It’s been over a month since I’ve gotten laid and I’m getting kind of twitchy.
My near miss booty call with JP two weeks ago is one thing. We’ve been drifting apart for a while now so I was really only upset about going 30 minutes in the opposite direction of home to stand outside of his building like a crazy stalker at 5am. He has since promised to make it up to me. I’m not holding my breath.
But this past Saturday night has really got me wound into a sexually frustrated tizzy.
[Quick context: my grad student roommate has been accepted into a PhD program at UNC and is leaving for North Carolina this week. Saturday was going away festivities and as someone who never misses an opportunity for a bender, I went along for the whole adventure which started at brunch and ended with last call.]
The details of the day are insignificant. Somewhere along the way I ended up flirting/chatting with one of the few other singles on the adventure named Dave. I thought we hit it off decently. We had both done our part to make the awkwardness of “getting to know you” small talk as unawkward as possible, and when we were making our last venue change from the Astoria beer garden to a dance club in Harlem, he decided at the last minute to come for one drink on the premise that if it sucked, I would split the cab back to Queens with him.
When we got to Harlem, being the always sketchy friend that I am, I offered him some ecstasy. We both took some—but not quite a full roll—and proceeded to enjoy what was a surprisingly awesome DJ. We danced some, chatted some, went out for a few cigs, and in a group full of mostly couples, more or less partnered off. After we turned down the second shared cab back, I had a decent idea where things were heading. When I mentioned I wanted to swing by my place on the way back to his to take my dog out and grab a change of shoes, I thought I was pretty clear about being DTF.
Only it didn’t happen.
After I walked Lucy, Dave suggested that we hang out at my place for little longer since he was out of weed. Okay, cool. Roomie wasn’t home. Lucy is a cock block but manageable. Then the conversation turned to how he had just got out of a relationship a couple of weeks ago and not being in a rush to settle down and how everyone in our mutual circle is super coupled up, etc. Then he said he needed to get home. I got a hug, kiss on the cheek, and phone number out of it. But no sex.
The good news is that we have mutual friends and live in the same neighborhood. I will (hopefully) have a second chance this weekend. And if not Dave, well then I’m honestly encroaching on poor choice territory because dear lord I need to have sex. A vibrator and internet porn just aren’t doing it anymore.
ways to my heart:
- smack my ass
- smoke me out
- call me princess
All I’m going to say is that this is more true than I should be willing to admit.
(via trashylittlefuck)
Shameful conduct from tweeters… and evidence that to many guys we’re only worth our tits and ass. Gosh, I am so sorry Ms. Jolie doesn’t want to die an early and horrific death - a suffering she witnessed first hand- because y’all think you’ve got some kind of entitled ownership of her breasts.
tweets compiled from sad-teeth .
Behold, Our Great Society.
Filed under Why We Still Need Feminism.
Update: I was trying to figure out the word to describe these twerps. Creepy. These tweets are fucking creepy.
Liz holding the ampersand.
Friday, at the GSEX end-of-the-semester party, we presented Dr. Hutchinson, Department Chair, with none other than a purple and teal ampersand GSEX logo screen-printed backpatch in honor of her retirement! After we had cake and other deliciousness, party-goers signed it with sharpies.
I’ve been missing the GSEX Mafia recently. I can’t believe it’s been two years since I graduated.
There are not enough fan girl squeals for this picture.
Here’s a link to the clip for those who haven’t seen it. (It’s hilarious)
in the south we don’t say “you’re a dumb fuck” we say “bless your heart” and i think that’s beautiful.
(via cocopadre)
