Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Ka-mun-i-kation


First, I want to thank Pinky's on 89th street for their free wi-fi, which is making my blog update possible. I have to admit that part of me thinks that pedicures are necessities, not treats.

Anyway, I relayed the following story to my shrink today, during our monthly appointment, and now it's your turn, dear reader (s). (I'm not convinced there are more than one of you, but I digress).

In a fit of bored and disgust with being ignored by the boys that I was fucking (the broker and the political consultant and his "jammed" schedule), and the client that I have a crush on, I decided to create my own fun and post something filthy on Craigslist. I wish I could explain why I delight in this so--why it's fun to see men get so wound up and how many married men are looking for lovers, but even more basic than all of that--I like to see how men market themselves on these website. They know that women get flooded with responses and I like to see how they chose to differentiate themselves--few do a good job at this.

My posting said that I was looking for a new lover--which is mostly true, but also, I'm looking for someone who I can talk to, who I actually like as a person, which I have had only sporadically these last few months (I could talk to the political consultant but he was so NOT empathetic and a little selfish, not to mention that he had no weird or unusual fantasies, so we mostly just had oral and regular sex. BOR-ING.) It also said a little about me including that I have more intellectual interests, am Jewish and that my age. I was honest and divulged that I was looking for someone who would NOT want to stay over, get emotionally involved or want to bond with me. I have pretty strict rules that I eventually want to break or get broken (I didn't mention this part).

There were no shortage of replies asking if I was real, calling me baby (my pet peeve), telling me what I need and why I am not getting what I'm looking for (one guy told me that having a pit bull is a cock block), remains never ending. Throngs of twentysomethings aren't getting laid in this town (what?! What are the girls doing??) and several times I was asked if I wanted to be the cougar--which is NOT my idea of a compliment or something to aspire to. I'm not even 40--a cougar? Really? And, what shocked me even more is that when I didn't respond, I got repeated emails from some men, resending their original response with an indignant note attached when I didn't rush to email them back and invite them over. I did speak to one guy--a self-proclaimed grand puba of finance, complete with his own hedge fund, who spoke to me like he was interviewing my vagina for a job (I used my grown up voice and all my big words when talking to him) who chastised me a little for not being more spontaneous and was disappointed that after talking to me for 20 minutes, I wasn't rushing into a cab and to his fancy "rental in a doorman building" to have sex that would, as he promised, "leave me grinning from ear to ear." Little does he know, but to women, that is code for, "I'll try to ring your clitoris like it's a doorbell because no one ever taught me the proper way to do this, but I am a legend in my own mind." I emailed him shortly after our phone conversation and declined our pending coffee date; he was surprised and told me again that I completely misunderstood him. Why would I want a lover that I cannot communicate with, aside from the fact that the vagina he was trying to interview on the phone came attached to an entire body? Would I expect that because he can't understand simple sentences of English, he can understand what my body is seeking?

It's days later and the emails are still trickling in--still a combination of men who are horny at work (do I make office calls? What are they expecting?) and other men who are STILL indignant because they didn't initially get a response from me. Surely, it was a mistake because I would want them. I'm just a foolish girl, who must not be real.

At the end, I chose someone who isn't Jewish, who knows that I'm in love with someone else, who doesn't want a one-night stand but an on-going relationship, who likes me in addition to wanting to fuck me, and despite myself, I'll probably date for a little while. Leave it to me to screw up a CL posting and get a relationship out of it.

Friday, November 12, 2010

You Can't Fool with Spirituality

I'm growing convinced that no one is reading this blog, but honestly, it feels good to be writing again, so alas, I'll just keep on keeping on.

The day began pretty bleak--I forced myself NOT to text/call/or email the famous client, though all week I've been thinking about him and making myself come; my other lover, the political consultant, is MIA and I'm sick of waiting for him to find an opening in his "jammed" schedule, so unbeknownst to him, he's out, so I did went to my tried to true: I went to the Bronx to have my cards read by the Spanish women at the Botanica and bought love candles. I have to go back on Wednesday to be "cleansed." AND, I posted an ad on Craigslist for a lover--of course, I got a ton of responses and wrote back a comprehensive mass email to the few people whose responses I liked and haven't heard back from any of them. Of course, it is Friday night, and I may be the only one who is home in bed with their dog.

During my reading, I was asking about the "Cuban" and the "Jew"--this is how I differentiate between the two men that I want to be with--the Cuban who is married but I cannot pass up the opportunity to have an affair with him, and the Jew who I want to marry. Liz, who read my cards, got frustrated with me--confused and she pointedly asked me who I want. "You cannot fool with spirituality"--and apparently, spirituality doesn't approve polyamory.

My plan seems so straightforward--I want to have an affair with the Cuban, while I follow the Jew and get back together with him. I told her this complicated scenario about having the Cuban's child and raising it with the Jew. I made it confusing for Liz and I asked too many questions and she got annoyed because I wasn't taking it seriously--I was playing a 'what if' with the spirit world. And she told me to choose. For nearly 3 years, I've been choosing the Jew and now I chose the Cuban--the wrong person, the one who is the opposite for me, that won't last forever--the one with repercussions.

In the meantime, while they are in their respective homes, neither of which are New York, I am seeking out that guy who will have afternoons free, who will do dirty things, not want to sleep over, who will pretend we're dating for 2 hours a week and not get in the way of the Cuban or the Jew. And, I will continue to light candle, say my prayers and take Spirituality very seriously (even though the Spirit world doesn't approve of my slutness.)

Happy Friday night!, reader (s).

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

House of Cards

I don't want to be your friend
I just want to be your love
No matter how it ends
No matter how it starts
Forget about your house of cards
and I'll do mine
And fall off the table, get swept under
-Radiohead.

I am not going to write about music, but I just have to say that this is one of my favorite songs in creation and if you ever want to see evidence of God's gifts to mankind, go see Radiohead in concert.

Now, about me...these lyrics are exactly what I was wrestling with last night--thinking about being friends and being lovers. Since my last posting in 2009, I've come to the conclusion that I am a slut. The word just comes out of one's mouth sharply and we've assigned all these awful meanings to be word, which is truly unfortunate. As a slut, I'm not really allowed to just enjoy sex and enjoy how it feels, but there has to be some sad, sinister underlying reason-like, I gain my self-esteem only from sex, or that is the only way I can feel loved. I just picture Christian ministers shaking their head at me..."poor girl, she doesn't value herself." (Good thing I'm a Jew.) But I do value myself--but I also really enjoy sex and I like most things about it. I like thinking about it, I like talking about it, I like writing about it, I like creating scenarios about it in my head, and I like doing it. And because I like doing it with a variety of different men--and it makes me a slut.

It's not just the act I like, but it's all of it...and the sexual preamble is what I am desperately missing now in my life. I actually got into bed last night and watched many hours of television because I couldn't get interested in anything else, and I realized, that I miss my passion. I miss flirtation and sexual talk. I miss hands on my skin and being on top and feeling so good that I can't speak. I miss being contorted into different positions and sweating and the grunts and moans and the pushing and pulling. It's been weeks and I miss it from my soul. I'm not horny, per se, but I just miss it all.

And, despite what people say...I do like doing it with many people. I like lovers who are good at different things, those who sound like they are in a bad porn film (and make me laugh), and those who have strong arms, the ones who lie on top of me and after sex try to have a conversation about politics or what I love about Washington, DC or films; I like the 50 year old men who won't have sex in any position except for missionary but give ridiculously good head, and I like sitting in a cab with a gorgeous man and feeling his hand on my denim-covered thigh and wonder what would happen if he moved it up my leg and where would it lead. I like watching men with different personal life circumstances and watching them abandon their priorities and responsibilities for a brief time of carnal enjoyment. I like to see their reactions and because every man is different, it never gets boring.

I have a famous client these days, though I haven't seen him in weeks. My therapist, who I see once a month tells me that "he's page 6" material, but to me, he's just a guy who happened to be good at his job, did it for about a dozen years, made a lot of money and then retired. Over the days that I spent with him, he was the guy with his leg across my lap; who I ate bagels in the park with and took for great grilled cheese. If the week we spent together had been dates instead of a small series of business meetings, we would have been wanting to move in together by the end of the week. He's famous to everyone else, but to me, he's a guy--who takes my breath away. Who, when he left, I felt like someone had hit me in the stomach. And he makes me not want to have sex with him. Strange. I texted him once he was back home and told him that I'd wanted him to kiss me--at one point we looked at each other and I had a visceral reaction that I know couldn't have been just me feeling it. He tried to kiss me on the street but I'm not a kiss on the street person. And, from him, I wanted the sort of kiss that I couldn't have on the street--I wanted the sort of kiss that begins with just lips and ends with such intensity that you can't wait until the clothes are off and are still undressing each other while he is inside me.

While he was in town, I happened to have my performance review with my boss who is beside herself with excitement that he is my client and made me promise to not have sex with him...until the deal is over. This is actually a painful thought for me. I was writing about him last night and I realized that he knows the professional me--and when we've talked about kissing each other, he may think that is my limit--that I'm somewhat of a prude. There is no way that I can explain that I am a slut without it impacting how he looks at me as a professional. It's a house of cards that would make him excited and curious about me personally but professionally, he would completely discount me. Because of the definition that we've assigned to what and who sluts "must" be--sluts are not women who have jobs, who wear conservative clothes, who have just changed back to the Democratic party from the Republican party, who are dedicated to their family. I look, smell and act like a conservative woman--career oriented, the sort of person who only gives blow jobs under duress or to be polite, not because she likes it. I'm not sure how a slut should look or act--probably much more sexual than I appear to be--this client, I feel sure, was fooled into thinking that my talking about kissing him was "racy"--he doesn't know me.

I have to admit, that it was hard to not be myself and it felt awkward and set me in a tailspin that lasted for a few weeks. Truly. It was hard to accept attention from someone like him--mostly because he's him and I'm me and our lives and interests couldn't possibly be more different. I was wondering how it would be for me if I slept with him during the deal--that it would be great to have a new lover who I'm actually interested in as a person (as opposed to my other lovers who I count down the minutes until they or I leave) and I didn't really understand what the big deal would be to be working together at the same time--and then I had to think about it from his perspective and remember that it would change his opinion about me and that it would make it awkward for him. That the social norm is for there to be some awkwardness and discomfort around mixing relationships, however that has not been a problem for me in some time.

As a culture, love the hypocracy. We won't tolerate open marriage, but we celebrate our professional athletes and politicans as they cheat on their wives. As a woman, I'm not really supposed to be in charge of my sexual life--I'm supposed to defer to men. I'm supposed to be emotional and instantly get attached during sex and it's supposed to be a means to a relationship, not immediate gratification for me. According to our culture (that is, if I listen to my friends), when I'm with a man, I should be constructing an agenda to get into a relationship with them, promising them that it's no-strings-attached sex, but really devising a plan for them to have a relationship and fall in love with me. I'm supposed to need them and want to share things with them--I'm not supposed to be ok on my own and I'm not supposed to want to be a slut. I'm supposed to hold out for a relationship that leads to marriage and "play my cards right." And actually according to the same friends, I shouldn't even be giving it up--because they won't "buy the cow if the milk is free." But, it's never considered that maybe the cow isn't for sale and maybe the milk is free because I want it to be.

Apparently, there is something very wrong with me. To some, it's that I'm a slut...to me, it's that I can't get laid right this second.