too smart and too horny for her own good
When you start dating or sleeping with someone, it seems natural that you would take each other to your places. Apparently I am freakishly protective over my apartment, because I have no desire to bring back Jazz Man or The Marine to my apartment.
Maybe it’s the clutter, the messy kitchen, my two clit-blocking dogs, or maybe I just like to keep certain things private. Like fundamental parts of my personality.
The other day I got a letter from my apartment complex saying that my lease will be up soon and I have ten days to decide if I want to keep it. The rent hike they listed for short- and long-term renewal was insane. It was over a 30% rent increase, which they had the hairy balls to state as “a reduced rate for new complex-wide upgrades.” A 30% rent increase? On top of the high rent already? Surely the upgrade is a second bedroom, right? Or it comes with a live-in maid/cook? Or a SEX SERVANT IMPORTED FROM THAILAND?!
It is one of those days that is so beautiful and perfect it seems as if it can’t really be happening. Bright sun, strong breeze, and the smell of sunscreen filled my afternoon today at the pool.
Most days I feel like should be doing stuff, being productive. I should study, I should go to the gym, I should iron, and then at the end of the day I’m tired and cranky.
Last week my parents decreed that Saturday be a family day. This wouldn’t be a big deal if my brothers and I didn’t live all over Texas, which is one big-ass fucking state. We are all driving to the city where Big-Little Brother lives and spending the day together. It would be as lovely as a field of sequin-covered leprechauns except for the fact that I’M TRYING TO GET LAID. Tonight, specifically.
It has been seven months of diddly fucking squat plus two weeks of playful teasing, and I refuse to let a game of Monopoly with my family jeopardize my shot at multiple orgasms with a guy whose tongue is capable of uncanny ability.
Today in my department was annual review day, which coincidentally is known as RAI$E DAY. At least that’s how it is known in my cubicle.
I entered The Partner’s office for my review first thing this morning. I brought my big cup of coffee and hoped that it wasn’t too obvious that I was trying not to think about the sex I did not have last night. Many people have told me I can’t lie worth a shit because my eyes give me away. Stupid STUPID eyes. I’d poke them if hadn’t already done a Clockwork Orange number on them.
I don’t know if it’s that I’m overworked, underfucked, or just good ol’ fashioned pissy, but many people have been telling me lately that I need a vacation. I agree.
It’s time to travel. I need the touch of foreign land on my fingertips, the language of foreign tongues in my ear. I need to remember what else is out there.
It is always awkward to watch anything sexual on tv with my parents, but it’s hard to avoid unless the only thing you watch is The Cosby Show. It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke, two people kissing, or a full-on sex scene, my ears turn bright red and I stare up at the ceiling.
It has been this way since I was ten. Back then it was because oh my god the lady on tv just said the word penis IN FRONT OF MY PARENTS. Now it is more out of horror that my mother may have to ask me what a t-bag is, or worse–that she may already know what it is. Or what if–shudders–she not only knows what it is they’re talking about on tv, but has actually done it?
The whole realm of sex becomes mortifying. My mother is not allowed to know what double-dildos are for.
How is it possible that one’s life can be bursting at the seams and yet also as boring as a box of paper clips? As much as it pains me to go six months without sex (it may embarrass me, but it sure as hell seems to infuriate my readers), there is more to blame for this than my general surliness and continued sex-boycott against idiots (”boycock”? oh god, this isn’t good. when the stupid word games go into overdrive that means I’m fucked. or not fucked. which is double lame and therefore double not fucked.)
I’m not really a church/god kind of person. Thanks to the many open-minded people in my life, it is rarely an issue. Today one of my favorite coworkers (to be known as Bible Boy) accidentally let it slip that he thinks anyone who doesn’t believe in Jesus is wrong.
Wrong? Did he really just say WRONG? Didn’t his mother ever teach him “to each his own”? WHAT BLOODY BOLLOCKS, BIBLE BOY.
I have a nasty temper. Like, screaming-and-throwing-things temper. No one knows that because it doesn’t come out often and when it does I keep that side very guarded. Even when I had roommates or a live-in boyfriend, no one saw that side of me. I pushed it so far in for years that I almost believed it didn’t exist.
Sometimes a person just needs to fucking lose it.
I think my writing has kind of sucked lately. My beloved readers may not think so, but I do. It’s not what it should be. I know about all the posts I’ve started and left half-done. I know what was supposed to fill the blank on the days I don’t post. It’s not like I have some huge dramatic secret, it’s just–well, it’s all those things I don’t want to see on a screen in front of me, let alone be out there where I have to face them.
I know many people who have recently bought or are in the process of buying their first home. Coworkers, cousins, and now my friend Dr. Smartypants and her hubby. I helped them move from an apartment to their new house this weekend, which I can prove from the bruises on my legs (I DON’T KNOW how they got there, I’m just gifted in that way) and tremendously sore arms (have you been to the gun show? –flexes girly biceps–).
*18+ Only Please*
I'm Vix, a 27 year-old Texan. After 18 years of private education and 3 degrees, I'm trying to leave the corporate world behind to become a sex/humor writer and novelist. I'm sexy, funny, ugly, raw, and entirely real-- because there's more to me than being a blowjob queen.
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