Wish You Were Here (David Gilmour, Call Me)

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This reminds me of that Pink Floyd song (remastered)  that goes something like “we’re just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl…” whatever, so sweet, let’s kiss because we’re so cute together. AWWWWWWWWWW.

So I’m back on the OkCupid which is how y’all like me, flailing around, swinging my dick, telling my tales, crying in my beer, blogging the blog of shame. The past few months have been an awesome learning curve for a celibate old hermit lady, I AM NOW FEARLESS cuz really, who cares? YOLO HO, don’t be afraid to put yourself out there. Yes, some douche shat on my heart but I got a good story out of it and then some boneheaded (but loveable) dawg randomly peed on it just a tiny bit, enough for it to sting ever so slightly but not enough send me to the cat hospice, no harm done. So back into the fishbowl I go, HOLDING MY BREATH, BITCHES!

This time around, I won’t lie, I’m really kind of jaded, so I’m a cold fish, because that is my self preservation persona. But! I’ve been going on and off the site voraciously all week, so what. I haven’t really written back to anyone new except a 19 year-old who wants to take a road trip with me to Mount Rushmore. He tells me will drive the whole way with my panties in his mouth. And then when we get there, we will bang our brains out. This is like the best message EVER. I think about him in a way that is inappropriate. I could be his mother. This is what David Lynch films are made of, tho, and I am so in. I wish that in real life I have nicer panties, lacy or silky ones, in a soft colour, pink or blue. I think about the long highway drive on Route 16, going south from Rapid City, I’ve mapped it out because my sex fantasies are that meticulously detailed, and I’m sitting on a seat warmer feeling all vulnerable and fishy without my panties and maybe even without pants entirely but I can’t really handle all that, so I’m wearing a skirt. And are my panties really in his mouth the whole way? No, that’s ridiculous…I take them out and fold them into my purse and we can drive and chillax and maybe listen to a podcast. I look over at him and see the peach fuzz on his chin all shiny in the sun. He’s got a zit cluster on his cheek I am DYING to pop all of them. Oy. I’ve made sandwiches in the cooler in the back and I offer him one. He takes the one with ham, havarti, and sliced tomato which ends up dripping on his chin. Juice on his peach fuzz. I reach over and try to wipe it off with a napkin, he winces and holds eyes elbow up, blocking me, STAHP, he says, and wipes his own chin with his bare hand, then smears it on his pants. Really? Now we’re going to have to go a laundromat. I don’t know…this is just not going to work out, is it? Ugh. I really wanted to go to Mount Rushmore. Anyway, I message him back:  “Awww, so cute.” Haven’t heard back. I’m sure I killed his boner with that memaw response. One of my many talents.

SIGH. Scroll on.

Okay, so here’ s the thing: I’ve been on this site so long, I can decipher some of the new buzzwords and some those coded letters that were mysterious to me 6 months ago. Let’s go over some of them, save the rest for another day, I’ve figured the nuances so you don’t have to, ur welcome, kittens:

DTF: “Down to Fuck” Yeah, you know this one from Jersey Shore but my question is: Why would a man send an inaugural message to a woman on a dating sight with just three letters?  How lazy can you possibly be? This could work for some sites but I, personally, have written an eloquent and loquacious erotic profile and all I get is “DTF?” NO. Just no. Much better: “Ur hot, DTF? :p> ”  Now you’re talking my language. Jesus Christ, put a little effort into it. And tongue game because otherwise I’m not interested at all.

FWB: “Friends with Benefits” and yes, that old chestnut from your Melrose Place style rental apartment and you also know from that Justin Timberlake/ Mila Kunis movie, so good because they fall in love in the end WHICH IS THE LAW OF NATURE. But! In real life, this term means different things to different people.  It’s a very ambiguous contract to get into so caveat emptor, hos, is all I have to say. With many single women, for example, they are oftentimes very busy with shift work, raising children, going to night school, taking care of their elderly parents, fighting their parking tickets, et cetera but still have “needs” so a friend with benefits scenario seems ideal because who needs another egg to fry when you have all that bullshit on your plate? Get your handy neighbour to bone you. Done. Or like that episode on Sex and the City, oh shut up; THIS IS MY THESIS, where Carrie calls her fuckbuddy when she is between relationships. These type of dudes are handy for quick comfort and mojo restoration. Personally, I’ve never been able to wrangle one of these breeds of FWB/FB’s and I don’t really want one either as I suspect they are much more work in real life than in theory. Conversely, the type of man who actively seeks a friend with benefits is the kind of dude who is just waiting for someone “better” to come along, a lady who in his immutable dimwitted mind, is worthy of a Real Relationship That Leads To Marriage with him, is basically just his bossy ass mama lookin’ hot in a chicken cutlet bra and skinny stretch jeans and pumps. Will not age well, trust, and neither will he. You are so much better than them, sister, your brain warned you but your vagina caved, don’t beat yourself up over it, move on. It’s very important to note for next time: This man is a social pariah and should be avoided at all costs. Or not, take his wallet.

Polyamory: It’s a whole new world since Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice so it’s not necessarily swinging and key parties per se. Couples are exploring other peoples! With blessings! They make up the rules as they go so you don’t have to. You, the interloper, just do what they say and please don’t blog about it because some of them are affluent members of society which is why they are wearing masks and capes when you enter the front gates with the password, “Fidelio.” I don’t get it either, so we’ll just leave it and hope they make one of those multi-casted movies where everyone’s plot-line intertwines and we get more insight into the lifestyle. I hope Cameron Diaz is in it. I love her.

Sapiosexual:  This is me! I am a sapiosexual! This means you are turned on by the brain. The upside: It’s way less messy, you don’t have to worry about changing your sheets or shaving your pubes, your wit is your fuck meat and your discourse is the boudoir. The downside: Brains are liars and tricksters, and I’m talking about your very own noodle, which will project a whole technicolor fantasy based on no reality whatsoever. As a sapio, you will forever be disappointed, I have learned the hard way, I’M SO DUPED ALL THE TIME, so I am exploring this:

Heteroflexible: I don’t even really think I care about a stupid dick anymore. Even the seemingly nicest dude is an arrogant douche by virtue of the fact he holds the torch. They all have that sense of entitlement engrained in their behaviour even if they have manners, it’s always there. Recently, when I lay myself down for the nightly fap, I no longer fantasize of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson smothering me to death in a single thrust, I think of soft spoken Asian ladies with feathers tickling my ears, OKAY THAT VIETNAMESE EAR CLEANING IS MY THANG, I CAN’T HELP IT. I really, really want a wife.

Meyers Briggs: Yes, this is that personality test that employers make you take to determine if you are a laid-back slacker or a whining worker bee or a fucking asshole with a heart of gold. There are 16 possible combos. Fucking A-type AND Zen people are posting their scores on dating sites now, IT’S THE NEW HOROSCOPE. But even worse because so goddamn boring. People are proud of their scores the same way they are so proud that they are Scorpios. Have you ever noticed that for some reason Scorpios are the most puffed up in all the Zodiac about their sign, “Don’t cross me! I sting, LOL!” Oh fuck off, you pompous, tiny, feckless arachnid, you don’t know from sting, I can fucking make you prolapse your joke gelatinous innards just by staring you down and flaring my nostrils ever so slightly, bull powered. Anyway, Myers Briggs people are even more fanatical. I have perused profiles with details on what INFP is and that they may be looking for an ESTJ or at least a ENTP. OFFS (wait what? Oh For Fucks Sakes), like you didn’t lie all the way through the test because you had pussy and or employment advancement on your mind.

Me personally, if I have to reduce it to four letters, I am looking primarily for a DICK who gets/tolerates me or if that fails,and we all know that’s a long shot, I’ll take a LADY with a feather who will tickle my ear. I don’t care if that sounds weird, it’s the internet and anything goes. Until then OMFG, my internet crush never fails me:

rRPD0EM

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4 responses »

  1. Fearless is good. I used to wonder why old people just said whatever they were thinking and now I realize that as you get older you just get sick and fucking tired of living what someone else thinks should be your life. Fearless might just be tired.

    Anyone who isn’t flexible in some way is just dead they just don’t know it yet. Closing doors we’ve never been through doesn’t make any more sense than reviewing a book we haven’t read.

    You are more fearless than most which is why we come to read you – it reminds us of how we’d like to be.

  2. I thought you were for real, why would you pull up shop on OK cupid after we talked? You seemed like a fun girl, lots a laughs, but I guess the humor is all about you being the smartest, funniest person around. Namaste, Randell

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