Tag Archives: Spooning

The Summer of Gorge

10 Dec

ImageWith holidays now in full swing and my brothers recent engagement ringing in my ears I decided that the most productive way to spend the last two hours of my free time was by taking a Snapchat with my cat in manner of Kim and Kanye. Bound to be a spinster.

*Uh-huh, honey. *

After months of craving the freedom that comes with elasticated waistbands and a predominately topless existence, summer has well and truly arrived.

* I’ll just sit in the sun and crisp. You can’t get heatstroke twice in the same year. *

And after my little reality check back in November where I announced my celibacy and extolled the virtues of a pedagogical approach to my manstrual cycle. I have since managed to overcome a few issues that were weighing me down:

  1. I accepted some of my insecurities.
  2. I broke my drought.
  3. I was vulnerable.
  4. I am ready to be loved (vomit).
  5. I realized goats’ cheese is a gateway cheese.
  6. And I rediscovered my love of lists.

Let’s be honest, while most of the above were quite difficult to come to terms with and required a serious level of honesty and maturity read: boring. One did not.

Number 2 – The Drought & Mitch Buchannon:

Sleeping with new people is hard. I’ve tried using the Neverland method (second guy the right and straight on till morning) but it’s fraught with danger and pirates. Anyway ignoring the lengthy pre coitus ritual there are so many unknown factors involved with the act itself that are worth considering for e.g.

  1. Do they have a salivary problem?
  2. Will they leave their pet in the room?
  3. What if they have a murdering fetish?
  4. Are they Hannibal Lector?
  5. Is their penis weird?
  6. Correction; is their penis too weird?

* Yeah, but what about the stuff that get’s up around the sides of condoms? Okay, what about that stuff? Have you thought about that stuff? *

That is why when you’re looking to get back into the horizontal mambo you should always consider a previous dance partner. There are no unexpected surprises. It’s like doing your own Christmas shopping – you get exactly what you want and you don’t have to pretend to be excited about another “useful” gift that you’ll just throw away a couple of weeks into the new year.

* Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal. And a Happy New Year. *

So I did exactly that when I bid farewell to my yearlong bout of celibacy over the weekend with thanks to an old favourite; Mitch Buchannon.

* It’s been 300 hundred years right down to the day. Now the witch is back and there’s hell to pay! *

I’m not going to lie we had a pretty excellent understanding. Apart from one minor detail: the implied intimacy of prolonged body contact whilst lying on your side in a post coitus state.

* Don’t talk to me! Don’t touch me! I have to go. We have to leave now. I have to leave! We have to leave now! I have to go! We’re going. *

OK, I’ll admit it. I like a cuddle as well as the next fat person but what I don’t enjoy is the body heat that comes with it. Honestly, unless one of those spoons is filled with heroine there is no need to heat it to such an unbearable temperature. Not to mention that the sound of one person peeling themselves away from another is enough to make me sick and refuse any forthcoming attempts at putting your parched morning after mouth on my mouth.

* I’d be careful. That pony had a lot of water. *

And as far as staying the night goes I have only a single piece of advice. If you do decide to spend the night then it is imperative that you leave before McDonalds stops serving breakfast. If not to get the most hours out of the day then at least so you have time to grab some hash browns and hot cakes to fill the space that shame usually occupies. Stride of pride baby.

* Okay, here’s a little bedroom tip. Put a bag of popcorn in the microwave beforehand. That way when you’re done you have a treat! *

All in all it’s shaping up to be a very interesting festive season.

* Grace! It’s Christmas, for goodness sake! Think about the baby Jesus, up in that tower, letting his hair down so that the three wise men can climb up and spin the dreidel and see if there’s six more weeks of winter. *

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.