Sex. You’re either having it, or you’re talking about it. Unfortunately, I’m in the loser camp right now. No sex life. Every attempt thwarted by either getting too drunk, vomiting, and getting horrendously abusive, or… no, that’s pretty much it. Alcohol. Proof that you can have too much of a good thing, and that the only thing standing in my way is my own foolish self.
Anyway. I have sex on the brain. It’s getting bad- I had a hot dog the other day and I swear a tear rolled down my cheek. Well, almost. I was depressed, anyway. My standards are dropping. I’ve abolished a good half of my rules. (Like no racists, no morons, no men with prettier features than me) I’m in full-on predator mode all day, every day. Every man I see, I’m sizing up for attractiveness and potential bedroom prowess, and I’m permanently displaying my “I know I’m being observed” face. You know that expression, gently smiling, bright-eyed, emphasizing thoughts with exaggerated benign facial movements (squinting when looking at a watch, for example, or smiling to yourself while reading a book) and generally trying to give off a vibe of vibrant sexuality barely contained in a gentle, elegant exterior. Don’t tell me you don’t have a “being observed” face, we all do. Mine is just much more ridiculous right now because of the whole lack of sex thing. I’ve never seen so many hotties in my city. Everywhere I go, lovely men.
Today I spent hours ogling a police officer who was clearing traffic while the president’s car passed by. He was outside my shop, arrogant in his uniform, generic face and a gun on his hip… I went outside and cleaned the windows (doing lots of stretching and bending), but his priorities were probably protecting the president so I can’t take it too personally that he didn’t come up behind me and growl “you have the right to remain silent, but it’s going to be difficult with all the sex I’m going to do to you”.
I love a man in uniform, police, military, firemen… but when I see a soldier I always think about him being the army’s bitch, having to keep his possessions analy tidy and getting up to be yelled at, at 6am, and that’s a huge turn off. I watched this policeman for a long time, convinced he was the epitome of hot, and then he took off his jacket and had this really horrible police jumper on under it, and he took off his hat too and his hair was kind of grey, and I realised it was all the uniform. It was like Tom Cruise in Top Gun. I could even forgive him his height, until he changed into his civvies… and then the bubble of sexiness burst, and I’m fantasizing about Tom Cruise, which is just gross.
So anyway. I have sex on the brain. Sex sex sex. I just have to make it to the weekend without Venus flytrap- attacking some innocent man with my thighs, and then I can go out again, to a club, where that would be acceptable behaviour. And this time, I just have to get to the magical level of drunkeness where I have the drunk’s confidence and beer goggles, but not the drunk’s rowdiness and partly digested dinner on my face. How to get to the happy place, and stop? I’ll tell you when I figure it out. Hopefully this weekend, but I doubt it. I’m at napkin/ beermat- shredding levels of desperation. My best hopes of snagging a man in uniform, as it stands, are if I get arrested for public urination or assault.
So there’s always that.