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Talking bodies

26 Feb

Dear friends and family who I am close with.  Look away.  This post is not for you.  This is a post about sexy things that you don’t need to read about.  Go away.  You do not want to read any further than this.  Trust me.  Too personal.  You’ll never look at me the same way.

You’ve been warned.

Go now.

I’m particularly talking to you, my sister.  Stop fucking reading.  You do NOT want to read.  I’m going to talk about naked things.  Casually walk away.

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Le Swoon

13 Feb

You guys!! YOU GUYS!!  That gif was totally me at the end of my date last night.  Holy Lord almighty.  Swoon.  SWOON, you guys!!  Are you swooning?  I’m still swooning.  I want to spend the entire day just melting and turning into a giant puddle on the floor.  Then I’ll pick myself back up and melt all over the place again.

God bless, #4.

We met up at a restaurant near my house.  I was early, as per usual, and was the only customer in the place.  He walked in and I thought to myself, “hot fucking damn, he is fit as fuck.”  He knows how to fill out a polo shirt.  Looked way hotter than in his pictures.  Like, I felt my ovaries beating hot.  I had to restrain myself from asking him to father my children.  He sat down and immediately faced the bar and I thought, “Fuck, he’s totes not into me.”  Whatever, we’ll have a few drinks and then I’ll go home and line up the next date.

We drank, we ate, we talked politics, family, dating, traveling, pizza, drinks.  I don’t know.  We talked, and he was interesting, and smart, and funny.  And I poked him in the arm and it was rock hard and then I thought, “stop touching him!  He doesn’t like you,” because he was facing the bar.  AND THEN he nudged my leg and I thought, “I’m going to touch his body.”  And then we talked some more, and then I poked his arm again and my ovaries started beating again.  And then he lodged his leg next to mine and my immediate impulse was to pull it away and I thought, “do not move your fucking leg.  You will leave it there touching his.”

But then he asked for the check.

[SAD FACE]

It was a little after 7:30, we’d been there for 2 hours – I could have sat there for 2 more days.  Okay, fine.  Read all the signs wrong, clearly if he wanted to leave then that meant that he was over it.  He was naturally charming, and was being polite in hanging out, and he was ready to go.  And I was bummed.  Then he said, “can I walk you home?” Obviously, I said yes.

So here’s this handsome, younger gentleman walking me home and I had that inner dialogue with my slutty self.

  • Slutty Self (SS): You should just sleep with him.
  • Rational Self (RS): Do not do that.
  • SS: Don’t you want to see him naked? Imagine what he looks like under that shirt?
  • RS: You playing the long game here, or do you want him to touch you all over and then never hear from him again?
  • SS: Is that a bad thing?  Because look at him.  Invite him in the house.
  • RS: Do not invite him in the house.
  • SS: Don’t you want to touch his peen?
  • RS: If you wait, maybe you can touch it more than once…

There we were on my porch and he was looking at the house, and I knew he wanted to come in – but I was not going to invite him in.  Instead, he kissed me on the porch.  I wanted to maul him.  To climb him like a god damn mountain.  I restrained myself.  So he kissed me again, and my inner slut yelled to me, “you’re five feet from the couch, you could be on top of him in less than 2 minutes.”  I thanked him for a good time, bid him adieu, and went into my house where I melted onto the couch.

Of course I needed to immediately start thinking, “WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN NOW?? IS HE GOING TO CALL ME?? WHAT IF I NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN??”

Five minutes later he sent me a message in the dating app (because I hadn’t given him my number) thanking me for the date and saying even if I wasn’t sure about a 2nd date, that the kiss is something important to check out.  I immediately wrote back and told him I had a great time and gave him my number.  And in the first few official text messages he wrote, “You were as good a kisser as I imagined.” And that’s when I died. I am dead.

I mean, like, what?  WHAT JUST HAPPENED??

Of course my head told me to take a deep breath and calm down, my throbbing ovaries were making plans for where we were going to do it, and my heart is making plans of its own.  Here’s the thing: this (if there is a this) will be a casual thing.  It will be nothing more than that.  It will burn hot, and it will burn fast.  We all know that the hotter the flame the faster it burns, and I need a slow burn. As much as I may want it to be more than casual, it will not be. So I’m going to keep going out there, and meeting other guys.  The Tutor and I are going out again tomorrow.  I will not get my hopes up (haha, who am I kidding?).  I will let this play out.

And I’ll keep checking my phone to see when he’s going to respond to the text that I sent him this morning.  It’s been 2 hours and he hasn’t responded.  I’m never going to hear from him again.

I ordered a few new bras.  You know, just in case.

Why hasn’t he responded to my text?? Oh wait.  He just did.

Catherinette: Cock Blocker Extraordinaire!

1 Jul

Cock blockers. Let’s talk about them. How much we hate them. Remember going to a bar in college, making nice to some hot cutie, knowing that your privates were gonna rub up all against them, and then your dreams being shattered by a friend who would ruin it all? Yeah. Me too.

And remember the time when your friend who had cock blocked you had made a romantic connection and you decided it was time for pay back and you went ahead and became that cock blocker? Yeah. Me too.

I’ll do you one better. Remember the time when my secret boyfriend told me he was going to the beach and I told him not to get pregnant? Yeah. So does he. Apparently it’s been on his mind so much that he decided not to go to the beach. Why? Because he said I had jinxed him.

  • Me: You’re welcome! Or I’m sorry.
  • Him: You’re awful.
  • Me: ANY TIME!
  • Him: No. Not any time.

I’ve decided to randomly stop by his desk and remind him to make smart choices. Thereby ensuring no one night stands for him.

I WIN!!

Mending a Broken Heart

27 May

I’m typing this with Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-dusted finger tips.  Life is hard.  Relationships are HARD.  Especially when they’re imaginary relationships with secret boyfriends who are busy dating other people because they don’t realize that they’re in a relationship with you.  Ugh, I freaking swear.  How hard is it to get a little attention from your secret boyfriend??

So as I wrote earlier he’s off on a date – probably with the woman of his dreams – while I’m busy on the couch dissecting EVERY SINGLE interaction we’ve ever had to see if I can determine what it all means??

Last night I may or may not have sent him a message on Facebook.  And then I may or may not have checked Facebook every 15 minutes for like ALL NIGHT waiting for his response.  And did he?  No, he did not.  And did he read it?  Yes, he did, approximately 20 minutes after I sent it.  WTF?  I mean, I know hard to get and all, but seriously?  This is bad, right?  This means we’re breaking up, right?

Listen, living life as a 15 year old angsty insecure teenager in the body of a 34* year old woman is totally getting old.  I think life was just easier when I didn’t have a crush on someone who is young enough to be my son (assuming I got pregnant when I was 11), and was busy catching up on all the “Game of Thrones” seasons (Hodor).  But, no!  I just had to start talking to this hunky dreamboat with green eyes and now I’m torturing myself.

This morning I went running to a friend of mine to tell him EVERYTHING.  He was super ecstatic and informed that this dreamy dreamboat with the green eyes was totally interested in getting in my knickers.  He was, however, playing the LONG game.  Apparently, the reason that he didn’t respond to my Facebook message is that he doesn’t want to seem to eager (bullshit).  And also, apparently, the ball is in his court.

Fuck his ball.

And fuck his court.

But also, I totally hope he stops by tomorrow and tells me how horrible his date was and that he totally wants me and then he touches my boob.  That could happen, right?  Or, you know what’s probably going to happen, because this is what happened the last time I really liked someone?  He’s totally going to hit it off with her, then in 2 years they’ll be engaged, and in 3 they’ll be married, and she’ll be pregnant.

And I’ll still be sitting on this couch eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and wondering why I’m still single.

*Or 41, whatever.

Light the Spark

26 May

Light it up, people.  Light.  It. Up!!

What the fuck does that even mean?  I don’t know.  Who cares??  Because you know why?  You know why??  Because my DREAMY secret boyfriend with the bedroom green eyes came to visit me at my desk today.

I mean, yeah, whatever, he may have actually been stopping by to see someone else and then just popped over to say hello, but whatever!!  AND he confessed to stalking me on Facebook.  That happened.  He just mentioned a picture that I posted in October of 2014.  Um, hello, we’ve only been Facebook friends for like a month.  You know what this means, right?  It means he wants in my knickers!!

And you know what else??  He is single!!  And employed!!  And have I mentioned how dreamy his green eyes are??

So what if he’s a little bit younger than I am.  In the grand scheme of things 11 years isn’t that big of a difference.  I mean, sure, he was 10 years old when I graduated from college.  But, you know, whatever.  He has a penis, I have somewhere for him to put it.  It’s like a match made in heaven.

And who cares if like technically it would be sexual harassment if I asked him out since I’m considered “senior” and he’s very (very) “junior”.  We don’t need to tell anyone about it, right?  RIGHT!!

The writing is on the wall, people.  We all know exactly what’s going to happen next – I’m going to pursue him LIKE MAD (but not really, more like I’ll just kind of happen to cross paths with him as often as possible), and then he’ll start dating someone and I’ll end up alone on my couch with a pint of ice cream and my fat pants.

Is it wrong…

3 Jan

…to want to show your nipples to your boss? Because if its wrong, I don’t want to be right.

Hot damn he is FINE!!

Be Still, My Teenage Heart

21 Jan

Twilight is one of the stupidest franchises in the history of ever.  I hate everything about it.  Everything.  I tried to get into it, I really did.  Love the whole Vampire thing.  “True Blood” is one of my favorite shows, I rarely miss an episode.  The first “Underworld” movie is one of those that I could sit through over and over again.  So when I heard about “Twilight” I thought I’d give it a shot.  Yes, I knew it had been written for teenagers, but I had read and loved the entire “Harry Potter” series and loved every single word.

Here’s the problem with Twilight: it’s written from the point of view of a whiny teenager who just mopes around.  Nothing happens in the first part of the book.  Nothing.  A friend of mine had read it and loved it and I kept asking her, “when does it start getting good.”  She should have said, “never” because that would have been the right answer.  As soon as I got to the part where his skin is glittering in sunlight when they’re in a meadow, I shut the book and though, “Fuck this, I’m out.”

Fuck you, Stephenie Meyer, you write drivel.  Also, your name is spelled wrong.

My inner teenager died a little with that whole Twilight thing.  It cried, and then committed suicide for having been exposed to it.  The last thing I ever expected was to give another shot to stuff intended for a much young audience.  Yeah, yeah, I know I have an unnatural fascination with Big Time Rush (I blame my nephew).  And it’s not like I’m buying concert tickets and putting posters of Logan Henderson on my wall.

You can imagine my delight when a friend of mine recommended The Hunger Games, and I took her advice.  Obsessed.  Totally obsessed.  Yes, it’s totally like a teenage version of The Running Man, but who the hell cares.  Peeta Mellark is in it and I heart him.  You can bet your sweet ass I’m going to buy myself a mockingjay pin and I’ll see the movies when they hit the theaters.

You can also bet your ass that I’m totally team Peeta and I think Josh Hutcherson is a tiny dreamboat.

Yours, Mrs. Peeta Mellark.