"That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works."

I've been talking to other "open relationship" guys on OkCupid, because apparently I'm open-minded now (?), and motherFUCK me -- leave it to me to find a Clinger in an open relationship.

How are you texting me every day, morning and night? Go text your main Bunny, Hef. The point of me exploring this option was that I wouldn't meet clingy people. How have you pushed a potential sidepiece to my "Please stop talking" threshold in less than 4 days? Do you have to have the open relationship because you talk too much for one woman to handle?

I get the sense his lady has had more success with this setup than he has.

He asked if I was OK because my most recent texts haven't been as enthusiastic or flirtatious, so I mentioned I was at work, and still debating if I can handle the open relationship.

He's still talking, "joking" that it's OK if I just want to be friends, but that I'll change my mind when I meet him.

OK, Karma, you've made your point: I behaved like a desperate, slutty Clinger with That Guy. I realized that on my own, and have tried to adjust accordingly, even with friends (minus the "slutty" bit). Are we done here?

And good work, dude -- congrats on being the reason I go back to giving people a Google Voice number instead of my real one.

Thankfully there's still another open-married guy. Hee. We like him -- he's dreamy and wants to go down on me. I'll have to name him. Probably, like..."Matt Trimony." Heh. I'm clever.

Slut Shame and the Blame Game

I had scheduled a date. I was going to meet an OkCupid person. We were going to go to a Philly taproom I've wanted to go to for years but never had time/company. They have fried PB&J, and I KNOW y'all don't think I'm above eating the HELL out of that on a first date.

Yeah... I can't. I started thinking about our conversations, the number of red flags I'd been letting pass because they were "just little things" that made me go "Hmm..." But when considered together, they make me really uncomfortable. I have a bad vibe I didn't get from the initial OkC messaging, but have had for the past few days of texting. I told friends about less than half of those "little things," and they told me to cancel, and cancel NOW.

But something in my brain felt guilty, like I should meet him because I said I would, because I said we'd at least be friends, because I flirted, because I took the flirting further than I should have, because I am a sexually frustrated attention whore, and because what did I expect would happen when I behaved that way?

Sound advice from a friend: "Don't help them think only with their dicks until you've at least seen their face."

On occasion it seems a self-proclaimed male "feminist" bloviating that, "Women should be able to express their sexuality without fear of being judged!" translates to, "I'm going to make demands on your time and behavior, and treat you like you owe me something, even when you're sick, or busy, or clearly don't want to." I guess I'm only free to express it when the whoring works in your favor?

But I am legitimately concerned, all bad Spidey Sense, and fuck that. I'm not gonna get axe murdered just so everyone at my funeral can remember me as NICE. (My friends wouldn't -- they'd be like, "GAWD, how was she such an accommodating asshole when her asshole never actually accommodated anyone?!" My mom would probably be proud I died polite, though... [Ahem. Too dark?])

Anyway. I should've known when I found myself telling him we had to go out Monday because I was "busy" on Thursday -- busy watching Scandal, but busy nonetheless.

It's possible I have more feelings than one normal person should, like maybe I evolved wrong, or missed a meeting. Because I shouldn't be blaming myself for being "slutty" here. ("Well, yeah, I feel like he's overstepping my boundaries, but how would he know I even HAD boundaries?") And if I'm actually worried about my safety (not a TON, but...a little), I REALLY shouldn't feel bad about either just saying "no" or blocking his number.

Wordpress is watching you.

Wordpress is kind enough to track the search terms that lead people to my page.

Here are a few:

• "Miranda Lambert slutty" (If by "slutty," you mean "fabulous.")
  
• "Kerry Washington receiving oral sex" (I wish I didn't want to see this, but I'd totally watch for at least a few minutes.)
  
• "Anal smug" (Nooope.)
• "americanwomanfuck" (Yes, please.)
• "woman on top sex positions" (yes, please, pretty please?)
• "glad I don't have balls" (Always.)
• "Netflix and chill pajamas" (THAT'S THE DREAM!)

I love you all, you depraved bastards.

Slutty von Slutwhore and the Case of the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy

Therapist assures me she can change my thinking of myself as "Slutty von Slutwhore."

[challengey face] You go ahead, dearie. It's so much a part of my lexicon that my phone knows the word "Slutwhore," so let me know how that works out for you.

Unless you're gonna, like, "Eternal Sunshine" me? Yes. I would like my mind to be spotless, please.

"Well, it sounds like you didn't feel slutty until [Thing] happened."

Um, yeah, in which "Thing" = "I started being slutty." Christ, I pay you for this?

Seriously, though, I'm glad she's planning to help me get past this, because I could REALLY stand to get laid without torturing myself after. It's quite a lot of tension at this point -- I almost feel bad for the unfortunate soul who has to be under me when I get unleashed. I might need backup dick.

N.B. Some of this has dissipated just with the passage of time. I know I wasn't "slutty" -- I made a few bad choices and fell for one wrong person who, intentionally or not, made me feel that way. But I learned from all of it, including the very valuable lesson that sometimes I NEED to get laid.

Besides, "slutty" is in the eye of the beholder, and everyone who beholds me doesn't see it. (And if you do, fuck you, go away.)

Liquor is quicker but pills make me brill.

My doctor recommended hippie sleeping pills made with, like, valerian root and unicorn meat, and I should write more often while they're taking over my body, because Christballs, I'm BRILLIANT.

I mean, we'll see how it looks in the morning, but at the moment I'm basically a slutty Chaucer.

The Urban Legend of Squad Goals

I've been debating joining a local blogging group, but I'm hesitant, mostly because I really do want this page to stay... I guess SEMI-private? I don't mind if close friends see it, because they know I'm a sailor-mouth nutcase, and strangers who happen upon it can follow it if they enjoy that, but I'd prefer that, like, my dad not read it, because...ew. And the same thing goes for professional-ish contacts. 

Also, I have some issues with the content, like... I don't know if I'm ashamed of this stuff or not. This page is basically my id's blog -- it's what comes out when I let go of my filter, which is admittedly faulty sometimes. I was in mixed company the other night and made some jokes I'd make here, but I was thinking about it afterward, like, "Why did you say that? They're going to think you're slutty and you've never even DONE that."

I alternate between a blustery, "Pfft, whatEVER, I give ZERO fucks what these people think. I am awesome and hilarious and my tribe gets me" and "I am a Carrie-Bradshaw-wannabe hack who's not funny OR sexy, and they're going to think I'm trashy and find my grandpa and tell him I say 'fuck' on the Internet.'"

Much like the rest of my life, I guess it's time to give some thought to what I want this blog to be -- if I want to continue the id of it all, or maybe write something else under my real name. Or both. Or neither.

UGH. THOUGHTS. We'll add this to career and personal goal development, because you know what I found out, you guys? There are some people who don't just obtain a job and then pray they don't lose it. They, like, DO shit to advance their careers and their lives, and they have these, um... "aspirations," I think was the word? Freaky, right? Next you're gonna tell me people really floss.