emma b. says

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

True Confessions of the Wishful Louche Kind

So it turns out that I have been celebate (excluding the marvels of the internets and battery powered miracles) for almost a year. It'd be a joyful occaision if I were born again, or even remotely tittalated by extreme piety, alas, alack, nyet. All I am is wistful for all of the sex I have not had with boys and men, glorious boys and men........

...... Which brings me to point number two.


I have been on a fairly rigorous (weddings exempted, sorbriety caveat) non dating plane since the engineer. We could get into it, but I imagine that most are astute enough to realize that I have been sheltering my poor shriveled heart ---- c'mon really, two years later, still shriveled, not robust?? yeah, fuck you, still shriveled, step off, conscious. And then my dumb brother had to go ahead and shatter my carefully constructed mirage by signing me up for Match.com. Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.



Do I hafta, really?

and yes, yes I do, I have to at least try.


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