The Over-Educated Nympho

Today I took home my slinky from work.

I am cleaning off my desk one personal item at a time.

Yesterday it was my boys are stupid coffee coaster. The day before that it was my You Say I’m a Bitch Like it’s a BAD Thing desk calendar.

I’m wondering how long it will take the people in my office to notice something is going on. Some of them are kind of dense, so I’m guessing that even if I “go to a doctor’s appointment” on a day that I’m wearing a very polished and sophisticated (ie, ironed) outfit, they will still be surprised when I throw my balled-up resignation letter at the boss’s head.

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I miss having the confidence I did when I was single. I’m not talking about the daily validation from appreciative male eyes, but the fact that I had to count on myself. I didn’t have a choice, reallly, about being fully self-reliant. Without a boyfriend or a best girl friend, I was just SOL. I had to be strong, even on the days where I crumbled into a huge mess. Somehow, I managed to pick up the pieces of my broken self.

But now, having a boyfriend, I’ve come to rely on him too much. I take for granted the fact that I can hold myself together just long enough to get home from work and see him opening the door for me and I just let all the pieces fly out of my hands in all directions. “Would you pick that up, sweetie? I can’t seem to do it myself.” As if all I’m talking is something as simple as picking up his goddamn dirty socks on the floor.

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I’m making the leap. After bitching about my job since the day I started seven months ago (and playing hooky on my six-month anniversary out of self-pity), I’ve finally decided to say fuck it and look for another job. While maintaining this one. I am still poor, after all. Although the idea of quitting my respectable job to be a stripper for a couple weeks sounds kinda fun, I won’t lie.

At this very moment I have my resume open in another window on my laptop, and I’m very excited at the prospect of, well, working anywhere else. Hopefully at a place that pays anywhere near as much as all my other recent-grad friends make, the bastards!, ideally at a place that I enjoy working. I want to look forward to waking up in the morning.

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BF is out of town, having a Guys Weekend with his friends. No, not to Vegas, but that is pretty much the images that are going through my head. Tits, sequins, shots, pussy, phone numbers on napkins, and more shots.

And so I text message him. Again, and again. He doesn’t reply the whole first night. I begin to panic.

Obviously he’s at a strip club getting his third lap dance and deciding which one to bring back to the hotel. Obviously his stupid friends are getting each other shit-faced and betting to see who can scam more phone numbers. Obviously his sweet (usually confident) girlfriend back home is the last thing on his mind while he’s being surrounded by friends who are egging him on, trying to get him to break away from the ol’ ball-and-chain, just to see if he actually will.

Did I text message him too many times? Did I seem too desperate? He’s just busy, right? He’s not ignoring me on purpose, right?

At least I learned from last time he was out of town that calling him every two hours to make sure he’s not in a strip club or in bed with someone else is NOT WHAT COOL GIRLFRIENDS DO. No no no no no.

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There are some days where I just wake up depressed. It’s especially fun on a weekday because I don’t have time to cry it out, wallow, and eat a fair amount of my sadness away before having to go to work. But then again it also sucks on days like today when I wake up on a Saturday already crying (and an hour before I normally get up for work, to just make it worse of course) and I curse myself and smack my own cheek for not keeping an emergency bottle of anti-depressants and Xanax and while we’re at it a coffee maker on my nightstand where they would be extremely useful on self-indulgent mornings like this. To top it off, BF isn’t even here to nuzzle my neck or tickle me into smiling or make the puppy dance and sing the Wakey Wakey Song.

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I need help from you, my beloved readers. I’m (finally) writing an About Me page and I want to know what you’d like to know about me. Besides the obvious:

Are you really from Texas? (yes)

Will you tell me where you live in Texas so I can knock on your door and try to convince you to give me a blowjob? (no, and if you even want a shot in hell you’d better back up and suck up a helluva lot more…. like by starting with “nothing would make me happier than to go down on you and make you cum so hard you black out”)

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First Glance
I was walking through the parking lot of Best Buy when a car in front of me slowed down. The driver’s window was down and he leaned out the window to give me a long, slow, appreciative look. Although I only glanced at him briefly (I do have a boyfriend, I have to behave after all), I saw just enough to know I liked what I saw: twentysomething, black, nice smile, nice eyes, flirtatious. I grinned to myself and didn’t think about it again as I entered Best Buy for my shopping.

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A couple weeks ago a publicist contacted me about a book she’d send me if I would be kind enough to review it on my blog. Last week I received the book and have been eagerly reading it in my free time. The title is Unhooked Generation: The Truth About Why We’re Still Single, by Jillian Straus.

I haven’t gotten very far yet but what I’ve read is awesome. I probably would have bought this book anyway if I’d seen it at Barnes & Noble at the New Releases section. The intention of the book is to figure out why our generation seems to find it so much harder than our parents’ generation to fall in love and sustain a healthy relationship. Hence the title.

From the dictionary in the back of the book:

Unhooked: Unattached, single. Also refers to members of this generation who are in a relationship but aren’t fully committed.

What I’m looking forward to discussing is If our generation finds it so natural to hook up, expected even, then why are so many amazing people perpetually unhooked?

*I welcome comments, opinions, topic suggestions, for future reviews from this book as I continue reading. This is very much only the beginning of a series of posts about dating and (non-)relationships.