Sunday, May 9, 2010

I am... well, I think I am, hitting that point.

That point where you're squirming in your chair going, "Oh god, I need to get laid."

And it's this battle between my body wanting it and my brain saying, "Nope, that's not the best idea."

In two weeks, I'll be hitting that three month mark. Three months for me is, well, might as well be a year or two. Especially after GV8. That man was ungodly good in bed, and we had ridiculous amounts of sex.

I got used to it. I got used to having a fantastic lover who, even after months of dating, still got me hot and bothered, still got me dragging him into bed to jump his bones whenever possible.

And now I've got this apartment to myself. I've got a metal canopy bed with a good number of tie-down spots. I've got toys, a large bottle of grapeseed oil, candles (not that most guys care about that, but I love the lighting), and... and... fuck. I mean, I can host. I can actually say, "Let's go back to my place" and not worry about roommates, not worry about what's going on, not sneaking them into my bedroom when I lived at home, timing when my parents would be out (though it's been years since I've had to do that).

I've got my own place with my own rules and I'm not using it.

It makes me whimper. Totally does.

I didn't realize I was having this issue so strongly until, last night, at the club, I found myself eyeing my club friend (the one that I keep having to turn down, the one I had to smack down a little bit ago at a party for him thinking he could socially pressure me into kissing him) going, "Hm... I could just crawl on top of him, go to town... he's got that reputation... could probably teach me a thing or three in the BDSM realm... mmm... skin and tongue..." and that shifted to "Whoa, holy fuck, no."

I don't find him desirable. I've never found him desirable.

This, this isn't good. And it's annoying.

Last night was interesting, though. Hit the club. Pulled into my usual parking spot, went inside after pleading with the door guy (wasn't much of a plead, really) to let me in without the person who was guestlisting me, so I could dance to a song that was on. And he did.

Lots of new people out. Some drama, though none of it involved me, which is normal. An acquaintance got shitfaced and started falling over, sobbing, laughing, getting pissy. Drama, drama, drama. Turned into a mid-sized ordeal.

On an amusing note, I happened to catch, while I was dancing, a blond man pointing gesturing at me to the head of security at the club. Figured the security guy would tell me if it was important, later, so I dismissed it.

About thirty minutes down the line, I'm out on the smoking patio, and Mr. Security comes up and says, "Hey, you know that blond guy..." describes him to me, "Have you ever talked to him?" Negatory. "Well, he pulled me aside and said, 'You! Study how she dances! Study how she moves! Watch her!"


"And last week he was out and started talking about the bar-tender to me, about how..." insert x, y, and z pervy acts. This guy, not the most socially competent of men. I always get those men. I am a magnet for socially incompetent, as we have discussed.

So that was amusing. But, what was the killer for me was, oh, an hour or two down the line, I go to step on the dancefloor, which was fairly packed, and I realize that the empty spot I found is next to this guy.

Who looks at me.

Who leers at me and grins.

Who takes a step forward and puts his arms up towards me.

My mind went, "Eep!"

See, if you knew me at the clubs, you'd likely know that I've got years of experience moving away from groping men, physically aggressive men, and simply poor dancers without looking like I'm avoiding them. Without looking like I'm fleeing away in annoyance (or terror, if they're really bad dancers). Calm, cool, I can go across a whole dancefloor to avoid someone and make it look completely natural.

So this guy, this guy comes at me. No subtly. The dancefloor is packed. This guy, this guy is going to come up to me and either grab me or start talking my ear off with drunken compliments and poor flirting. And quickly.

I bolted. I bee-lined it across the back half of the dance floor and sequestered myself behind a guy I had met earlier in the evening. On the way, I nearly walked into someone, tripped a little. I don't do that. If anyone I knew had seen me, they would've been so confused. And once I explained, they would've laughed their asses off.

There were some random other events that happened, little things. A weird guy I've been seeing around for the last several months interrupted a conversation I was having to tell me that I was a beautiful dancer, a beautiful lady, and he should know, he's been married for twenty-six years.

And I still cannot figure out what the last thing had to do with the first two things.

I have an urge to put a comment here about being "too pretty" and something about my fashion accessories, but only one person would get it. So I won't.

Oh, and the head of security tried to make out with me at the end of the evening.

Except he's married. He's very married. And it was awkward. It was, "Oh god, how do I do this so I don't offend or embarrass him, yet still get him away from my face?"

I managed. But it left me a little... sad. He's been a decent friend for a couple years. We always flirt and cuddle, but he flirts and cuddles with most of the female regulars. He's really good at banter, lots of fun to talk to, and he's a good head of security. I do really like him.

Drove home. Woke up to a text from Roman telling me about his evening spent under the haze of hallucinogens. Or whatever they are. I don't know my drugs. I don't care to know them, really.

Went to my stylist who is finally back in town. Got my roots done. Oh, so done. So freaking done. I can't stand having that blonde there. Now I'm back to my black with my red-tinted tips and very much like a happy clam.

One of her other customers told her I looked like Snow White, while I was at one of the mirrors, finishing up my hair. I can only hope that I am able to maintain this level of paleness this summer.

And I finished my final paper. Whoo! I can have a life again. I was thinking of getting in touch with a guy I went out with earlier this year, hang out some, fool around some, now that I have a little more time, but I'm debating my actual motivation.

Oh, and I took my mom to Hollywood Forever Cemetary on Saturday. You know, usual mother-daughter bonding stuff. Visited the grave sites of my great-great grandparents.

And, of course, I was chased by geese.

It's a talent of mine.


If there are geese, they will chase me.

I don't understand it. I will possibly never understand it. I believe my uncle, later that day, was suggesting that I go see an exorcist.

Aside from the avian-induced terror, my mother and I had a great time trying to sneak around a building. We were tip-toeing, leaning around the corner like we were in a Scooby Doo episode, looking for the geese. Not that they chase my mom. But if they saw my mom, they'd see me, and then it'd be all over. It was kinda perfect, actually. We were on the outside of a large masoleum with marble steps that went around the entire building, so when we peered around the corner, we were at two different heights, really, just like Scooby Doo.

Of course, we got a few further steps in and one of the geese spotted me and I shouted, "It's comin' right for us!!" and we ran.

I took her by Aroma Cafe on Sunset (my favorite breakfast and lunch spot in Hollywood), Amoeba (she had never been, but was very excited about picking up two Franz Ferdinand CDs that she didn't have), Cafe Was (speak-easyish, decent food, wonderful atmosphere), the Arclight with the Dome (so nice), the Cat and Fiddle (we had onion rings and people-watched), the roof of the parking lot of the ArcLight (amazing view... and I've made out with a few too many men up there), and Musso and Frank's (oldest restaurant in Hollywood).

Afterwards, we drove up to my uncle's house in Hollywood Hills. He and his two boyfriends cooked us dinner. I hadn't met the more recent one... was rather flamingly fabulous, but nice. My mom thinks he's the cat's pajamas. We sat out on their balcony and I watched the four of them get silly on wine, enjoying the evening before the sun set.

It was a good day.

And since I have to be at work tomorrow at 630 or so, I'm going to get to it.

It being "sleep". Like I do.


  1. Your physical self-descriptions makes me think of Emily.

  2. I think you need a change of scenery. New men, new club.. you know.. Chicago is a great place to hang out ;) hehe

    Seriously, I feel your pain. I wish I could say it's only been 3 months. I have had offers but none that I care to take.. and now I second-guess myself wondering "should I have...." no. Definitely not. Sigh.

  3. Phoenixism,

    I... have more curves than Emily. And I don't have bangs. Eesh.


    I've never been to Chicago, don't know a thing about it, really. Wouldn't mind a new club... going up to San Fran in two weeks, hoping to hit something good.

    You'll have to let me know when you get laid. We might have to have a race of how long we can go.

    If you're ever not absolutely sure when you wonder, the answer is very much no.

  4. IMHO, Chicago isn't as great as people make it out to be. It just so happens to be where my two favorite clubs are that I've been visiting for many years.

    At this rate, I'm so annoyed with beta males who cling onto my leg that I may never have enough patience to put in the effort it takes to get laid. I told my friend today on the phone that I'm taking a vow of celibacy until I visit L.A. in October for a friend's wedding.. then I'll find some hot young stud (she has so many hot friends) that I can love and leave. At least it would make for a great story.