PC

17 May

ImageIt’s official. Sex has become a chore and I don’t even care.

* I just wish I could start a relationship about twelve years in, when you really don’t have to try anymore, and you can just sit around together and goof on TV shows, and then go to bed without anybody trying any funny business. *

It all started when I had an adult sleepover with Mitch Buchannan.

Despite it ending on a high note where I thanked him walked him to the door and told him that he’s a high-end stripper for governors or athletes. The beginning, middle and the weird part in between where we showered in an extremely well lit hotel bathroom were not so great.

I think perhaps there had been too much build-up or maybe I was too drunk. Either way, checking out half way through so you can decide on tomorrow mornings room service selection is never a good sign.

It’s not that it was bad I suppose. I just didn’t care. I even found myself staring at his face and thinking. You have dimples. I don’t like dimples. Dimples are only acceptable for babies and Vicki Valentine.

* Tapa Tapa Tapa *

And now sex kind of seems like a game of Monopoly: Nobody knows the rules, it’s takes too long to set up and no one ever seems to win. So you put it away on a dark shelf and don’t touch it again until some dickhead who thinks he’s good at playing games whips it out. In a word: unsatisfying. In two: very unsatisfying.

* Do you feel the way you feel after the Risotto? *

I’ve subsequently come up with some general post-coital rules:

1) If I’m lying on my stomach please take the hint. I don’t want to spoon.

2) Please stay on your side of the bed.

3) Don’t steal my air with your loud mouth breathing and blow it back in my face all warm and devoid of oxygen.

4) Don’t stroke me with your feet.

5) Don’t cut off circulation to my limbs with your inconveniently placed ones.

6) Don’t sweat on me. Just stop all perspiration upon “completion”.

7) Please let me get at least 8 hours sleep.

8) Wake me up before you proceed with penetration, lest I press charges.

9) Don’t watch me while I sleep. If anything, do what I do and stare determinately at the ceiling until you pass out.

10) If I want to re-clothe prior to sleep, let me. Otherwise I will be making a lounge pant out of your skin.

11) Please refrain from touching my hair; I know where your hands have been.

12) Don’t try to Simba me.

13) Don’t tell me you love me. I heard you mid-coit; I just chose to ignore it.

14) Don’t ask if you can film or photograph me. As far as I’m concerned this is the equivalent of the nocturnal section at the zoo.

15) In fact, don’t talk at all.

16) Do clean up after yourself.

17) And feel free to leave. At any time.

* Did you ever wake up sober after a one night stand, and the person you’re next to is laying’ on your arm, and they’re so ugly, you’d rather chew off your arm then risk waking ’em? That’s coyote ugly *

Anyway I suppose it’s not all bad. I have lost 4kgs[1].

I also went for a job interview this week. It’s just for some office position where I can waltz around in a see-through top and fanny about with the press releases but being very inexperienced in an office environment I had a bit of a nervy-b. I spent half the time while I waited keeping my right hand dry for the imminent, firm, but not too strong, multiple pump handshake with eye contact. And the other half trying to think about what I was actually going to say to make me sound vaguely employable. Of course, my prospective employer arrives while I’m trying to subtly blow on my right hand to keep it dry while I attempt to check the time on my mobile phone which I’d stowed under my thigh, with my left; Yet another excellent first impression.

I honestly don’t know how I’m going to top it when I start on Tuesday.

* Neville, what the fuck is going on? She’s supposed to be sliding down the pole not climbing up it. *

Since downloading and watching the majority of The Wild Thornberrys I have noticed a couple of things:

1) Darwin is pretty much Eliza’s gay best friend. He gets dragged around everywhere, makes bitchy comments, supports her emotionally, keeps her secrets, wears a tank top and has a tumultuous relationship with food.

2) Donnie isn’t an adorable wild boy; he has a serious pervasive developmental disorder. He is on the autistic spectrum.

3) Drunken Reese Witherspoon and her husband would do a better job of dressing and raising those kids than Nigel and Marianne.

4) Eliza would be overhearing so much animal sex and death that Darwin should really have been named Freud.

5) To be honest Debbie is the only well rounded, and level headed individual. Her cynical and jaded outlook on life mirrors my own at 15.

6) Oh and Lacey Chabert who voices Eliza Thornberry is probably better known as Gretchen Wieners.

* They say you’re a homeschooled jungle freak who’s a less hot version of me. *

Yeah, that happened.

Finally I’m really looking forward to the day when we achieve complete marriage equality. Mostly so I can marry Daniel Radcliffe and make basilisk and wand jokes but also so that we can have TV shows like The Real Gay Housewives of San Francisco and show all those other bitches what real drama looks like.

* In case I don’t see you, good afternoon, good evening, and good night. *


[1] No I didn’t get a double mastectomy. But I did have miso soup, a handful of dark chocolate covered goji berries and a diet coke for dinner one night.

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