the man-bullshit diet

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Peri-menopause did a number on my metabolism and depression and life events compounded it and I gained 20 pounds about 2 years ago. And at 45 nature is trying to turn me into a fat hag to signal my complete lack of usefulness or appeal to the world. This made losing the weight really tough. I was working my ass off, yet said ass was not going anywhere. Then I did start to lose some of the weight. Enough, but not as much as I wanted to, or to fit into my jeans again.

Enter the man-bullshit diet.

You can’t really break up if you never had a relationship, but the fucking and opting out yoyo game that Benedict Celibatch did was close enough. Aerobic sex helped. And then despair over loss of said aerobic sex helped more. I’ve lost all those 20 pounds. I actually lost 5 more that I didn’t want gone, my cheekbones were too sharp. There is such  a thing as too thin.

The first time BC and I got naked I was not feeling so super sexy looking. I was a little embarrassed about my body. But he didn’t see anything wrong. As I lost weight and I’d say “Don’t I look better?” he’d always say “you always looked great. you looked great before and you look great now.” and I believed him.

Now I feel pretty confident in my body again. I could be more toned, I could work out a bit more. And I will. But I’m not super obsessed with trying to look perfect. I’m so glad I fit into my jeans again!

Man-bullshit always helps me lose weight. It’s awful if I don’t have any to lose, sharp cheekbones and a disappearing ass do not help me feel more confident as I try to recover from whatever perceived heartbreak has occurred.

I’m not really heartbroken over BC and his celibacy campaign. Just sad, confused and horny for him. I miss him. I like him. I would put up with more of his brand of bullshit if only he’d come around. That chemistry. Uh.

I have great chemistry. With great guys. 2 of them! And I’m into both of these guys. A lot. But I am pretty sure I could have a man harem 20 deep and I’d still pine for him. There’s something very special and specific about our connection and chemistry. I think it’s a crime against nature to not explore and enjoy it. Neither of us are married or exclusively coupled. I just don’t really get it. And I’d like to be getting it. Getting it so good.

Alas.

I wish he’d come back. Even if it’s platonic. But I’d prefer non-platonic.

But you can’t always get what you want.

 

 

my grandmother’s pearls

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When I graduated from High School my grandmother, my mother’s mother, gave me pearls. In a beaded satin purse. I thought they were sweet and beautiful, but couldn’t imagine wearing them. I certainly had no idea that I’d take to wearing them in my 40’s.

I don’t imagine that she was expecting me to wear them with a threadbare t-shirt and cut-off Levi shorts but I’m sure she’s glad I’m wearing them just the same.

Sometimes you have something for years, decades even, and then suddenly you are just in love with it. You know why you’ve held onto it all those years.

I’ve had a pretty transitory life. Like a really boring, solitary gypsy. I’ve moved a lot since I was a small child. I’ve had friends and family come and go from my life. I never expect anyone to stick around. Shit always ends. Shit always changes. And shit often turns to shit and falls apart. But maybe it doesn’t have to be like that.

The idea of a stable, long-term partner is as appealing as it is foreign. I wonder if after years, decades even, you discover parts of your partner that you haven’t even seen or known and you fall more in love with them for it. If a string of pearls can transform from an inanimate object of sentimental value to a loved and worn part of my wardrobe I’d imagine a person could surprise me even more. People are far more complex than pearls, usually.

Maybe I have hidden, secreted away, saved and perviously unnoticed parts of myself, that once discovered will be cherished and used, not just for special occasions, but for regular life. Regular life needs to be celebrated. Wearing a vintage cocktail hat in the summer with running shorts and a t-shirt can make me so happy I almost don’t care that it’s hot as hell, that I have no idea what “I’m doing with my life” or “where I’m going”.

Inanimate objects are reliable. They can bring a lot of joy. But nothing compares to the exchange of human emotions. Both good and bad. A dress has never broken my heart. A vintage feathered cocktail hat can make me smile even if I’m not happy. But being a well dressed hermit can only last so long. I’ve been coming out of my shell, shaking off my invisibility cloak and being comfortable being seen, being known.  Feeling good in my skin again. I like it.

The person who really helped nudge me out of my hermitage, who made me feel really good in my skin, has made his own retreat. I wish it wasn’t the case. I don’t like it. I want to share some more time with him. But I understand the urge to retreat. But I don’t get why he’s running from me. I’m not scary. I’m wearing pearls, for fucks sake!

 

eviction notice

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Over a dozens posts ago I proclaimed that I would cease writing about Benedict Cumberbatch. That worked not at all.

I wish I could just turn it off, thinking of him. Wanting him. I try. It’s getting better, a bit.

It’s not like I’m all alone and pining for some attention. I’m getting some. Mmhm. And I really like these men, especially my favorite one, but the other one is my favorite too, in his own way.  Despite his own opting out.

Honestly I want all 3.

Not all at once! Well, that’s not true, I’d love that. But, duh. Never in a million years will I get a menage a trios + mois.

But all 3 are so complimentary. But it appears that creating a man harem is really hard.

But I really am making the effort to evict Benedick Don’tComeBack from my thoughts. My heart. My blog.

I’m not in love with him. It’s lust. And a connection that is still in the curiosity phase due to his long ass arms in the long arm’s length stance. Maybe he is a total dick. I don’t know. I don’t think so. But all my friends do.

I’d love to find out. If we can be friends I’m up for it. Down for it. Whatever sounds the least sexual and most platonic.

If celibacy does not work out I would love to help you break that fast. Yum. But this push/pull/revolving door shit is over. I’m over it. Dude has no idea how many times I wanted to say “Fuck off” but my body just melts at the thought of him. Melts on fire.

But you’re  outta here. If you want to reconnect call me. Like the old person you are. You know how a phone works. But text is fine, I guess. But I miss that voice.

But yeah, anyway, byeeeee.

I am cautiously but definitely into Ed Norton.  And despite his shy/aloof/stand-offish vibe  I know way more about him in a few weeks than I do about Lord fucking Voldemort in 15 weeks. And when I’m with Ed I don’t think about Benadick.  At all. I did get shocked by some texts once but I didn’t wish I was not at Ed’s fabulous house having a fucking fabulous time with him. Not one bit.

Ed’s out of town on Mr Boss man man business. Andy has opted platonic. So now I’m sexless for almost a week! The horror!  Honestly, I need the sleep, and my bruises will heal. My sore neck will calm down. I’ll recharge with hermit time. But I am missing him. And not just for sex. I want to hang out. Talk. Laugh. He’s fucking hilarious. And clever. I even like his dog commands. I am not quite counting the days, but yeah, I am. A little.

I am not going to feed that fire of lust for that opting out BenJerkingMeAround ComeOnDude. I will just wait and see if we can be friends. If someday we could be lovers/sex partners/fwb. Without this bullshit. But for now goodbye.

I’ve got a new ringtone I wait for now.

 

April 26th

On April 26th I met Benedict Cumberbatch. Well, my Cumberbatch, anyway. Like 15 weeks ago.

Prior to that I had been celibate for almost 3 years. It was hell. I literally thought, was convinced that no man would ever touch me again. But then, my spinster hymen was broken. And some kind of fucking spell was cast. Cupid? Something. Cause I was smitten.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt decidedly smitten before. But it’s unleashed now. It’s a delicious feeling. And I’d be lying if I said I was not still fucking smitten with him. But I’m actively trying to push his ass out of the house that is my heart.

I’m also super smitten with Andy. Ditto Ed Norton. Ed is kind of a frontrunner, but he’s seeing other people, so maybe he’s not that into me? But I’m seeing other people, or I was until the opt out plague of ’18. And it doesn’t mean I’m not super into him. I am.

And, metta alert. I have to write this like Ed doesn’t read it. Yet I know he’s reading it. Yeah. Good thing Sybil is my fucking middle name. Cause I have to split my personality to do this insane thing I’m doing with this here blog. Didn’t think it all through. Story of my life.

At least with life I know how it’ll all end. Death. Duh. But this story, I wanna skip ahead to the ending.

I’m so impatient.

I can’t stand the wait.

 

sex

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I like sex. A lot. I love sex, actually. It’s one of my favorite things in life. I’d love to find someone who’ll spend half the day in bed with me. Playing. It’s fun. It’s pleasurable. It’s very mammalian, I like being in my body in a pure, animal way.

The notion that it’s super easy as a woman to find as much sex as you want isn’t turning out to be true, for me. For one, I want quality. A quality man and a quality lover/sex partner/fuck buddy/FWB, whatever term you like.

I turned Benedict Cumberbatch celibate. Celibate.

Now Andy only wants to be friends. No benefits. Oh, that was a good benefit package. Fuck. Or, rather, don’t fuck.

O.K. Friends is great. Let’s do it. Oops.

But yes, friends. Andy, adorable Andy from Weeds, is super awesome and I’ll love being friends with him. Once the porn in my head wears off. Uh. His band is sick. That’s not gonna make me want to fuck him even more at all.

So, I still have some serious quality. Sir Edward Norton knows he’s my favorite. And he is. But like Veruca Salt, I want it all. Now. I liked having 2 & 1/2 dudes to fuck. A lot. Now I have one. And what a one he is. But it’s casual. Easy going with potential.

I like this.

But I also like sex, and a lot of it. Everyone’s busy. I might need like, 5 guys, to have as much sex as I want. Yikes. Clearly I am fine without that much. But I was not that fine with none, for so long that my spinster hymen grew back. Didn’t like prolonged celibacy one bit. That shit was bad for my health, physical, mental and emotional. For real. I function better with a functional sex life in my life. If I could be having sex 3-10 times a week I’d be sooo functional.

I do want a partner at some point. Preferably before I expire into crone-dom. A de-facto husband, no papers required. A party, a dress, trips, living together maybe, a life, together and sometimes parallel because I am a total hermit at heart. A horny hermit.

I wish that the opt out guys just wanted the sex. I’d have the sex. It’s a drag. But I get it. Sort of.

I think I’m kind of a like dude in that I can love one man and have sex with sanother, (with permission, of course, I do not cheat) and it doesn’t diminish the love I have for the one I love. At all. Maybe I could have some kind of open-ish relationship. Not Polyamorous full on. Poly-lite. De-facto husband and a bf/fwb. Why not? works for Tilda fucking Swinton.

Maybe I’ll fall so much in love and partner up so deeply that I don’t want that. Maybe. I’m open. But I have to be open to being open to be open. Yeah. Metta.

And such quality men keep opting out.

You can’t hurry love.

And I just wanna fuck.

 

another one bites the opt out button

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Do I have an “opt out” button where my clit should be?

Dude.

Sk8 dude, aka Andy is apparently opting out. I knew shit was too good to last.

He doesn’t like being “the other guy”. But no one is the “other” guy. But I get it.

We are going to be friends. And I hope that we can actually be friends. But I’ll want to jump on him for a while. Maybe a long while. But being friends is good. Getting to know someone is easier when their dick isn’t in your mouth. Maybe not as fun, but converations are certainly easier. And he is really funny and sweet and smart and I will be super happy to be actual friends and get to know each other with our clothes on.

And supposedly Benamonk is open to being friends, but that will remain to be seen. I can’t make that move. The Iron curtain is closed and I’m gonna have to wait and see  if he actually wants to get to know me without his dick in my mouth. Time will tell. Maybe time will heal my delusional level of connection to someone who clearly isn’t/wasn’t that interested.

So now  I am down to Ed Norton. Who’s dating other people. Which is totally fine. Even though I don’t always feel totally fine, it is indeed, of course, actually fine.

But.

I do like him. A lot. I want to get to know him more too. I am pretty sure he likes me. Yes, likes likes me. But he’s not rushing into anything, which is good because I don’t want to rush into anything. But I hope I’m cool enough to stay on his mind as he dates other women. Am I cooler than snapchat chick? I’m pretty great. Cute. Sexy, for a hag. Funny. Creative. Smart, when I’m being not totally stupid. And pretty weird, which is better than boring. And pretty confident. And also full of insecurities that can plague me.

And he’s fucking rad. He’s cute, sexy, funny, creative, smart as fuck and weird in my favorite kind of way. He’s not gonna have trouble finding cool ass chicks who are into him. He’s Ed fucking Norton, dude.

I guess I can’t really know what will happen. Which I hate. I read so fast because I want to know what happens. But my life isn’t a fucking novel. And I know I have very little control over much outside of myself. I don’t even want to control things. The pressure of that is terrifying. There is a part of me that is always hoping that someone, someone trusted and wise, will tell me what to do when I’m lost. My mom sometimes helped me figure out what to do. I have friends who help me figure out what to do, when I’m lost, when I’m drowning. But I have to figure out what to do. I have to wait and let things unfold. I know, gag, that word has gotten so Gwyneth Paltrowed out, gross, namastay-away. But it’s true. Shit will evolve, I can’t really do much other than be present, observe, respond, enjoy, reflect. Be as open as I can. Be as honest as I can but not the TMI emotional vomit kind of honest. Just grown up appropriate honest.

Great. Grown up and appropriate. Totally my fucking wheelhouse.

And for fuck’s sake, please can I not push anymore dudes into fucking celibacy?

 

thoughts & prayers

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Don’t worry, this post is NOT about school shootings. No. It’s about those thoughts & prayers that I hold for myself. And the ones I fear to dare to think, hope & pray for.

I know I come off like a polyamorous ethical-slut, but that’s never been my jam. And it’s only 2 guys, dude. I’ve had an “open” relationship before, except when I wanted to fuck a guy my boyfriend informed me that he was only comfortable with me fucking his friends. Uh. O.K. He was a skater. That was a fun time.

But he wasn’t fucking anyone else. Dude. None of my friends would have fucked him. He was missing a tooth. A front one. Yeah, he’s a post of his own someday. I loved him despite trying not to. Another post…

So Ed Norton went on a date. She was “nice”. “Cute & interesting”.

Great.

But yeah, of course he’s dating other people. And I’m totally fine with it. Except for that little part of me that is not totally cool with it.

I do have a very extroverted, confident & gregarious side. My inner performer. I love being onstage. I’m pretty fantastic as a performer. And I can be funny as fuck. I’m a really good dancer. I can be “the life of the party” at the right party. I know I’m pretty rad, I’m super cute. Sexy af. Fun. Interesting, if weird appeals.

I also have a very strong introvert, shy, hermit for years side. I have a side that thinks I will never be good enough for anything good. My dear ol’ departed dad made sure that I knew my worth in his eyes, lack of worth that is. “Worthless” was a dominant theme. We’ve talked about my motherload of daddy issues before.

My mom helped me with how broken my dad made me feel. I need her. That force of nature level love that a mother gives is irreplaceable. And it’s gone. People who say “she’s still with you!” can just fuck right off. No. She’s dead. I scattered her ashes, found her chemo port in them, unburned. I want to call her. Her phone is forever disconnected.

But now I have to be a big girl. A grown woman. Lady time. O.k. I can do it. everyone’s is motherless eventually, unless they die before their mom.

I can handle Ed dating. Maybe he’ll keep liking me. Maybe he’ll find someone so fucking awesome that I never hear from him again. Doubtful. Who fucking knows.

I really like Ed Norton. And, yeah, shout-out to you, dah’ling. I know you read this. So fucking Metta, broadcasting my deep, dark dating secrets online. For those I’m dating to read. Yeah, did not think that through. Too late though. Spinsterhag is a fucking force of nature now.

Can’t stop. Won’t stop. Merch coming soon.