I’m fascinated by the idea of a happy ending. Not the kind you find in a massage parlor or of the Disney persuasion. But an honest-to-God somewhat mediocre but also amazing in its simplicity kind of happiness.
I don’t ask for much, while asking for everything.
I’m also fascinated with this whole being “the man” kick I’ve been on lately. It’s liberating and humbling at the same time. I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the proverbial man-parts. You always kind of knew I had penis envy, didn’t you? As a regular reader of this blog, I imagine you did know that. And if you didn’t know… now you know. I don’t want to be the man — as in the establishment, but just in sexual voracity.
I still have that three-pack of condoms which will be expiring in 2016. I joked with a friend of mine that I was gonna start writing the names of prospective vict– er, I mean prospects on the outsides of the boxes. And when the expiration date hits, we’ll see if any of them were ever used. My money’s gonna be betting against me if you want the insider info.
This is my weird little post about the pursuit of sex with the man of my alleged dreams. Though the jury is at times out on that one. Mainly because I don’t think he’s thinking much of me.
I may delete this but for now I’m leaving it up here on the Internet, where it will surely impress no one. I’ve been writing in a more disjointed way. It matches how my brain thinks. I’m done with sensical blogging. Reason be damned! My friends will understand. And if they don’t, they’ll either be too polite to say so, or will call me out on it. Either way, I love ya.
I have not given up hope yet but I feel like I’m turning a new leaf. A more confident me, and perhaps a less-caring one is emerging. Less-caring in the sense that pride is no longer holding me back as much as it used to…
In the event I should fall on top of you please return me to an upright position.