Tuesdays can go suck a fat one. You know it’s gonna be a rough day when you wake up and can’t wait for the day to be over. The only thing that is keeping me going is the promise of partying, and getting out of this metaphorical drought- because mark my words this weekend ends the three month no action nonsense.
“Make sure you send Grandma’s birthday card”,“ Me and you should go to the mall Tuesday”, “I like a little sugar in my tea”, “Sally’s yearbook pic is beautiful”.
So you’re texting a special cutie. The convo is flowing, your witty banter is on point. Things are running smoothly then - BAM! Four little words pop up on your screen. “Send me a pic”.
“To sext, or not to sext, that is the question”…. of the 21st century. Hamlet sure didn’t have to worry about junk like this. Oh Shakespearian times, the good old days where chivalry wasn’t dead, and the latest and greatest technology was the Printing Press. Now a days we have to worry about the sexual pressures picture messaging present. I suppose it is just a picture, but IDK man. Have you ever been going through your friend’s phones (this is especially true of my man friends), and while innocently checking out their photos you come across a naked girl…. boobs… oh there’s an ass…. wow are those implants? Before I know it I have viewed more tits and ass than I ever needed to see. Call me a prude, but I couldn’t bare (ha bare. get it naked…bare?) being “that naked girl on his phone”.
While ranting about our cough cough 2 cough month cough dry spell, my Roomie and I came to the conclusion that we don’t get any man action because we won’t “put out” for just anyone. I’d rather be stranded in the Sahara Desert (our nick-name for our sexual dry-spell) than feel badly about myself for hooking up with nasty scummy boys.
Summer of 2010 my two best friends from Buffalo (Buffalo Bestie, and Little Buddy) I made a bet. The bet was who can “get it in first”. Little Buddy (who is 2-years younger) had an unfair advantage. She had a steady boyfriend, so Buffalo Bestie and yours truly were forced to whore our selves around just too get a little action. I was determined to win this thing! I did not under any circumstances want to be a virgin in the sexual or kissing sense when my first day of college came around (PAH! …Still the Virgin Mary more than a year later). One night after a little too much “apple cider” at a grad party I had found the man who was going to pop this cherry. It was a boy who graduated, I thought was cute all throughout high school…. and he was a man-whore. I had this thing in the bag. Once I told my competitors my man of choice, blank stares were accompanied by chirping crickets. Little Buddy said: “you want to win the bet, not get an STD”. Because of this true statement we refer to him as STD Boy. Honestly I now (after seeing the light) would not touch that kid with a 9379273682736487 ' pole.
Anyways summer (stupid, horny) Amanda started texting STD boy, and all we did was talk about sex. I of course received the “Send me a pic” text, and as you probably have guessed didn’t send a pic. (Although horny, still had some personal boundaries). This went on for like two weeks; us saying how badly we wanted each other’s reproductive parts. A few times he even suggested I sneak in his house. He said his mom worked nights, and his dad and sister were sleeping…I’m sorry but FUCK NO. I am no ones booty call (unless your name is Shemar Moore). We continued to text sexual things, I repeatedly declined his suggestions to hop the bushes, and climb through his window, and then came August 14th; the bet deadline. Coincidently the night of the deadline we “hooked up”. When I say hooked up I mean made-out, not to be confused with the “had sex, Hooked up”. We made-out felt up and then went back to the party. I being a slut (and hopped up on "apple cider") text him and said I had a special surprise in store (BJ). He never got his “surprise” because I ignored him when he came to find me. Eventually STD Boy grew tired of my “cock teasing”, and I realized how stupid I was for acting foolish just to win a bet.
When I think sext I immediately think naked girl. But men do in fact sext. I have actually had the privilege? of receiving a rare MALE SEXT. It again was the last month before I was off to the Big Apple. Little Buddy has a big brother, and him and I occasionally texted (nothing raunchy like the texts between STD Boy and me). One time texted: “Send me a pic” text. I obviously shared it with Buffalo Bestie, and Little Buddy (I will never understand why guys think they can have a secret between them and a girl; its just fact that the girl will tell at minimum their closest bff). It was as you can imagine awkward for Little Buddy whose brother it was, but Buffalo Bestie and I were like lets see how far we can push this guy. Our mission:
-Get “Big Bro” to send a pic.
Almost everyday I (with Buffalo Bestie coaching me) tried to get Big Bro to send a pic. I tried sending googled tits and ass, but he was too smart for that. We even sent a pic of my girl’s cleavage. But he insisted of a pic of me. Really? My girl has like DD’s, I have (–A’s)… Anyways one day while in borders with Buffalo Bestie and Little Buddy, I finally told Big Bro that if he sent a picture I would send one after.
Now let’s pause for a moment. What is about to happen was totally unexpected, and I still feel a little guilty to this day
While in the travel section of the store I felt my phone vibrate. A glance, and a shriek later and I sent my phone half way across the isle. On my screen was a pic of what we now refer to as “Lil’ D. (Yes, I am an ass. The poor kid sends me a pic to which I did not reciprocate, and we made fun of it). I after collecting myself apologized, and erased the image from my phone. Unfortunately the image cannot be as easily erased from my memory.
Well that was riveting eh? From the above stories here are the conclusions that can be made about yours truly:
1)I am an asshole.
2)I am no one’s booty call
3)And I am still a virgin.
I at this point in my life will not demean myself just to get a little “booty” y’all are just missing out on this booty- Your loss. I suppose if I really like you I’d send a picture, but that takes some trust. If you receive one you have it in the bag or “my vag” I suppose. But really why a picture? Just come and see this work of art in person.
If you know anything about me you know I have a little thing for men of “color”, also for those a little taller than average. A while ago, when I was still a newb in college, and the Big Apple I made plans to meet up with a guy… yes a guy of “color”. I really had no expectations going in partly because after viewing his facebook I wasn’t too impressed with his pictures (welcome to 21st century profiling). We arranged a casual meeting where I was accompanied by some of my friends. While my buds and I awaited his arrival in a central location down town my palms grew sweaty. I was nervous because I can get pretty shy around new people. After a pint of palm sweat later I saw him crossing the street. Great now my belly button was sweating- that’s how you know it’s serious. Pictures did not do this sex God justice. I don’t know if it was the sweater, his height, or the skin color but I was for sure in love… right?
L.O.V.E. A four-letter word with titanic meaning. They say it takes 30 seconds to fall in love (who “they” are I don’t know), but really? Only 30 seconds? If love is: “a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person”-www.dictionary.com, how can you possibly fall in love with a total stranger after a mere 30 seconds?This being said is love at first sight possible, or can we write it off as an impossibility?
I swore I was in love with Sweater Boy- but now looking back I think the more appropriate explanation of my emotions was lust (“uncontrolled or illicit sexual desire or appetite”-also from www.dictionary.com). I was in “lust at first sight”. Perhaps it takes 30 seconds to be physically/sexually attracted to a person- not to love a person.
Having ruled out the possibility of Love at first sight, what is it considered if you meet a person, didn’t think twice about them, then meet them again and start falling? Does the fact that you can’t get them out of my mind mean you’re in love? I mean they failed the lust at first sight thing…. but grew on you like moss does a rock.
Love is messy, so is lust when you confuse it with love. The line between lust and love get blurred when the burning sexual properties of lust get mistaken for the warm happy feeling of love. What are you in?
Tip: Stop giving a fuck about people who don’t give a fuck about you. Try it you wont be disappointed.
There is a fine line between love and hate. To hate someone is a rigorous-taxing task. It takes effort. The way to hurt someone the most is to simply not care.
Why do we always fall for the asshole? The one who doesn’t even know we exist, the one that makes us feel like shit? The answer is: BECAUSE THEY DON’T CARE. Them not wanting us makes us want them even more. I wonder: Is it just human nature to want what we can’t have? Why can’t we appreciate what we have and not dwell on what we don’t? Don’t let anyone bring you down. Don’t put your life on hold for someone that may never come around. Why give them the power? Why not just not care?
“Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free til they find someone just as wild to run with them.”- Carrie Bradshaw.
Today spring is in the air my amigos. It’s a little chilly, but the sun is shining, and it’s one of those days where you walk around with a goofy smile. I am not sure if it’s the weather (making my seasonal winter depression pass), my new found confidence, or NYC- but each day gets better and better. I think all three are responsible for the newly created “Amanda 2.0”, and I love it. Spring break is now 2 and –a- half days away, and fun is sure to ensue, especially due to the fact I am staying stationed in the city with my roomy.
A paramount event also occurred on this wondrous day- my roomy and myself stayed awake for our entire fashion survey class. This is a first. The speaker was incredible, informative (a Drew Barrymore look-a-like), and opened my eyes to all the possibilities the future holds. After the class my roomy myself, and few other gals we were chatting with stayed behind to talk to the presenter. She gave some advice I shall soon not forget. She basically said don’t get hung up about your major, just use college to learn to socialize, find your likes, interests, and network.
When I think about my future all I see is NYC. The City has spoiled me, being anywhere but I’d simply go stir crazy. I see myself single, successful, and enjoying the company of the city and the people I care about, just like my idol, Carrie Bradshaw (yes a fictional character). As for a family I’m not quite sure. I might want kids down the line, but I really like my newly found independence. I don’t need a man, or kids to fulfill me, but that’s just me. Kids and a husband are a luxury, not a necessity for me. If I have them I have them- if I don’t oh well. Let’s see what the cards deal me.
I swear to God I am romantically bi-polar (I am in no way mocking anyone who is bi-polar, I am being completely serious). One day I want to be courted, another just banged… Mike Posner definitely wrote “Ambiguous” about me because I can’t make up my damn mind. Today though I am feeling happy, content. My roommate really put things into perspective for me last night. I have so much good in my life; I am finally happy with myself, I love NY,spring break is three days away, and I have a whole new group of friends (my NYC family). why complicate a good thing?
Mid-term week is approaching. I’m stressed, over exerting my body at the gym and running on no sleep. I wake up this morning and as per usual make my daily pre-subway Starbucks stop. I wait in a 10-minute line, pay then come to find that there is no light Frap mix to make my Venti Coffee frap LIGHT. They ask me if I want the regular, but I decline. My conscience can’t deal with the extra 300 calories added on in the regular frap as compared to the light. Now I am angry. All I wanted to feel was the cold slushy caffeinated frap climbing up the straw, hitting the warm interior of my mouth.
Upset, and not caffeinated I head down the steps to the subway. Its almost 8 (don’t ask me why I left so early for a 9:35 class) and there are masses of people waiting for the local downtown 6. I manage to squeeze on the already packed train, and still coffee less I grew more and more angry as I was forced to play twister just to find something to brace myself while the train was in motion. I listened to two women get into an altercation because one had pushed the other, rolling my eyes at the stupidity. Obviously people are going to be pushed; we were packed into the car like cattle waiting for the slaughter. I myself was straddling the man in front of me…. he owes me 20 bucks!
Heading up to the main part of Grand Central Station I saw a couple par-taking in some PDA. Great. I don’t know your feeling on Public Displays of Affection, but I don’t even have the option to display my affection in public because I ain’t got no man. The most public lip action I get is sucking my frap up through my straw as I walk the streets.
I exit Grand Central, now near my school building; I get my Starbucks (orgasmic), and start to feel stupid for being upset about such meaningless things. I’m young, healthy, and living in the greatest city in the world. I am in college, I have great friends (they are basically my New York City Family), and I am content with myself- something a long time coming. That’s when I turned that old frown upside down!
