The Over-Educated Nympho

I have always been a meaty girl. I have a predominantly German ancestry, with the last four generations being of the strong/drunk farming sort. Which means we’re big and surly and MEAN if we don’t eat red meat every day. It also means we’re thick, muscular, and athletic. We know how to throw our weight around. Especially the women in my family. Let’s just say the reign of the matriarchy goes WAY back.

I say this because I am proud of being “meaty” for a girl. Note: meaty is not a euphemism for “fat.” I am not and never have been fat by anyone’s opinion (except that one bully in the 10th grade whom I slammed against a wall and cursed out, but he changed his mind after that incident, oddly enough). When I tell people my weight or pants size they are always surprised because I do not look it. I am lean, have no tummy rolls, no rolls or cellulite except where I am supposed to. But I definitely have an athletic build. You do not want to meet me in a dark alley, or else I will throw you up against a wall and have my dirty way with you.

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Try as I might, babies scare the fuck out of me. Seriously. Being in the presence of a baby is the best contraception I have ever encountered.

I think I was one of the very few women born without a biological clock. For me it’s not like it’s a matter of when it will go off, perhaps five or ten years from now –it’s more a matter of not having a biological clock at all.

Don’t get me wrong, kids are cute and shit, I like them just fine–but in the same manner that I like my mother: from far away.

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I went to the tattoo parlor and got my tattoo. I was so excited all day long, I could barely stand it. Which just meant I drank tons of coffee and emailed all my friends all day about it.

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I have an apointment to get my attattoo tomorrow night rightaf ter work. fuck. drunkety drunk already. dur. wine on empaty stomach. teee hee heeeeeeeeeeee take off me pantsand tatoo me now, bitch!! weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Today has not been a good day. I suspected it would be as such, which is why I wore my lucky Superwoman underpants to work. Normally they wield supernatural powers. Not today.

By ten this morning I was blinking back tears while sitting at my desk attemping to hide behind the huge stack of binders someone more important than me stacked up on my filing cabinet. Which I really should thank them for now. I was on the verge of crying even after taking a full Xanax this morning–which is not a good sign.

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I’m still seriously considering the idea of a tattoo.

I still like the idea of QUOD ME NUTRIT ME DESTRUIT as a tattoo, but I’m going to change it up a little to make it more mine. The translation from the Latin is “what nourishes me destroys me” and is a bit negative and would just be enabling me to feel sorry for myself for having depression/ADD and being hyper-sexual. Which is not the way to go at all. I’m trying to remind myself that being a nympho is a GOOD thing, an AWESOME thing, that having depression makes me a stronger and more introspective person, that ADD makes me creative as hell and good at multi-tasking. But as you can see, some days those things just make me want to self-medicate into a forgiving numbness.

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I’m thinking about getting another tattoo.

The current one I have is tribal and doesn’t mean anything. I wanted a tattoo, I walked into a tattoo parlor when I lived in the East Village and picked out the first thing I liked that I saw on the wall. It was about getting the tattoo represented, not about the actual tattoo.

Now things are different. That tattoo was a couple years ago, when I was in a very different place and (if you can believe it) in an even more confused place mentally.

But right now feels like such a crucial time where my life can go in any of very different directions. And for some reason that feels tattoo-worthy. What specifically?

The same thing that Angelina Jolie has just above her pubic triangle, Quod me nutrit me destruit which is Latin for “What nourishes me destroys me”

How fucking true.

I’ve written this before, and here I am again, except with a lot more anger this time around. BECAUSE GUYS KEEP PISSING ME OFF.

You say you want a sex-crazed girlfriend, you say you want a freak in the sheets, you say you would do anything if you dated just one nympho, just once, dear lord, that’s all you ask for before you die.

Well as a nympho I’m here to tell you YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. You’ll be able to keep up with her for the first month or two, and then after that you’ll be the one faking headaches and begging her to leave you alone and slapping her hand away.

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If I were a superhero, I would want to be named SuperPussy. I would save hopelessly lost orgasms, lonely masturbators, awkward first-timers, broken vibrators, and desperately horny but deserving individuals find satisfaction.

SuperPussy would start as a comic book, then turn into an animated sitcom on the adultswim channel, then eventually have an entire line of underwear, and t-shirts proudly proclaiming SUPERPUSSY SAVED MY ORGASM in assorted colors.

SuperPussy would be only the best superhero EVER. Just think about the potential for action figures.

Well happy freaking blogiversay to me. One year ago today I started up my blog at the long-winded advice and persistence of my friends, and I’m glad I did.

However, warning: all pleasantries in this post are strictly sarcastic/tongue-in-cheek. I’ve been really pissy and depressed and absent from the blogosphere lately, and for good reasons that I can only allude to.

I’ve been through a lot over the last year: panicking about getting a job after college (earning three degrees doesn’t guarantee you SHIT), getting my first job after moping around the apartment for a couple months, hating it and quitting and getting a much better job where I currently am now. Although all I think about lately is how I want to be a writer instead. But let’s save that pity-party for another post.

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Yes, I acknowledge I am the queen of suckage right now because I have barely posted over the last two eeks or make that month becaues ot he new job (which I still love, by teh way, and not jusat because the coffee doesn’tg suck) and yes, maybe I am juust A LITTLE bit drunk but that is of no concern). My profuse apologies. Make up sex? Kisses.

Here is an entry from my journal yesterday which I am typing out because 1) I am too drun k to be original or coherent haha 2)my one year blogiversary is next week and I feel guilty for not writing more lately in celebration of it 3)I’m too drunk to think better 4) I’m too drunk to care about conjsequen`esssss oh shit I sweatr I didn’
t do that on purpse oh why am I so sweaty???!!! SEx woudl be so awesome right now if I were sure ofb eing able to remember it in the morning damnit. I’ll get some ice cream and oreoes instead mmmmmmmmmmmm

yesterday’s journall:

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