Falling Without Recovery

Everyone and their mom is obsessed with falling in Love. The movies and TV shows and musical arrangements that fill the airwaves during daily drives to and from work are all full of Love stories that will either leave you curled up under your covers yearning to be touched in the best way or wanting to regurgitate the cold sweet and sour chicken you ate for lunch. The whole Love thing has become such an important force in the lives of pretty much everyone that it's even become like a big deal to tell someone that you love them in a way that's like "Yeah, I loved you before, but now I think I might want to only have sex with just you for the rest of my life." Funny how that happens, right? 

You could have asked high school Angela if she'd ever been in Love, and I can almost guarantee that she would have said yes in a heartbeat. I was stupid, though. I thought I was in Love with every guy who showed any kind of awareness of my existence or any guy who had moves on the astroturf field and do some kind of hair flip. But, let's face it, kids, that's just lust. And lust is Love's evil twin who only wants to give you herpes and a broken heart. 

I've grown up since then, and I'm not going to lie or do a fairy dance around the mushroom to avoid disclosing that I currently find myself caught between the sticky fingers of Love's iron fist. 

But I'm going to just say what no one else will say. Being in Love is shit. It's horrible. I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. 

Some mornings you open your eyes and life is rainbows and puppies and fuzzy kittens sleeping on cotton candy clouds. Suddenly you feel like nothing could possibly go wrong, and you're so happy and just want to go tell it on the mountain so everyone knows about how you have all these feelings for this one insignificantly significant individual. You finally understand the hype about Love. Well, you think you understand. After all, you're pretty much walking around in the same puff of smoke that follows you around after you leave a really good concert or have just had a totally real conversation with Josh Groban. 

Other days, you're lucky if you can get up out of bed. Your chest hurts and you miss this other person more than anything ever. It feels like you're going to actually die. I suppose you could say they're the drug 12 steps wouldn't be enough to kick, and you feel like you're going through the most painful of withdrawals. Every song is suddenly about them, and every movie stars you.  You remember the possibilities of dying of a broken heart and you're nearly positive that that's how you'll die. And, finally, the story of Romeo and Juliet makes complete sense. Maybe those two lovebirds weren't as hormonally irrational as you once thought. 

Then there are days when you absolutely hate everything about this person. You sit there and think to yourself, "Why this person? Why now? Why couldn't I be feeling all this for the cute guy who works at Subway?" You hate the way they laugh, the way they drive too fast, the way they only want you when they drink, the way they look when they think you're not watching, the way they do just about everything. It all sucks for being so damn cute and appealing like a 6-pack of bitch beer on a Friday night. You wish they'd just leave so you could just move the frig on. Like, please get out of my life now. I can't take this. You're killing me slowly. 

But there are still those days when you feel like you're in one of those corny Nicholas Sparks novels, and you're totally invincible to the rest of the world through the power of Love. You love the fact that they're around. You love every little moment you have with them, and you realize how beautiful life is while they're with you. You see them from across the room, and your heart stops and you can't imagine having a more beautiful view. They touch you, and everything feels perfect. They hold you, and you feel the safest you've ever felt. They kiss you, and you wonder if you'll ever find anything that feels more right. And that's not even explaining the feeling at it's best. That's just skidding across the surface. 

The thing about Love, though, is that despite all the aching chests and awkward first kisses and the feeling of "how will I ever move on from this moment?", it's still pretty amazing. And that, kids, is the shittiest part. 

September, Be Sweet

Hello, September! So, we meet again.  Hope you don't suck a big black fat one like you did last year! And with that, I flip the page of my calendar to discover how much school stuff I have going on the next couple of weeks. Yeah, I'm having a love/hate relationship with September lately. Can we just fast-forward to Christmas break? No? Really? That's not possible to do? Oh.

I'm going to be really honest, I'm kind of dry on writing material right now because my life is insane (you can probably see that based on my latest blog posts, so I really haven't done a good job at trying to hide it) and sometimes my brain dies on me and I kind of feel like pounding it with one of those defibrillators, but I can't really do that. So, for the record, I'm trying, but I'm probably going to really suck for a while until I find another reason to talk about sex. I know, I know.

It's a little weird to look back on the things I wrote way back when I first started writing on this blog. Everything just came naturally and I didn't have to sit around waiting for something funny or interesting to hit me like a sack of bricks. Posts like this or this were written because I am a random ass college student with random ass, sleep-deprived thoughts. What happened to that instant ability? Screw you, aging and stress and depression and more stress on top and not enough sour patch kids and pizza. Screw all you to heck! 

Wait. I can totally mention sex. Hold on. 

So, I normally don't randomly plug articles on my blog, but I came across this really awesome article titled "Fat Sex: What Every Wants To Know But Is Afraid to Ask," and I think it struck me hard enough for me to want to talk about it some and share it with any of my readers who may be really curious about stuff or who might be in the same boat as a lot of "more-to-love" people out in the world. Basically I loved that the article pointed out that women need to stop trying to hide their fat during sex because their partner is already fully aware of how fat they are. She also goes on to show easy ways to make "fat sex" easier and more enjoyable. It's just a very informative read and also a complete confidence boost. So, I definitely suggest you people go read it.

I don't know. If you guys have topic suggestions for me, please, I beg of you, leave them in the comments or if you actually know me in real life, hit me up. I'm desperate. I'm this close to selling my body on the corner by 7-Eleven and Sonic.

I'll just leave you with Avril Lavigne's latest single "Rock N Roll"

T(H)RUST IN ME.

You know how there's that whole stereotype about guys only wanting to boink and honk and touch your ba-donka-donk? That they don't actually mean anything they say because they basically follow their penises into the great unknown hoping for a little of this and a tad of that? That they think, "If I say really pretty words, the words every girl really wants to hear, I'll get lucky tonight?" It's just a man following his biological instincts from ancient histories in the great wild.

Imagine my lack of surprise when I saw that my most viewed blog post of all time was my post titled "Bras, Penis Flaps, and Pinterest! Oh My!" That is what we call strategic blogging and tagging. I've learned over the course of my life that sex sells and sex gets attention. I have no idea if a majority of those views were from male readers or female readers, and that doesn't really matter in this instance. But I bet most writers would see that and say, "Oh, some perverted guy must have come across this on accident because there is nothing sexual about this post." (excuse me, why are men always the perverts? You know, girls get horny too. like seriously. omg put that penis inside me.)

I'm not like most writers (or really people), if you haven't figured that out yet.

Truthfully, I am fascinated by sexuality. I am fascinated by vaginas and penises and boobs and nipples and testicles and sex and how things work and why things work and why things feel good to some people and don't feel good to others. Yet, I am not a sexual person in the way that you'd think I was if I was just to just tell you that I am interested in the mechanics of sex and sexuality. You can ask just

about anyone I know, and they will back up that statement for me. I mean, my sexual encounters with people are private, so I won't be like exploiting my deepest and most intimate moments here on the Internet anytime soon. That'd be weird. C'mon.

But I can say that I have had guys send me dick pics. There I said it. And I have even had a guy try to seduce me by just whipping his willie out and expecting me to be sent into a sex-induced craze and the only cure is for me to do things with his penis (that guy found out that didn't work at all). I've had guys message me on Facebook (friends of mine) to tell me that my chest looks nice in a picture or whatever.

This whole thing seems kind of one sided, am I right?

It is. 

Seems that people have totally ignored the fact that girls can be guilty of wanting the "D" just as much as a guy wants the "V." Honestly, I wish I could have a blog completely dedicated to every single time I have thought about a guy's butt or penis or chest or anything like that because that blog would have a new post like every day. Sure, that might make me sound a little crazy. I know that.

But like, I'm not just interested in a guy's 7 wonders. You know, I like candles. And wine. And Italian food. And chances to put on a dress and go out and eat Italian food and then drink wine illegally because I'm still underage. I like feeling safe. I like bad kissing (on my part) and lots of cuddling. I like going places and having that urge to reach out and hold a guy's hand but not actually making the move because I fear we're not there yet. I like talking. I like sitting
with someone and just knowing that that is the damn best place to be at that moment.

I like trust. 

I like "I won't tell anyone about the porn file on your computer if you don't tell anyone about how I can't kiss to save my life."

But I also like a little thrust with my trust. I'm not asking for too much. It doesn't make me a slut or a pervert or a whore or anything else that might be insulting to someone who likes sexy things or the human body and its functions. I'm just a girl. I'm just willing to wait for what I want to be what's real.

And, just for those who might have found this thinking I was going to post naughty photos and talk about sexcapades, thinking about sex doesn't make you a pervert. It just makes you a person. 

Do You Like Tacos or...?

I am a firm believer that what goes on under the sheets and between the legs is private business for every single person who wants it to be. Whether that is if you lead a very sexually active life or what your sexual preference is at the end of the night, to me, none of that matters. Sometimes people are extremely open about their gender/sexuality/sex life/whatever, and others would really rather keep that to themselves. Either choice is fine.

But I'm not going to lie. I have had some friends over the years that have seriously made me think about what kind of person they are. Some people are just harder to read to find out that kind of information. I'm talking "Great Expectations" hard. I found myself thinking about what my friends' sexual orientations were and whether they were virgins or not. For some unexplainable reason, I was extremely curious about this stuff. I turned to mutual friends and whispered in the shadows, "Hey, do you know if he's gay?" Sometimes I got answers, and other times I just had to go straight to the main source.

As always, my conversations with people are so awkward and so "ugh-I-don't-want-to-have-to-ask-this-right-now-let-me-die"

Me: Hey

Friend: Oh, hey!

Me: So, uh, I have a friend...

Friend: Yeah?

Me: And, uh, they asked me if you were...

Friend: What? A serial killer? HIV positive? The Famous Jett Jackson? Bringing da noise, bringing da funk? Bluffin' with my muffin? Rocky mountain high? Heir to the Genovian throne? Just somebody that you used to know? A Pisces? 

Me: GAY! 

Friend: Oh. No. I'm straight. 

Me: What about those other things? Are you the heir to the Genovian throne?

Friend: Shhhhhh *backs away slowly*

It is truly none of my business if someone likes boys or girls or neither or if they like to have lots of sex or not have any at all. But, like all great people in history, I can be too curious at times. 

At the end of the day, though, knowing or not knowing that information about a friend or classmate or random Subway employee that made me a really good sandwich once really doesn't matter at all. I'm not even just saying that right now. 

Well, it does matter because if I do know I can either A) fall madly in lust with you or B) ship you with another one of my friends. But those are like the only reasons I would ever truly need to know anything about you. Yeah. 

If your pants are full of secrets, though, I'm probably going to do some investigating. Oops. My bad.