Archive | March, 2014

Happy International Woman’s Day to a Me Still Craving Male Affirmation

8 Mar

I’m having such a blah day. The landlord to that house I want isn’t sending me the contract and I’m beginning to worry there might be something fishy going on there. I’m dying to move, but I need to let the daycare know what’s up in two days, and I’m not sure things will be final by then, or ever…

To make things worse my Boy is sick again, for the fourth time this month. High fever, not planning on going to daycare tomorrow. So mommy has to miss work, AGAIN.

And then there’s the other thing. It’s no secret that one of our most basic needs as human beings is to be touched, and it’s been really long. This sex deprivation is making me agitated in an already agitating situation. Bad for my health. And there’s not much I can do about it. I have no life, it’s all work and motherhood, and by the time I get a night off, I’m usually too tired to do anything. Then I finally get a break and my boy is healthy for an entire week, and he goes to his dad, and I go out drinking and meet a creepy weirdo who doesn’t get a hint.

My ego has really taking a blow lately. I feel unattractive, unsuccessful. Even if rationally I know I’m doing well, I feel like a failure nonetheless. And in this pool of self-pity that I’ve sort of let myself sink into today, there seems to be only one thing that can drag me out: male attention. Affirmation that does not come from within. I just really need someone to think that I’m cool right now, and that someone has to have a penis and a nice smile.

I’ve come a long way this year, but here’s something that hasn’t changed a bit: I still don’t think I’m worth a dime if I’m not constantly told I am by others.

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Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but why don’t you drive away that boy I like, creep me out and stick your tongue down my throat?

7 Mar

So in my desperation – I’m not afraid to admit it, it’s been months since anyone’s touched me – I had my second unsuccessful to say the least, attempt at the pick-up-bar scene. Three drinks later, the boy I liked said he was thinking about getting back together with his ex, a guy ten year older than me tried to politely ask for my number, and a creepy yet persistent 30-year-old-divorce-atterny (I kid you not) was giving me tips on how to finalize my divorce and come visit his bedroom while I was at it.

I began by saying I was desperate, and if he had been even slightly less creepy and aggressive, I would have gone with it. But within seconds it was how much he liked me, and how he’d told that other guy – the one I actually liked – to back off, and then the chewing began. The chewing of my lips, like they were a piece of meat, which made me want to ask him to please start treating all of me as a piece of meat and not just my lips. I mean, there hadn’t even been one nice soft getting to know you kiss.

I gave him a false number. That’s the most chicken shit thing to do in the world. Then I left that place and let all the weirdos continue hitting on the few normal people that had come there in order to get over or get back at exes.