The Over-Educated Nympho

Some people have a gift for insults, while the rest of us seem to have been whacked by the shit-wit stick when it comes to making up a more original rebuttal than “jackass”, “jerk-off” or “shitferbrains”. I suffered from this lack of insultatory imagination myself as an adolescent, which did not help an already downward ride to Nerdville. After a few too many times of thinking aha! I know what I’ll say next time! about ten minutes after my brilliant retort would have been useful, I started saving up insults to disperse when necessary.

Now I’m not talking about regular insults, but truly creative ones that are so WTF that they leave the instigator/deserving party speechless. True this is often because what I said made no sense, but that is irrelevant because I just got way with calling someone an ass-hat fuck knuckle.

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In the three weeks that Tex and I have been dating, I have hardly put out. It’s not for lack of wanting to (his ass alone is like two scoops of man cream), it’s just that–this is going to sound so lame–I’ve been too exhausted to feel sexy. Sure I’ve gone through this before, but it’s been a while. And it coincided with depression. Does that mean another bout of depression is coming for me? Nooooo, it can’t! I won’t allow it! I spit in the face of depression. –spits–

Should I be worried? Or can it really be as simple as “I’m tired and stressed the fuck out”? I told Tex from the beginning that I wish I could have waited a few months to meet him, but life is kind of a bitch about doing whatever the hell it wants regardless of how you feel about it.

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Today I asked Favorite Coworker to help me edit my book. Normally I would not ask such a large favor from one of my friends, but Favorite Coworker has secret aspirations to become an editor. Seriously, the girl has some fierce skills when it comes to punctuation. She made a semicolon cry once.

She said yes, and it was not a because I’m so nice yes or a my lips say yes but my TV says no yes, it was a genuinely excited yes. Since Favorite Coworker is relatively new to the blog, she has more distance than I could ever possess. When I’m drowning in the written documentation of my own psyche it’s nice to have someone come slashing through the jumble with her sword (which may be cleverly disguised as a green pen).

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I’m still working on being able to release my book Tales of an Anonymous Sex Blogger [placeholder title] of favorite blog posts in December. To attempt to pull this off I will not be able to blog as often, but that will only be for two months. Please bear with me while I do one helluva juggling act between writing, work, and that silly thing called a social life.

I’ve written about the book project here and here, and my beloved readers have given some excellent suggestions. One such bit of advice was to post my table of contents, as you can see below. All posts that have been published previously have links. There are some new/unpublished posts as well as additional fun things so that the book will have more goodies than if you just click through all the links here.

Please don’t hesitate to give feedback. I take opinions seriously when it comes to my writing. Is this a good mix to appeal to male and female, old and young, single and coupled, new and long-time reader? Is this the right approach or merely “a respectable first try”? I’m not only doing this for myself, I’m doing this for my many wonderful readers. Okay and I kind of want to use the extra money toward buying a Roomba. Er, I mean a fancy vibrator.

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I’ve been feeling a bit overwhelmed lately. Yesterday at work my boyfriend Tex sent me some reassuring emails that made me feel better. Especially once he reminded me that we had plans to go to the firing range this weekend.

I love guns. Particularly shotguns. They are loud and make things go BOOM! They are also big and heavy and have fun moving parts. I think cocking the barrel of a shotgun is one of my favorite things to do. Nothing else in the world makes that noise. Chhtch CHHTCH!

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I’m beginning to feel lost. I have no grounds for saying such a thing considering most everything in my life is going well. Job is fine, friends are fine, writing is fine, new boyfriend is fine. Everything is just freaking fine. Doesn’t that mean I should quit my whining and enjoy all the fine-ness?

The thing is there are so many things going on in my life pulling me in different directions that I don’t know how to do it all anymore. There’s so much going on that I’m stuck. At this rate I’m afraid that I’ve spread myself out so thin trying to do everything that I’ll wind up with a whole lot of nothing.

Meanwhile I’m wallowing in self-imposed nothingness. It’s nauseating.

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I’m in a weird mood. You can tell based on the old posts I’ve chosen to link to today:

Just Fucking Go For It
The Beginnings
Blind-Sided With The Family Guilt Stick
Pulling, Pulling… SNAP
Writing My Way Through The Fog

I hate having upstairs neighbors. Unless if you live in a very solidly built apartment, you can hear every footstep and thud coming from the people living above you. This is why whenever possible I live on the top floor. I would rather walk up and down three flights of stairs six times every day than hear Elton John music coming through my ceiling. Nothing against Elton John! B-B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets! She’s got electric boobs and mohair shoes! But it should be my choice to listen to Elton John, not Joe Jackass upstairs.

Tonight I was in my bedroom writing when I heard a noise. It was the distinct creaking that only a bed can make, and it was creaking in the rhythm that only sex can bring out from a bed.

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I didn’t know what it was at first. Something about my new boyfriend Tex was weirding me out to the point that I noticed how unusually hands-off I was being. I found it especially odd because he’s the most attractive guy I’ve been with in a long time.Tex’s teeth and laugh alone made him five times cuter than The Marine.

And then I figured it out, and I was mortified. My new boyfriend acts and looks exactly like my brother.

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This is about the post I was writing last night that as you can see was not published. Every once in a while I like to write in the style of Bridget Jones’s Diary, like I did here, here, and here.

12:05 p.m. New boyfriend went out of town this weekend! Lovely, can just catch up on writing and things around the house.
12:07 p.m. Right, will just watch the telly for a bit.
1:02 p.m. Love telly, a wonderful contraption truly. Only Oreos and online banking are superior contributions by mankind. And rubbers, obviously. Otherwise would have twelve little ankle-biters calling me “Mum” and demanding that I unlock them from inside the closet.

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When you first start dating someone wonderful, every conversation is filled with “me too!”s, adoring eyes, and warm fuzzies. Same likes and dislikes, every match bringing you closer to that “he’s too good to be true” mantra. No one that wonderful can exist. The universe doesn’t work that way.

“I love gouda cheese.” Me too! “I have ADHD.” Me too! “I hate licorice. It tastes like feet.” I know, me too! “I love lamp.” Me too! “I hate cooking, but I don’t mind doing dishes.” Really?! That’s perfect! I love cooking and I hate doing dishes! Do me on the kitchen counter, you fool!

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Please read Our Unofficial First Date Part 1 first because otherwise, you know, it’s like showing up to a movie when it’s halfway over. Most people are already done with their overpriced munchies by then.

After seeing IT Guy’s enthusiastic reaction to the news that I write, it was time to open up as wide as my legs can go. I had to tell him the bottom line, that I am a sex blogger after-hours. I’m sure he never would have thought that of a girl who walks around the office dressed like a tight-ass. Hey man, nymphos shop at Banana Republic too.

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