The Over-Educated Nympho

I admit it. I’ve been a huge sap lately. Every tv show, commercial, song, and lame chick flick makes me tear up. Normally I’m not like this. Normally it takes nothing short of the depression beast to make me shed a tear. Most of my friends take two to three years before I let them see me cry.

Not so much now. The break up was what, six weeks ago? Long ago enough that I can’t tell you for sure what day it was any more (progress!). And yet I still feel doubt. The funny thing is that my gut tells me from the very pit of my stomach that I made the right choice, yet my brain still insists on bitch-slapping me every damn day as a daily reminder that I walked away from a really good guy. That’s pretty fucking courageous (or dumb, depending on how much you have to lose I suppose) considering the small percentage of Nice Guys amongst all the douchebags.

Just now I was watching Sex and the City on tv. It was the episode when Carrie breaks off the engagement with Aidan. I couldn’t help it–I started sobbing.

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I wrote the original Nympho Statement when I first started this over a year ago. Since then I’ve been through a lot, fucked up a lot, and grown a lot. Cheers to another year full of What the Fucks.

Apparently I am a nympho. I never really thought of myself that way until a couple years ago. Although looking back I can see it was kind of inevitable. When I was five I was the little girl on the playground chasing boys trying to get them to kiss me (they never did. stupid boys.) When I was six I started masturbating. When I was thirteen I was so horny I didn’t know what to do with myself so I just masturbated more. Gave my first blow job at fifteen (and have loved them ever since). Lost virginity at sixteen (and I was the one who pressured my boyfriend into it). For 21st birthday I got the hood of the clit pierced.

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