, either. It’s a common kind of perspective. I can’t fault her for having a common and accepted perspective of love, even if my view differs greatly.

What I’m wondering… is whether she knows he’s venturing into identifying as asexual. I mean, that’s a weird, confusing thing for people to deal with. I just did that last year, and thank fuck I wasn’t seeing anyone at the time.

That kind of revelation… That moment when you realize that your feelings that you’ve been dealing with and suppressing aren’t necessarily strange and even if they are you’re not alone in feeling them… That’s a big fucking moment. You’re relieved, but you wonder if this is even a real thing. You like the sense of community and belonging, but wonder what this means for the future if you accept the label. You inevitably get depressed trying to think of a person you know that would be okay with a sexless relationship and coming up with NO ONE.

I don’t know what it’s like to accept that you’re homosexual or bisexual or trans. I would never try to explain that feeling and all the emotions that come with it. When you’re homosexual, though, even if everyone you personally know is some kind of terrible bigoted, hatefully religious, probably republican fear monger, we’ve reached a time in first world countries where you are aware that there’s a big, raging, beautiful LGBT community out there that will help you pick up the pieces of your shattered world and push you to just be overwhelmingly yourself. While they can’t put your life back together and they can’t fix the people in your life that might be shitheads about it, at least they are there and it’s relatively common knowledge that they are there. It doesn’t make everything better, but I would imagine it makes you feel just a little less alien during a time in your life when you think the world might end.

Being asexual is not like that at all. First, most asexuals just assume they’re probably hetero, and that sex is just over-hyped bullshit. Somewhere during puberty asexuals will feel out of place because all your friends talk about is which of the rest of your friends they wanna bump uglies with. (Puberty is revolting.) You justify it by thinking you’re a late bloomer, or maybe you sit down and seriously think if you might not be hetero and that’s why you don’t have those thoughts, or maybe you react like I did and jump on anything with a pulse because overcompensating totally works (it does not, but I thought it did). We had an LGBT Alliance at my school. All my friends from freshman year turned out to be gay (spoiler alert: not all of them are still gay… but that’s an entry for another day), so I was in that club. We talked a lot about lesbians, gay men, homophobia, hate crimes… not once did we talk about asexuality. We also didn’t cover that in health class, and I didn’t hear about the word till I was 26 and playing around on Tumblr.

Not experiencing sexual attraction just wasn’t a thing when I was growing up; so, my lack of feelings obviously indicated I was broken.

Not to go too deep into it, but high school was one big banner of me realizing I was broken in a myriad of ways. So, I just racked this up to, “more shit you need to learn to fake.” Also on that list was emotional stability, confidence, non-violent thoughts, and happiness.

This guy is older than me. So it’s been longer for him than it was for me to find out that there are other people in the world that have been faking sexuality. On top of that, he IS autistic and depressed. That wasn’t just hateful shit that comes flying out of a hurt person during a breakup, that’s actually his reality. So, while I feel for the girl, because I’m sure being broken up with hurts (I’ve never been broken up with in a really real relationship… because I’m the one that freaks out and leaves when shit gets weird), I have to look at this from all sides.

Not that it’s really any of my business.

Train Wrecks

So I’m a train wreck.

This isn’t news. You read a couple of my entries, and you know it to be true.
BUT… did you know that I also attract OTHER train wrecks?
It’s true. I’ve had a variety of them.

  • The white trash lil misogynist boy that broke up with me when I told him that at 13 years old, I was unsure if I wanted kids.
  • The suicidal one that I actually previously had thrown in a psych ward.
  • The meth addicted one that ended up homeless and arrested.
  • The severe alcoholic white trash with a caste complex, who was married.
  • The introverted gamer with no life aspirations, who resigned himself to taking care of his bipolar mother and brother.
  • The recently released from rehab stoner with no life motivation other than to get more drugs.

This mostly isn’t shit I found out LATER, either. In most of these cases I went in knowing these people were uber fucked up. I call it my “I can fix them” phase. I have since decided that I don’t care to fix anyone, even if I could do it. The train wrecks have NOT gotten that memo yet, though.

So, you may recall my entries about the guy that I literally scared the fuck out of. Well, he texted me last night while I was watching Doctor Who.

To recap:

  • I met him at a poly party, and we were the only 2 non-poly people.
  • I took him home in spite of better judgement, because he winked at me a lot… and I dig that.
  • He had a car and a job, but was living in his car.
  • After a lovely weekend, he didn’t want to pursue anything potentially romantic because I talk about killing people a lot and that creeped him out.

So I haven’t heard from him in a while, and I’m sitting at home watching Doctor Who when I get a text. I’m a polite kind of person, so I answer and inquire as to his welfare, and he tells me about how he’s doing awful… because he got a DUI and lost his job.

I’m just like… kay…

We chat a little bit, mostly about his potential jail time, and then he asks if “when [he] gets his shit together we could go to a movie or something.”

I’m not going to lie to you guys… In my head I immediately went, “I don’t need your shit, so no…” Instead I brought up the fact I creeped him out, and he said, verbatim, “My recent line of thinking is that if I get to know you better, I may not be so unnerved by some of your quirker quirks.

So you’re telling me… That you got picked up for a DUI, and while you were in the drunk tank you thought real hard about this and think that getting to know me better would make me less creepy. You did this while sleeping off your DUI…

Okay, maybe it didn’t go down exactly like that, but he was already barely skating by when I met him. Job, car, and an address are my bare minimums, and he didn’t have an address… I don’t have the time or energy to deal with an unemployed, homeless guy. Ain’t no one taking up residence in my house, and ain’t no one getting none of this without a job. My standards are admittedly low, but they’re not THAT low…

This is so predictable, though. I always attract men that totally fuck their lives over the moon, and then try to fix their lives and want to update me on it all the time. Like they’re going to woo me with how well they can piece their lives back together. I’m always just like, “Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked up in the first place, bruh.”

The meth addict, especially, used to do this. He did it for years after we broke up. Every so often, I’d get a text or a FB message about him and how he was. He updated me on jobs and relationships, everything. He was so excited to tell me when he got married and about his kids, and he wanted me to go meet them. Eventually I had to explain to him that I don’t even go out of my way to meet the kids of friends that live in my own city… I was not about to drive 45 minutes away to meet the wife and kids of an ex boyfriend… We weren’t friends. So… I blocked him on FB… Lol.

But seriously… train wrecks. They errywurr, and they attracted to me.

Infatuation

So a weird thing happened to me.

I got invited to a poly party, which is where a group of polyamorous people get together. The ones I’ve been to previously were based on a lot of poly play… lots of hooking up… As an asexual, and someone that isn’t keen on sharing, either, these parties fascinate me. I tend to go just to people watch and see what happens, and people tend to invite me because… I have no idea. Cuz I’m pretty? Maybe?

Anyways, so my IT guy is what the 1950s housewife community would call a sexual deviant. He gets around, and whatnot, so I invited him along. It seemed like it would be right up his alley. I also invited my friend that goes through men like tissues, and a few of my regular friends. They’re always curious. I feel like they think these parties turn into orgies… which isn’t what happens. It’s more like all these people gather in an area, and then they pick who to hook up with…. while I sip vodka and take mental bets on who picks whom.

This was actually an unusually tame poly party, though. It ended up being a lot of Cards Against Humanity in the living room, and Truth or Dare out back. I kinda kicked off the Truth or Dare… I started with Never Have I Ever, as a conversational device, and the it naturally escalated into Truth or Dare… but the thing is, even though it was a poly party, and most everyone there is sexually free and has low inhibitions, no one really knew what to dare people. There were only a few good ones… some streaking, but it was weird because it just tapered out since everyone was too weird to actually say anything interesting.

So I was there to observe, and there was this guy, who was pretty cute, outgoing, and seemed fun. He stood next to me in Truth or Dare, and he was really nice, and he kept doing this thing where he’d wink at me. I dunno what’s with that, but he’s got these gorgeous hazel eyes, and the winking just did it for me as a human being. I was like, I MUST KNOW YOU RIGHT NOW. He’s about 5’11”, hazel eyes, dark curly hair with sun bleached highlights that he hid under a cowboy hat made from truck tarp most of the night, with a big worn leather jacket, worn out jeans, and a cowboy boots. None of that fits what I ever see myself picking up somewhere. He looked a little country, a lot of blue collar, and GOD DAMN IT HE KEPT WINKING AT ME WHEN HE TALKED TO ME. My friend dared us to kiss and we more…. made out a little bit… then somewhere over the course of the party we ended up talking a lot.

So, I’m an asexual at a poly party, which sounds unheard of or like the plot from a weird indie movie. It’s not actually THAT weird, though, since being asexual doesn’t mean I’m sex repulsed or something. It just means that when you’re looking at me like I’m a steak, I’m looking at you like you’re a book. (I really enjoyed that metaphor, so I hope you all got it.) I mention that I’m asexual right out of the gate to people with any kind of interest in me at these parties. It’s only fair, since they’re usually there to find a new person to connect with sexually, and I’m not. So I just get it out of the way that I don’t wanna bang anyone at these parties. Half the time they find that interesting, and half they find it a little whack. Either way, it usually puts me off the table, and if it doesn’t then I also mention my complete disdain for sharing. I’m not poly. I don’t share well. What’s mine is mine and if you touch what is mine, I will fucking kill you in your sleep. One or both of those can deter almost anyone at a poly party.

So imagine my surprise when I’m talking to the winking cowboy and it turns out he’s not poly. Nope. He just came with a friend, easy as that. Also, he thinks I’m quite lovely, and he’d love to take me out on a date. WEIRD. Also, quite flattering.So we chat, and while he makes the clarification of “do you ever have sex” the asexual thing doesn’t even seem to phase him.

Me: “Yeah, I have sex with people I date. I’m just picky and wait till like date 3… which is apparently off-putting.”
Him: “You can wait till date 10 if you like. I’d just like to take you out.”

So we talk. Everyone I invited starts to filter out of the party. I’m intrigued, and he’s adorable, and he thinks I’m adorable, which is correct, and…
I don’t really know when I broke up with my last boyfriend. It’s been a few years now, but I didn’t manage to write it down or anything, so I don’t know exactly how long it’s been since I had a relationship. I do know that it’s been about 4 years since I really had anyone over the house. I just kind of barricaded myself into my house and kept everyone outside of it… So I decided to take him home, and then had a ridiculous panic attack about it the whole way there, as well as after I got there and he was meeting the dogs and drinking a beer.

It was an awful experience, but he was totally cool about it… he liked all my dogs, even. He was great.

One of the stipulations for him coming over was that we weren’t going to have sex.

WHY WOULD YOU BRING HOME SOMEONE FROM A PARTY IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH THEM?!

I have no idea. The plan was just to have him over. He had said he’d mow my lawn in the morning and that he was handy, and it kinda made sense at the time. We would just cuddle and he was so nice, and then he’d mow my lawn and I’d buy him lunch. It was a cute idea and he was totally down.

And that’s almost what happened, but he asked if I wanted to make out before we went to sleep… and I did… so, being the impulsive and completely unpredictable even to myself person that I am, and… also really wanting to make a surprising but positive impression… we just went for it. I couldn’t help it. The winking. He’s so damn cute.

Sex is more fun than I remember, and maybe that’s just because it’s been so long since I had it. Last time I had sex before this past weekend was about a year ago, with a guy at a poly party I went to… but I didn’t like it. It was awkward and I didn’t really want to be there, I’d just been too drunk to really put all that together into a thought. This wasn’t like that. It was fun, there was laughing, I didn’t fee like I was under any kind of obligation or anything… I just got to enjoy it, mostly….

FUN FACT: If you go like a year without having sex, your vagina shrinks.

He was great about that, too, though. Like… he listened to me and didn’t make anything a big deal, and we both went to bed exhausted.

I never know what to do when I wake up with someone. It’s weird, because I wake up early all the time, and the people I bring home never do. They always sleep till forever unless I wake them up and throw them out. I got up, took the dogs out, took a shower, watched some Parks & Rec… and then went back to sleep… because it sounded nice. He was still cute in the morning, and when he actually came to he was still a sweetheart. Our Sunday broke down to lots of laying in bed, more sex, Chipotle, HE MOWED MY LAWN AS PROMISED, and we cuddled up and watched Dale & Tucker VS Evil with the dogs.

It was the cutest day, and I was really excited about it. It was just nice. Previously it’s taken me months for that to be a day I can spend with someone… new relationships tend to feel like we need to be out doing something….

I made him laugh because overnight I went from a constantly apologizing panic attack back into the catty, smart mouthed, teasing kind of person I was at the party. That’s me. So he something about “if this works out” and I went, “I’m committing to nothing, right now,” only to be thwarted by dogs, cuz they definitely committed. But it was really nice and I think I like him.

I had to take him back to his car… which was sad. I wanted to keep him tied up in my house forever, instead… but he had to go help his friend with her car… which is neat. I like a man that can do things. The thing is that all I wanted to do was text him… but I didn’t. I waited, and he actually ended up texting me. So I guess he likes me. He actually wanted to come back over and hang out, but I was doing all my neglected chores… and I felt like I’d been assaulted….

Drinking three days in a row and having a bunch of rough sex is a young girl’s game… I’m no longer equipped to handle that without consequences.

He might come over tonight. I would like that.

TBH I really kind of want to hope this could work out into a really real thing… For a while now it’s felt like I’m not IN the world… I’m asexual, I’m aromantic… and no one has even been aesthetically pleasing to me in ages… I would love to feel again.

Updates: All Crammed Together

I keep saying that I’m going to make a YouTube channel… but I just can’t figure out how to start. I’m thinking of just posting videos with the air of, “Yeah, I’ve been making videos for years. If you like it, you should subscribe and be part of the cool kids that follow me on YouTube. New videos every Sunday.” Essentially just fake it until I get any kind of real following. I’m not sure if that’s a good approach or not, but it’s what I’m thinking of doing.

Just imagine it… I get some followers who freak out, because I’m perpetually referencing things that happened in videos that were never actually made…
“So as you might recall from last year…”
What? You only have four videos…
WHAT DID I MISS?!
And then if/when I get any kind of actual following I can do flashback skit vids, in which I dress like a scene girl or a goth or something, and pretend I’m 12… and just say something a retarded kid would say in a YouTube vid. Yes… I kind of like that idea. And my real vids will be shot with my nice Nikon camera… and I’ll shoot my throwback vids on my laptop cam, or ipad cam… yes… that could be a lot of fun, and it can be a running theme of my vids to do flashback skits… hrm… ideas.

Is it sad that that’s almost all I have to talk about right now?
Yeah, kinda.


Let’s see… so I had a three day weekend. Thursday when I got home, though, the ceiling panel to my attic space had fallen out. That’s spooky. That’s how god damn horror movies start, for fuck sake. So I was paranoid as hell about that… That was really the perfect topping on my good day gone disappointing, for you see, I was supposed to go on a date. Date cancelled last minute… and actually, when I looked at their profile this morning, they’ve deleted themselves from the site entirely. So… that was shitty. Friday, after NOT being murdered by the chick from the Grudge, who I was certain prolly lived in my attic…

Grudge

This is exactly what I envisioned waking up to in the middle of the night.

I didn’t really do much Friday, to be honest with you. I wanted to. I’d love to accomplish all kinds of thing with my days off, but I suffer from a complete lack of motivation to do anything unless it relates to me being able to keep living… That’s literally the only reason I get up in the morning for work. So I pretty much did nothing…

AND THEN THE TORNADO SIRENS STARTED.

If you don’t know, we have weird weather in Colorado. April blizzards, give way to May thunderstorms, which cause floods, and then trigger June tornado season, which will, in turn, evolve into high temperatures and the whole state being on fire during July and August… It doesn’t rhyme, but it’s the accurate analysis. So there I was, I was at home, deciding to do the only thing I’d done all day, which was to get Chipotle for lunch, when the sirens started to go off. I am terrified of tornado sirens. I don’t know why. I’ve never been in a tornado. I’ve been in hurricanes, when I lived in FL, but not tornadoes. We’ve seen tornadoes here, living close to the plains, as we do. We’ve seen one nearly touch down on our street, though it didn’t do damage to anything. Mostly, though, the ever steady march Eastward makes the chances of getting legit hit by a tornado in my area smaller every year.

Still, the fucking siren is god awful. I guess it’s because no one associates that noise, which I refer to as an air raid siren, with good thing. They never sound a siren when you’re winning a house, or when candy is going to fall from the sky. Sirens mean that we are under attack or that mother nature herself is debating if she’s going to murder you today. Also… SILENT HILL.

I joke about Colorado being a lot like Silent Hill, all the time. We get weird fog. We have air raid sirens. We catch on fire a lot, so it can rain ash. Plus there’s that whole mountain terrain thing. All in all, Colorado isn’t nearly as terrifying as Silent Hill, but we have many discomforting parallels.

The only editing was to make this image sepia and drop in the characters... Like I said... Colorado is much like Silent Hill.

The only editing was to make this image sepia and drop in the characters… Like I said… Colorado is much like Silent Hill.

Anyways, I ventured out in spite of the sirens and got my beloved burrito bowl. When I got home… there were more sirens. The sirens probably went off every 30-45 minutes for the rest of the day. Even if you aren’t scared of the sirens, that’s REALLY FUCKING UNNERVING. It didn’t help that the weather and radar apps on my phone would go off right after the sirens to confirm the tornado warning, nor did it help that the only person I managed to get a hold of was my terrified friend 2 miles away who was locked in her house drinking wine and sending me SnapChats of “YES, IT’S FREAKING TERRIFYING. I SHALL LET YOU KNOW WHEN WE ARE GOING TO DIE.”

Fortunately, the panic attack about dying passed as I got closer to when I needed to get ready to go to derby. I hadn’t been to a Women’s Flat Track Roller Derby bout in a long, long time. I was really excited! But I also hate going to the venue. Lol. The Fillmore, while lovely on the inside and definitely historic as it opened in 1907, has really shitty parking in a shitty part of town. There is NO WHERE to park in that area. It’s insane. But I found a spot 2 blocks away, and I thought that would be good. The bout was great. Here are some pics.

Fillmore 20150605_181151

After the bout we went to the Wendy’s next door. Here’s the thing about that… this is all on Colfax: a notorious street in Denver famed for housing meth heads and prostitutes (who are assumed to also be meth heads). In spite of the work they’ve done to try and revitalize Colfax, mostly by turning parts of it into an art district, this particular area is still pretty much a lot of meth heads. So the Wendy’s had a bunch of them sleeping in the front… and one woman wandering around trying to score more meth… She could have been 30 for all I know, but she looked like the Crypt Keeper with boobs. It was awful.

So my friend convinced me to hit karaoke, and I convinced her husband to take us to my car, since he wasn’t gonna go to karaoke and I didn’t wanna walk 2 and a half blocks past that many meth heads. They come out at night like some kind of nightmare creatures. I can only assume they live in the sewers, as I never see them during the day. They are not to be confused with the masses of homeless that live on Colfax, either. Those are two VERY different groups of people.

Karaoke was a bore. I don’t even actually like it anymore, but I like seeing my karaoke diva friend, so I staid for like an hour.

Saturday I got woken up by a text from the Saturday receptionist at work. She was headed to the ER, so that meant someone needed to cover her and help train the new Saturday receptionist… I called boss lady and told her, so boss lady went into work, and finally managed to get two office girls to come in and split the day with the new woman. That was good, because before that it was looking like it was going to be me… and I was so bummed about it, since I was supposed to be on vacation.

Mom and I saw Insidious 3 that afternoon. I can’t say it was GOOD, but I didn’t feel like I wasted my money. I’ve never been that fond of the Insidious franchise, but it was the only thing that sounded interesting. It wasn’t too bad, which is all you can ask from most horror these days.

Sunday, Mom came over to assess the hole where my attic panel should be. Then we went to Lowe’s without measuring it… eventually decided on a fix that didn’t require ANYTHING from Lowe’s… and then we hit the pharmacy and the grocery. I thought I was gonna overdraw my bank account at the grocery… I’m always so broke this time of month… but I didn’t! And that’s what’s important.


Today boss lady proposed a raise and job change to me.

Our old title clerk left for a better job a while back, and her replacement, for lack of a better word choice, sucks. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Everything gets rejected, and while they write ON THE RETURN FORM why the title got rejected, she’s incapable of correcting it, noting the error, and not doing it again. She’s also terribly disorganized, and has no idea how basic and easy this job could really be. It’s been infuriating for the boss lady, and annoying to me, because I have to hear about it.

So… boss lady suggested to me that I learn titles. Then we’d train some other people to do my job.

I’m pretty sure I can do it. It’s very repetitive work… I’m uniquely organized at work… and, hell… I could use a raise.

So… that’s exciting. I’m really happy about it.


I am NOT happy about my dating life. Every time something fails it just feels more and more like I’m never going to find anyone. Also, I get grossed out every time someone wants to fuck me. It’s just gross. Like, can we get to know each other before I compromise my comfort level to accommodate what you think is a basic human need? I understand normal people like sex. It’s supposedly very fun, and great… but like… I don’t. I want someone to hang out with and drag to metal shows, and lay around with me on a Sunday while we play old video games and order Thai food…

No one is into that idea… And it’s totally devastating.

I think dating was easier before I realized that not feeling sexual attraction and not liking sex is a thing with a name and a community. Sex was just part of the deal. You put out to lure them in… and… it’s just something you do in exchange for their time. Now I’m like, “No… why would I want to fuck you? Can’t we NOT do that, but do everything else in a relationship? Why am I the one that has to compromise? Also, while we’re at it, can you NOT be a clingy, sappy, totally grosstastic mess over me? Like can I just live?”

Being asexual and aromantic, as interesting as it is, and as nice as it is to have words for my feelings…. is fucking terrible. I mean no one wants to die alone… but the only way to get someone to stay with you is a relationship, and the only way you seem to be able to entice people to a relationship these days is by letting them fuck you… and I’m just plain grossed out by all of it. In the event I could land a relationship, I’d figure out the sex part… but like… do we have to start there? Do we? Cuz I fucking veto that. It’s unacceptable.

I actually had someone tell me today that sex is basic human interaction.
NO. No it is not.
Think of all your friends, relatives, acquaintances, and people you meet on the bus. If you have fucked all those people… then sure, maybe sex is basic human interaction. If you have not, then you’re like me and can relate to people without slapping your genitalia together in a sweaty repetitive motion. Like… what is the world like for that person? Have they fucked their parents, grandparents, school teachers, and grocery cashiers? I need to know.

Even my most sex positive, totally promiscuous, polyamorous friends don’t fuck EVERYONE THEY HAVE EVER KNOWN. A lot of people, sure, cuz that’s their lifestyle and it’s great that they can have those kinds of open relationships with people… but like, they haven’t fucked me, or their relatives, or our mutual friends… which implies to me that FUCKING IS NOT BASIC HUMAN INTERACTION.

So… yeah… I’m gonna die alone… and everyone in the world that wants to fuck me is apparently is terrible.

So I Think I’m Asexual

I know what you’re thinking…

Why in the hell do you think that?

Well… don’t freak out, and let me explain.

So it’s been 151 days since I last had sex… and in that amount of time, I’ve thought. You see, for the past 12 years I’ve never gone more than two weeks without having sex. That’s a disturbing statistic when you do the math and figure out that I was 13 when I lost my virginity. It wasn’t until a couple years after that, when normal people were losing their virginity at 15 or 16, and some held out to 18, 19, even 20 or 21 years old. I just thought that having sex was something you did when you got to high school, and the sooner you got it out of the way, the better. Then somehow it just became a habit.

Boys like sex. Boys like girls that have sex. I want boys to like me. So, that means I should have lots of sex.

I never really gave a lot of thought to the fact that you’re supposed to like sex. I just figured that it was one of those things in life that get better with age, or experience, or something. I perfected what I should sound like, what I should do, etc. I had a lot of partners, in the pursuit of trying to perfect those things and find the person that would want to stay with me forever. I never found that person, and I never got to a point where I really enjoyed sex. I tried all sorts of things, too, from different fetishes and lifestyles, to seeing if I was a lesbian and sleep with girls. It just never felt… comfortable. I didn’t like it.

Then, I hit this dry spell. I dunno why, but I just stopped trying to get laid. It was upsetting at first. I was just used to getting sex twice a week. It was a standard. A status symbol. Something that kind of boosted my ego about how I look, etc. But as time has gone on, I’ve realized that I hate the idea of having sex with someone. I don’t like the new feeling. I don’t like having to pretend that I’m enjoying myself. I don’t like what I’ve trained myself to do in my pursuit to be an ideal sex partner. It’s all kind of revolting… and on a level it’s kind of shameful.

Maybe you just haven’t had sex with someone you’re comfortable with, who can make it good for you.

Well, maybe. At this rate, though, the number of men  and women I would have to plow through to find someone that made me comfortable and allowed me to enjoy sex would be a ridiculous number. I lost track of my sexual partners around 30… when I was 19. I’m 25, now. That’s a lot of addition.

So, I’ve thought about it, and I researched it. I knew that asexuals existed, but I’m really fond of making out, so I didn’t think that applied to me. Turns out I was wrong and that can totally apply to me. There are asexuals that don’t feel any kind of attraction or romance, and there are some asexuals that go so far as foreplay, but don’t like sex. There are others that have sex after they fall deeply in love with you, ones that like to kiss and cuddle… all kinds of asexual people just existing in the world. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like my feelings were weird. It’s like a weight has been lifted off me mentally, just thinking about it.

Okay, so why are you sitting there all teary eyed if you’re happy?

I think the hardest thing in my life right now will be trying to decide whether to tell people that I’m asexual… and then explaining why I like to kiss people. Part of me wants to tell them, because I’m happy and excited to feel like I understand myself a little more, but a big, big, bigbigbig part of me is scared as hell. My friends aren’t really judgmental people, don’t get me wrong. My friends are hetero, homo, bi, poly, and everything in between, but I think I’m the only one identifying as an Ace… And the problem is that I’m going from being a sex-obsessed slutty ho to an Ace. EVEN TO ME that is some confusing ass bullshit.

I don’t want people to think that I’m being a hypocrite, or that I’m trying to be someone that I’m not because I’m ashamed of my life, or that I don’t know how I feel so I’m filling a gap in my life. It’s my own fault, because I never really talked to anyone about how I felt about sex. I was just raised to compartmentalize everything kind of emotionally weird. You don’t burden people with your unnecessary shit, or they won’t be there when you need them for something real. (Real, in this case, means when I thought I had breast cancer and got crazy wasted and cried a lot.)

So… that’s where I’m at.
I’m really happy to understand myself better, but I am terrified of trying to tell anyone about it…