Good morning! Or, more like, disappointing morning… Last night I dreamt of the perfect man, and, to my dismay, I did not wake up in silk sheets being adored by an Adonis. So yeah, waking up in my brother’s old room to a dog that likes to sit on my head: disappointing.
I’ve been dreaming up perfect romances and men for a while now. And it’s the absolute worse, because how can any man compare to a man meticulously engineered by my subconscious? I used to dream in nightmares: snakes, murderers, the average IQ of my high school class, more snakes. Now, I have great dreams, which makes my real life seem like a very placid nightmare.
It’s sad, because, recently, the only people I’ve wanted to date are the men I’ve cooked up in my dreams. The extent of my romantic life can be found in the fact that my dreams, about these perfect men who adore me, are not about sex. They’re about foreplay. The worst part? I’m not even the one reaping the benefits! My sex life is so non-existent that my subconscious would settle for giving a fictitious dude a blowjob before calling it quits.
I haven’t even been sexless for that long. I don’t know what I’m complaining about. I’m still growing out my post-heartbreak bush. See, just like how some guys grow a post-breakup beard, I do something similar: I do No-Shave-November in June like a fucking champ. I know I’m ready to get back out into the dating world when I find myself calling my wax lady.
Anyway, it’s only been a few months, which is definitely not a long time compared to other dry spells I’ve had, but I’m not even attempting to get out here. I always try to dress nice, do a lot of cardio, go out to bars and flirt a little; I always operate under the belief that maybe there are good guys out there. And, I know that there are, I just happen to repel them. Correspondingly, any man who approaches me, anywhere, is not to be trusted. Which is why I’ve avoided going out in general.
In other words, since I cannot trust my judgment, I have refrained from interacting with the opposite sex: I’ve been avoiding the men I’m attracted to. Not entirely, cuz mama still likes some drama, but after I get the guy to pay attention to me, I run away somewhere else.
Maybe my dreams are still nightmares, except now I’m afraid of men and there’s nowhere to run off to. Thanks, Mateo.
Man, I’m so pissed. But you can’t blame someone who doesn’t understand the principle accountability. So, don’t worry, Mateo. Still, I needed an outlet, so, I started working out more: Every step I take, in my Soul Cycle classes, I imagine I’m stomping on his smug face.
However, I wish I were one of those people that could express anger through sex. Then I’d be angry, but at least I’d also be getting laid, and I wouldn’t have to pay $30 every time I need a little self-therapy. But seriously, it’s the best $30 you can spend (beats spending it at a bar, all to avoid the men whose approval I crave).
I joke. I don’t like meaningless sex. It’s kind of like getting tickled when you’re really sad. You won’t feel tickled, you won’t laugh, it’ll just be kind of uncomfortable because you’re sobbing all throughout the process. Not that I sob during meaningless sex. Not that I have ever had meaningless sex, Mom… Actually, I’m not even lying. I’m telling you, I hate meaningless sex so much that I always try to give everything meaning.
And, I know this is my problem, but I feel like it’s hardwired into my nature. It’s just who I am. I like to feel wanted physically and emotionally during sex, sue me. I swear, you can’t say this as a liberal, twenty-something year-old. It’ll repel men forever, because for some reason I have to pretend like I don’t give a fuck about my feelings, in order for someone to take them into account. For some reason, I have to pretend that I’m something I’m not, in order to trap a man into wanting to be with the person I truly am. And for some reason, we’re told they desire this. We’re told that men don’t like women who like them: “Be mean to keep them keen.” For what? The chase? Bitch, now I’m literally running away from you. Chase me. Or don’t… See if I care…
Am I doing it right? Fuck, I hate that piece of advice: “Be mean to keep them keen.” Well, what if I’m naturally nice? And I am, I mean I’m bitchy, so the execution is always botched, but my intentions? The epitome of niceness!
I sooooo want to be a lesbian. I would be, but I’m afraid of vaginas, terrifying creatures. It’s like the 9 circles of hell, but pink and fleshy, so like the nine circles of hell. Although, I have heard that dating another girl is hard, but I love women. I’m so deeply a feminist that I love everything that femininity represents. It’s so damn powerful the way we’re able to move mountains just with our communication! Also, footnote, I hate women that call themselves feminists and then say things like, “I just don’t get along with other women, because they’re so toxic.” How can you hate your gender but love your gender at the same time?
Well, at this point I could just keep the angry rambling going, but the truth is. I’m so pissed at dick, that I’m conflicted by it. Which is why it’s probably popping up in a lot of my dreams: the member I have to constantly serve but am never served by. The phallic figure and I have some issues to work out. And to be honest, I have no problem with the member itself, it’s the body attached to it that I dislike. Interestingly enough, I feel men say something similar about me. Yet, other women love me, except lesbians, they don’t really like me that much. Can’t imagine why. So maybe I’m not meant to be a lesbian either, just a lonely woman with tons of Lhasa Apsos. Great.