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After reading Holly’s post from yesterday, I find myself reflecting on my life and, more specifically, my relationships. In the post, she talks about Doug Hutchinson marrying a 16-year-old, but when I first read the title, “When love is more destructive than sex” I really thought it was about something else. The title by itself evoked a feeling from me that I don’t have nearly enough, a feeling that I deserve more than I think I do. And I thought that the post was going to discuss how hurtful it can be when there’s sex without love, but one of the partners is experiencing it as sex WITH love. I was surprised to find I was wrong, but at the same time realized it’d be a good topic for a blog post of my own, especially since I haven’t been serious in awhile.

I’ve had quite the menagerie of relationships in the past decade or so. Many of those relationships were like this:

… idealized, over-dramatic, volatile, impractical, and often destructive. When two teenagers fall in love, they may do stupid things, but they really didn’t know any better.

And then when I hit 16, they changed to more like this:

When I was a teenager, I thought True Love conquered all. I thought if it was really True maybe it would last forever and we’d get married and have babies and a house of our own. I wanted to be by my True Love’s side all the time, damn the damage to the rest of my life–in fact, I even thought the damage was sort of romantic, because it meant I was sacrificing for Love. I thought that True Love means thinking that your Lover is perfect and worshipping them. And if he asked me to do things I didn’t want to (rarely sexual, more often in terms of disrupting my studies and friendships), saying “no” wouldn’t be very Loving, would it?

But around 19 or so, I started dating older men and it was like this:

… being idealized by someone, having them treat you like you’re Edward Cullen and you’re made of unicorn kisses and it’s so cool that you have a car

Currently, my ideas on love are a mash-up of all three. I like men my age, because we can be irresponsible and have fun together and just go nuts, and we can blame it on alcohol and/or being young. I like throwing myself 100 percent into relationships because I know that if I hold something back, and it fails, I’ll think it was my fault for not opening and giving myself to him completely (emotionally, people, jeez). I like older men because they’re more mature, accomplished, stable, and (sometimes) romantic. They usually have steady jobs that will be lifetime careers, a house or apartment of their own, and their ducks are in a row.

The problem with dating guys my age is that they are immature and financially unstable and totally volatile emotionally. But the problem I’ve discovered with dating older men is that they are usually broken. The reason they’re still single is because something fucked up their heart at some point and they just never recovered. Something huge had to have happened to cause it, yet the man usually won’t tell what it was, so it leaves me in constant fear that I’ll do the same thing to him again and that’d be just terrible.

However, no matter what the age difference between me and a partner, I’ve always had a hard time separating sex, love, and infatuation from each other.

Many times, I’ve mistaken infatuation for love and it usually ends a little painfully, but overall it’s okay. We really liked each other and we burnt it out too quickly. Or I really liked him and he tried but just couldn’t so we got really close but then ended it. Or the reverse, he got really close and I couldn’t so I ended it.

The problem scenario for me is, and has been for years, mistaking sex for love. I tend to jump into relationships entirely too quickly, put my whole heart into it, get completely absorbed by him, and just let him completely permeate my existence. Then I allow it to go too far, too fast, and it results in sex before it really should. The problem here is that I then get so emotionally attached because of the sex, I can no longer figure out if the guy likes ME or only certain parts of me. Nor can I establish if I actually like him and am falling in love with him, or if that’s happening just because we had sex. And the worst part: it can’t be undone. Once you tip the scales to involve sex before there’s love, it’s nigh impossible to make love the influential weight, or even to level them out again.

The hurt I’ve felt because someone didn’t love me the way I loved them, or even LIKED them, has been nothing compared to the pain I’ve felt when I realize there’s no love behind the sex. There may be some sort of affection and caring, but it’s not actually love. Though he may say that he loves me, that doesn’t make it true. (Of course, the reverse is also true: If he doesn’t say he loves me, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel that way, though why a guy wouldn’t just say it… boggles the mind.) And though I’ve continually told myself that if I just hang in there, eventually he’ll really love me, I know that it’s a fallacy and that I’m putting myself through more pain than necessary. Yet, I also know from my past experiences that I will do just that. I will always keep going. I will not give up until it’s simply too much to bear.

I will continue to put myself out there 100 percent. I will continue getting pushed around, and hurt, and taken advantage of, and disrespected. I will continue to not get what I want or deserve. But I also will continue having the good times while they last, and enjoying the feeling of being around someone I care about.

If I don’t try, I’ll never know. So yes I’ve “slept on the floor” just to be near someone, and taken off of work to help them with something trivial, and driven an hour to spend 30 minutes with them, just because he wanted me to. I know it’s destructive. I know it’s ridiculous. And I know it’s a volatile way of life, but I also know this:

If I don’t put my whole self into it, and risk putting my heart in his hands, why should I expect him to do the same?

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We were eating lunch and I found where I left off on Holly’s Blog. The post contained this paragraph:

And yet I can’t help but feel unfulfilled being unfilled. Partly this is because of baggage: if a guy can’t get it up for intercourse that means I’m not sexy and if he refuses intercourse that means he doesn’t really like me. (Especially as popular wisdom holds that guys never refuse intercourse, therefore if it happens to me it must be really bad news.) Some of that’s probably true, too. Not “augh I’m a warthog,” but “I don’t have a close enough relationship with anyone for them to be fully sexually open to me” really is true, I think.

This is how I feel way too often. I mean, I know I’m not the prettiest princess and that I really need to lose a few pounds… or 20… but that doesn’t mean I’m not attractive. Plenty of guys let me know that I’m attractive. I get hit on or at least checked out, which actually feels nice, all things considered. But what feels the best is when close friends make it clear that I deserve so much, because they think I’m special and fantastic and attractive. Granted, most of them might just say those things because they want to steal me away from Irish or something. Who knows? I can only TRY to understand what others think.

I guess what I just don’t understand then is how my current situation happens. Holly’s post was talking about having a lot of everything-but sex which was leaving her feeling unfulfilled. I would love that to be my situation. At least it’s something. I just hate feeling like I’m not attractive because I’m not getting attention from the only one who actually matters.

And it’s not like we haven’t talked about it, either. Because we have. Ad nauseam. But I guess it just goes to show that what they say is true, you can’t change a man. But I keep trying regardless.

Maybe I’m being too needy or something again.

I’m gonna go catch up on some more Pervocracy, since Irish is playing Fallout. So much for hitting the gym together. Sigh.

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I’m bored at work and catching up on some Pervocracy posts. I’ve finally hit 2009! I came across this post where Holly bought a Tac 9 and just felt like sharing it, since I’ve been looking at getting a gun sometime this year or so.

My own fascination for guns has always gravitated toward Sig Sauers in general and after seeing this other post of Holly’s, my love was cemented. I looked for this very gun and found it new or gently used for around $300-$350. Not bad for a gun. Granted, it’s a .22 so the hit will be like a mosquito bite (hence the name I guess), but it’s also a lot cheaper to fire at the range.

Irish has a Colt 1911 .45  that has a lot more stopping power (the bullet is twice the size of the .22), and if ever a home invasion occurs, would be the one I’d go for, but I kinda want my own, less testosterone-filled gun to just…have. I feel like I’d be able to feel better about things in general with my own protection by my side. I’ll need to get some sort of permit for it, but working in the heart of Baltimore might be a decent reason. Who knows?

This all started years ago, but didn’t really come to fruition until he showed me his gun (giggidy) and let me hold it, cock it, and pull the trigger on an empty chamber. I had this huge rush of just….wow. I’m not even sure why, but I felt empowered. I felt self-sufficient. I felt safe. Ever since then, I’ve had occasional dreams/nightmares where someone breaks into the house and I grab the gun, come clomping down the hall, cock the gun loudly, hold it pointed straight at the guy’s chest, and yell “Get outta my house!” Sometimes with “Dirtbag!” or something tacked on the end there.

I know I’d never be able to actually do that, but it’s interesting to know my subconscious is more daring than I.

I’ve seen the pink Sig Sauer Mosquito online, but can’t find it in stores, and honestly don’t think it’d be nearly as scary against an invader as the all-black version. But I own nothing pink, really. I think it’d be fitting that the one pink thing I’d have would be a gun. I’m still debating which one I want, but I’ve got all the time in the world.

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Holly posted a bunch of questions for men that I’ve always wanted to know the answers to, and I was reading it off to Irish the other day. Surprisingly enough, he started answering the questions. I wish I had written down his answers, since my memory is terrible about these kind of things. But I know it was fairly enlightening, and totally unexpected. Usually he doesn’t answer any of my questions, especially without sarcastic remarks.

So I tried again. There was an episode of How I Met Your Mother where the concept of how every relationship has a reacher and a settler. Marshall was trying to get Lily to tell him which he thought they each were. It was interesting, and I tried asking Irish his opinion on it. I still can’t decide how I feel about his response. Fairly curtly, he said, “There’s no such thing. We’re perfect for each other. Shut up.” After many hesitations and attempts to respond, I finally put my arms around his neck, kissed his cheek, and said, “At least you admit it. And I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Not sure how I feel about it, but I know I don’t really wanna think about which of us is which. And who knows, maybe his snarky, sarcastic, blow-off response is true.

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I’ve been reading a lot of the old posts of the Pervocracy (reading them in order, but I’m only on July 2008) over the last few days and realized how similar, yet different Holly and I really are. Ever since I started reading her blog, I’ve been saying how similar we are, but I’ve realized over the last few months of entries I’ve read that we are decently different too. I had never thought that her want to be dominated would ever bother me, considering I want the same thing, in a way and I also enjoy dominating, but sometimes she can take it a bit too far.

The main reason I say all this is that she fantasizes of being raped/beaten (it’s hard to explain here, but she means it in a controlled, someone-she-can-trust way, not the stranger-with-malicious-intent way). The problem I have with that is my personal past. I’ve been raped. Repeatedly. Mostly within a relationship that I was too weak to get myself out of until several months of this had happened, but luckily I eventually did get out of it. I can’t imagine fantasizing about being raped, considering I’ve already had it done for real. Holly does talk about rape a lot and that she doesn’t approve of it and she touches on all the feminist issues surrounding it, but still. Meh.

Anyway though, besides that bit, Holly and I still have plenty in common when it comes to tastes in men and our activities with them. Meeting her in real life would be pretty cool actually, but I’m not hitting Seattle anytime soon.

Side note: It’s really hard to write a blog while watching How I Met Your Mother on the DVR. Commercials must be skipped on principle!

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Model Trains

“Kinky sex is a hobby like model train building — people labor for years in their basements to get good at it, and though most people don’t want to hear about it, other aficionados happily visit to check out their work. Vanilla sex is like running — it doesn’t take much equipment, it’s supposed to come naturally, it gets harder as we age, and it’s socially approved, but few people really work at it.”

Holly has done it again. Just wow. And though it was not of her creation, I find so much about this quote to be amazing. Just thought I’d share that real quick. Here’s s linkback for ya:


The One

“the idea that there’s a The One out there is less likely than vampire unicorns.”
~ Pervocracy

Oh Holly, how you brighten my day with random ridiculousness. Also, this concept is something I’m coming to realize. Even if you don’t think he’s “the One” (if you believe in its existence) it doesn’t change the fact that he loves you. So why not say “que sera, sera” and just let it happen. It’d be stupid to end a relationship just because you don’t think you’re fated or true love or something. Cuz really, any love can be true. So as long as he loves you, keep loving him. It’s really that simple. Kinda.


I want to write more, but not right now. For the time being, I just have to get this out. Thanks to Holly. Again.

“…parking cars is apparently a very masculine occupation. God knows I couldn’t do it; my vagina would get caught on the stick shift and I’d menstruate everywhere and then I’d probably start crying.”

Read the whole post here:

Hehehehehe…. I can’t stop giggling every time I read that excerpt.


“In sex ed, they told us that sex could lead to herpes, AIDS, babies,low self-esteem… but they didn’t mention backrubs.”
“Oh yes. Sometimes there are backrubs.”
“They should mention that in class. Teach the controversy.”
~ The Pervocracy

I agree with this so much. Too bad it never applies to me. With or without the sex. Sigh.


I know I haven’t posted in awhile but things have been a bit nuts. And I keep wanting to make this blog more and more public. At least in the respect of sharing more than just general rants. I want to write about the dirty, gritty stuff I think about or do. I wanna share everything about myself. I figure if I can’t do it with the man I love, I need to get it all out somehow. I don’t have a single person who I can share everything with. That should be Irish, I know, but he doesn’t want to talk about the stuff I need to share. Gah.


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