Drama: the Persistent Weed in my Life

In high school, drama is a staple. It fuels the gossip. Back when I was in high school, it was disseminated through phone calls, MSN messenger, (the then relatively new) Facebook, and if you were rich enough, BBMing. It was thrilling and exciting to find out who had done what, and giggle over a tagged photo of someone doing something stupid. But that was me in high school, a mortifyingly socially awkward individual. Since then, I have eschewed all forms of drama.

Just ignore it, don’t get involved.

That was my motto once I entered moved overseas for university. I specifically didn’t hang out with certain groups of people to avoid it. And yet, like fucking weeds in the garden, they have sprung back to life.

Drama starts off as small shoots, and if you ignore the hydrating drizzle of overheard comments, snippets of interaction.. before you know it, those fuckers of weeds are back in your life, sucking the nutritious emotional energy out of your garden that is your life. … that might have been a protracted analogy.

tl;dr = drama is a drain on my life, and it’s back with a vengeance.

And just what areas of my life are experiencing severe drama overgrowth right now?

M has found a new love interest. When I went home for my sister’s wedding, M and I went to NYC for two days and a night. He told me it would be cheaper to share a bed. I said it didn’t matter to me, but asked if it would be a problem for him. M said no. That night, we got into bed. I accept my fault in permitting inappropriate cuddling, instead of doing the awkward and appropriate distance between us on the bed with the sheets fastidiously tucked in. Then we turned the lights off. I was small spoon and could feel his heart beating faster and harder. I could also feel the specific absence of pelvic-to-rear contact, and we know exactly what that means. It was 1am and we were to get up at 5:30-6am ish, and by that point I was simultaneously annoyed, tired and curious. So I sighed, reached down, grasped it and said, “Do you want me to take care of that?” I will confess that I cheated on P and went down on that redhead. I wouldn’t have minded going for a ride, but when M said, “That’s the first time I’ve ever been kissed,” that I drew back and hesitated.

The next morning, I knew I shouldn’t have done it. We came back home, and later that week, we talked about it. I didn’t tell M about P. I gave practical reasons like not wanting to limit either of us from future relationships while we were on opposite sides of the world. Then I pecked him on the lips when I left. Ohhh so smart. not.

I used to get incessant texts. Now? Now I get nothing. I didn’t think much of the textual silence, until I saw some instagram photos of a Philadelphia trip M went on with “a friend”, who happens to be share my ethnicity, which I know M prefers.

I’m not stupid. I think there’s some sort of mutual interest there because:

  • Normal “friends” don’t make faces at each other with their tongues out as if to lick each other.
  • One of M’s texts: “I have been really busy w [a friend].”
  • Delayed replies by 1-2 days vs. previously near-instantaneous replies
  • Brief Twitter research (read: stalking, OR using my resources)

I initiated a text exchange to try and hear about his Philadelphia trip. I’ve gotten nothing but roadblocks back.

It feels like an undercurrent of, “Hey, you didn’t return my affections, I’m going to play mind games and you can see just what you’re missing. Chase me.” Whatever.

No, not whatever. I do care. I like the attention. Even though it was annoying, it was nice to have that interest, even if I was emotionally unavailable. I don’t want some bitch getting claws into my former crush-er. I probably don’t deserve to have a say in that since M is his own individual, and what I did is morally reprehensible. But I still feel that way.

Oh well, time for bed, I have my first proper race next weekend. Must rest up and train tomorrow morning.

Also, my actual garden is overrun with weeds. I should do some weeding this weekend.

Another C Word: Condoms

I was talking to a friend of mine over in Adelaide. In the course of our conversation, J started teasing me about the age difference between myself and P. I said that in 5 years, it wouldn’t be as bad. J was surprised that I was thinking that far ahead. Apparently last time we spoke, I gave the impression that I was unhappy and thus, going to break up with P. And glancing over my posts, yes, there’s doubt, and in healthy amounts too. Why do I stay? There’s a few different reasons.

Foremost, I know P loves me. P can be very considerate. One example of that is the insistence on safe sex. We’ve never had sex without a condom. I’ve asked and tried to cajole P into no condoms to no avail. I’ve teased, I’ve begged, I’ve coaxed and I’ve wheedled. Despite my attempts, P has steadfastly refused. I’m not that desperate for it to be bare. I can be a bit …obsessive though. Last night, when things were starting to get heated, P told me very unexpectedly that some test results had come back; P is completely clear of all STIs including HIV. I teased back, “…Ok. Considering some of the things we’ve done, I should hope so.” With a slight grin, P said that if I wanted, we could do things without a condom. And we did.

I hadn’t really thought about it till then, but I am glad and thankful that P resisted and waited till we knew for sure. It’s a reality that people have STIs unknowingly or otherwise. There are people who don’t know how to have safe sex, or worse still, know and choose to disregard that knowledge.

I have a confession and I don’t really care if it reflects badly on my parents. My parents chose to keep my siblings and I out of the sexual education classes when it came time. I can respect that they wanted to protect us from sexual things before it had to happen, that they had their morals and stuck to them. And it’s true, I think children are exposed to things of a sexual nature far earlier than reasonable. My parents did try to have the talk with me, but I knew what was coming and pretended I was au fait with it all, you know, Mum being a nurse and all.

So you can imagine why just once, the very first time without a condom and suddenly, the realisation struck me,

“Oh. That’s why no one wants to wear a condom.”

It also helped me understand how, without any sexual education, someone might come to hypothesise that extra-attentive cleansing and washing might prevent pregnancy. Gosh I’m glad I went and read up on my own.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, be safe. Condoms aren’t the end of the world, even though they taste funny. In fact, they make things a little easier in terms of clean up. But when you’re with someone and have absolute confidence and evidence that they’re clean, having that reassurance makes what follows that much better. I guess that could be one possible point of differentiation between fucking and doing something that goes beyond sex.

Confessions – P vs. G

Confession time.

Despite all the fun (of any description) I have with P, getting all the cuddles and affection I could want, and exchanging verbal affirmations of that love, sometimes I feel alone. or at least, unhappy, maybe dissatisfied.

I went for drinks last night. I drove 4 other uni mates from their college residence after much faffing about over where we were going and what time we were starting. Can I just say, big groups of say, more than 4-5 people meeting up for a drink can be such a hassle when no one is decisive? Anyway, one of the people who came was G. I spent a not insignificant amount of time noticing how good G smelled and thinking about running my fingers through G’s hair. G’s outfit was not attractive at all; it was rather the opposite. G is a frustration, a dilemma. I try and make conversation, and I get nothing. It’s maddening, when the other person doesn’t give anything back in return. What do I care if someone else is interested in G? I don’t even know why I’m so intrigued.

I should say, G is not the same gender as P. This is causing some inner consternation, though there would be more if this was the first time.

I kept going. I went into another bar despite wanting to go to bed, smiled, laughed, had another drink, and made conversation. Then I ran like hell for the parking garage when I realised it was 12:20 and remembered the gates shut at 12:30. I drove for 10 minutes, had a glass of water with a Panadeine Extra, brushed my teeth, and slipped into bed next to P.

Is it so wrong to wonder? It could be. Do you know why girls love The Notebook? Because it’s emotional porn. One of my female friends once told me that she’d flirted and gotten emotionally attached to some guy even though she had a boyfriend. Technically, she didn’t cheat on her then boyfriend. But did they stay together? No.

~

Maybe I’m just stressed out by exams with only 3 weeks of uni left and I’m projecting by creating tension where there isn’t any and focussing on that instead of the very real challenge ahead. Maybe … I shirk at thinking of the alternative if it isn’t. I wish I knew what the hell I was doing.

I’m going to be sensible, focus on study, starting running after my week break, and see how I feel once these damn exams are over. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, feelings are fickle and can change. A little caution never hurt.

Why I Don’t Like the Missionary Position

I feel like this rather sexually explicit post requires some sort of disclaimer. I searched for some kind of rules regarding this, and couldn’t find any. But here we go:

If you’re under 18 years of age or it’s illegal to read sexual material in your country, please skip over this post and find a less explicit one. Also, I’m sorry if this offends your sensibilities.

With that done…

This is awkward to say, but then again, I think sex is awkward. What’s awkward about it?

  • There are body fluids involved.
  • The noises that are made from flesh squelched up against other flesh and moving. Sometimes hilarious, sometimes mortifying.
  • Some orifices are close to other, more unpleasant orifices.
  • Very few of us with full times jobs or study and other well developed interests are actually super-fit all the time with toned abs, waxed legs and believable skin tones.

There’s probably others, but I will say this: porn has given its audience completely unrealistic sexual expectations. Probably the biggest point of contention: very few girls want to try anal, and even fewer like it.

Another bone I have to pick with porn is that the things that are arousing on screen are most definitely not sexually stimulating in real life. I once asked P to try a little spanking. I ended up laughing my head off.

However, when it comes to the missionary position, which is the most basic one, I find I avoid it where possible. It’s strange, but I have thought it over and determined why I don’t like it.

  • The last inch hurts. And especially when getting close, attempting to avoid inserting the last inch of Tab A into Slot B is seems nigh impossible.
  • Even if it didn’t hurt, I have no idea what to do with my face. Expressions that come to mind are encouraging (as in, “You’re doing great!”), feeling it (as in, “Yes, right there.”) and “I love you.”  But they all seem contrived and insincere. 
  • Running and regular stretching afford a certain flexibility, which on the best of days, is a forehead to kneecaps with unbent knees. However, this is slightly different during sex. And not exactly comfortable.

Look, sometimes I talk during sex. After all, there’s certain logistical details that need to be worked out. You know, what limb goes where, your leg is falling asleep, I need to pee, whatever have you. Sometimes, I laugh too (and not just at trying spanking). Is that normal? I don’t know.

I was petrified at the thought of saying, “I don’t like doing this part of sex with you.” But I steeled myself, thought of how to soften the blow, and said it (nicely). Surprisingly, P was ok with it. After all, there’s heaps more positions to do instead. And really, it needs to be good and comfortable for everyone for it to be fun.

What is normal anyway?

Except for watersports. That shit is not normal.

Confessions

This blog was meant to be a place for me to write down crazy things that happened so my relatives and friends could read it. Then I looked at my stats and found out they didn’t read unless I told them I’d posted (sensibly). Then I decided I’d write down things I’d prefer they didn’t see, like a diary. With this in mind, I’ve made a new category: Confessions. This may be haphazard as far as categories go; it’s not like I intentionally plan my weekend around regrettable acts. Although, I did plan a pub crawl for me and L who is leaving the city for good. Thank goodness that break-up was easy. Anyway, time’s a-wasting!

 

Confession #1: I thought vagina dentata was a real thing. According to wikipedia, it’s a supposed condition where a woman has teeth in her lady envelope and is central to cautionary tales against rape. And the source of inspiration for an anti-rape device.

However, I was most firmly disabused of this notion by the medical doctor in my study group today. At least he was nice about it. Let’s pretend it never happened, like most of high school.

Confession #2: Normally, I snack on crackers while I study because they’re plain and cheap. But one day, I decided, no, it needs something more: Nutella. After a midsemester on Monday, I came home, opened up the jar, and saw that I’d eaten 75% of a 750g jar of Nutella over 1.5 weeks. Oops. At least I didn’t eat it with a spoon. Which I have done before.

As for the midsemester, I didn’t do that great, but I am consoled that other people who did study heaps were unhappy about random questions. Why would I ever need to explain “primordial juices” to a patient??

Confession #3: I dreamt I had a threesome with P’s best friend and his wife. Twice. It was so naughty, but good. The thing is, I felt so guilty, even in the dream! Crazy. I have no idea why, but I nearly told P about it during sex. Why? I don’t know. Thankfully, I restrained myself. Even I know a topic like that is a mood killer.

 

Ok! And we’re done! Let’s never have another embarrassing thought or incident, ok?