It's my UNniversary and I'll party if I want to

I have always hated March.  I don't remember why, but it's because of something that happened in high school.  (I think I can safely guess that it had to due with a boy and a broken heart.)  I have decided that I am going to forgive March and hate June instead.  June opens with the day The Ex left and closes with our would've been anniversary (or as I like to call it, my UNniversary).  As much as I've healed and grown and ohmigod I'm so much better off, blah, blah, blah, June still irks me.  I have crazy dreams, disturbed sleep, unexplainable bouts of sadness while watching commercials and I can't figure out what's wrong with me.  And then I realize...it's June.  Dun dun duuuuun.

In an effort to turn my inner frown upside down, I look for ways to celebrate those days instead of mourn them.  In the past, I've either had a party or found someone to have sex with.  The sex thing's not happening so much these days (I guess I've come out of my slutty phase) so, a party it is!  Especially considering this year would've been my 10th anniversary.  That's pretty huge.  I had always imagined doing something big (Me?  Make a big deal of something?  Nooooo.  Never!) like renewing our vows or taking a month long vacation or upgrading my diamond.  Instead, I'm being divorced for my big anniversary.  Well, just because he decided to be an unfaithful, lying coward doesn't mean I should suffer, right?  I'm gonna live it up!  Paint the town red!  Or something.

Who knows what might happen?  Maybe I'll meet a handsome stranger and we'll have dirty sex in the bar bathroom, like on Red Shoe Diaries (you know you watched the diaries in high school).  Maybe the handsome stranger will respect me too much to bone me on the first encounter (bleh, respect reschmect) and takes me on a date at which point I will realize he is a total weenie, but has a cute friend so I need to keep him around for opportunity's sake, like on Co-ed Confidential.  Or maybe the handsome stranger will have the decency to bone me on the first encounter and still want to get to know me after, like on Sex and the City (see, I don't only watch Skinemax and Showtime late night).

Mostly likely, none of that will happen.  But a girl can dream.

The Big O

*warning: this post contains adult content of a masturbatory nature*

A year before my husband left, my sister and her husband split up.  A good friend of mine suggested we get her a dildo as a joke.  (Well, kind of a joke.)  While we were at a super awesome shop called A Touch of Romance, my friend suggested I get one for myself, too.  I had never used one before.  She told me I could use it with my husband to spice up our sex life.  Spice up what?  We were totally rocking missionary, and every once in a while we'd throw in a little cowgirl action.  How much more spicing did we need?  (Guy from high school...and maybe a few others...gave me the answer to that question.)

Well, thank you to my friend, because that Bathtub Bunny (or EZ Bend Bunny?  Something like that) has saved my life!  I didn't use it a whole lot with my husband, mostly when he was out of town.  One time, when he was away on business, the housekeeper came over.  She must have picked a bad day to make my bed because she came out of my room looking horrified and said, "Jennifer?  There's...something...in your bed?"  I was worried there was a rodent or a spider in my bed so I rushed into my room and found my dildo laying there, in all it's glory!  I forgot I left it there.  Oops.

It was slightly embarrassing, but not as funny as the time my friend found it.  After The Ex left I used that bad boy all the time (still do).  Every night to help me fall asleep and everyday to wake me up.  I didn't always have a nightstand with drawers, so I just kept it in my bed next to me (again, still do) along with a Costco pack of triple A batteries (they run out fast!).  Well, this one time, (at band camp) my friend was in town, and the first night staying with me she pulled back the covers and was greeted by my dildo and the battery pack.  She cracked up!  And she never lets me forget it.  But I don't mind, it's a funny story.

My other sister lives with me and we'll watch TV shows in my room sometimes.  The poor girl has unwittingly laid on or leaned on my dildo because I forgot to put it away (I have a nightstand with drawers now).  It's under the covers, so she's never actually touched it.  My cat sleeps over it all the time (it's under the covers, she's not touching it either) and she never complains, I don't know why my sister gets so upset.  Jeez.

It's just a dildo.  We all have one.  If you don't have one, you should get one.  And if you're uptight about getting one, that's just proof that you extra super duper need one.  Ladies, we need to embrace our sexuality.  It's called a pleasuring device.  If we don't know how to pleasure ourselves, how are we going to help a guy pleasure us when he's fumbling around down there like a blind piano player?  He can't find your clit with a map and you're supposed to lay there and pretend to like it?  Sounds like a waste of time to me.  Knowledge is power!

As a single woman who is not currently getting laid, I find that masturbating is the thing that keeps me the most sane (well, Jen-level sane).  I'm irritated and cranky a lot of the time as I go though this almost six month dry spell, but it would be much worse if I didn't have my little purple friend (I shouldn't say little, he's not little, he's average).  It's scientifically proven that orgasms relieve tension and stress, calm food cravings, clear up your skin, boost your immune system, and burn calories.  It's simple: masturbate your way to a healthy lifestyle!

Chapter 5, or Walk of shame

Back to July 2008 and Guy from high school (with the giant dong).  I was in town again so we arranged to "hang out".  We packed some wine and blankets and went to a golf course.  We had an actual conversation, but it was the kind you have while you're waiting for the right moment to jump each other.

        For three or four hours it was all sex and talking on the golf course.  Well, technically, we were on the lawn; we did not defile the green.  At one point, mid kiss, he said, “Jen, I want you to spend the night with me.”  Here are the reasons why I could only answer yes to that: 

a) You can probably get me to do anything if you ask while kissing me

b) He said my name, I love hearing my name in that sexy half-whisper

c) It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and I love sexy        demands

d) We were out of condoms and he had more at home

e) I had forgotten that his mom was home.

        When we got back to his place it set in that his mom was there somewhere and I was going to have to be quiet.  That was going to be interesting.  It ended up not being much of a problem because he only had one condom and despite his convincing argument that we could reuse it, I thought I remembered hearing somewhere that you’re not supposed to reuse condoms.  Hmm, let me think, where does it say that?  Oh yeah, ON THE BOX!  Also, he kept trying to have sex without a condom.  That’s an after school special waiting to happen.

         I wish the worst part the next morning was discovering that my white Capri pants had mud, grass, and wine stains on them.  Stains, schmains, I had to do the walk of shame in front of his mother!  He just had to say goodbye to her before we left.  She came downstairs and complimented my shoes and asked if she could make me breakfast.  She was really very sweet, but it was quite possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life.  If we didn’t have to leave because he had to work I don’t know how I would’ve gotten out of that.  When he dropped me off I considered making him come inside to meet my parents just to get even.  Instead I went inside and had my mom help me get all the stains out of my pants.

Nonline dating: Fun for all ages

The majority of the men who email me, "wink" at me, or "want to meet" me are either 10 years younger or at least 15 years older than me.  Where are all the single men in their 30's?  I asked a friend this once and she said, "They're at home with their wives and kids."  Good point.  I guess I'm stuck with scooby snacks and sugar daddies minus the sugar.

Dear (username), you’re only 18, but when I saw the picture of you in your high school football uniform and read “I like to hang out with friends, play sports and sports and women, it is fun when you go out and relax in my mind!”  I thought, wow, we have so much in common!  Age really is just a number.  I’ll put on my high school cheerleading uniform and we’ll be, like, the coolest kids in school!

 

Dear (username), maybe girls your age think it’s charming that your profession is “LOVING girls”.  I, however, think you must be either drunk or stupid to write that.  And it says you don’t drink.  Sooooo…you do the math 

Dear (username), you’re 20 years older than me.  are you looking for a date or a daughter?

Dear (username), your casual chatter about my nice smile and how your sis also lives in Chino Hills does not distract me from the fact that you are 50. 

When life hands you lemons

Men often think women just want a big, fat diamond engagement ring that they can show off.  And we do want to show it off, but it's so much more than a diamond.  It's a symbol.  It goes up over your finger and down under your finger, and (as cheesy as it may sound) represents the ups and downs of your relationship and of life.  It's a symbol of love and strength and longevity.  It's a circle, never ending.  The reason we want to look at our hand and see that big, beautiful thing sparkling back at us is because it represents forever.

At least, that's what it meant to me.  I wore my ring every day.  I only took it off, briefly, to put on lotion.  It became an extension of my hand.  So, it was extremely bizarre taking it off permanently after The Ex left.  I think I said something to my sister like, "What do I do?  I guess I'm supposed to take this off now?"  If you've never had to do this (and I hope you never do) it goes something like this:  as you wiggle it off your finger your chest starts to cave in and your eyes fill with water and a very light breeze drifts through your body.  Then the ring comes off, and a little piece of your soul goes with it.  (People say I have a flair for the dramatic, but I don't see it.)

That ring sat in my jewelry box for almost two years.  I didn't know what to do with it.  I considered taking out the diamonds and having them set into a necklace or melting down the platinum and resetting the diamonds to create a new ring, but it all seemed wrong.  I knew I could never fool myself into thinking it was anything other than my wedding ring.  I didn't want to keep it, but I definitely wasn't giving it back.  You've already taken everything else from me, you can't have my ring, too!  (I'm practicing being dramatic, it's coming to me pretty easily.)  So, I decided to sell it.

My roommate at the time had a family jeweler, so I called him and he took me to an appraiser.  It turned out to be a pretty crappy ring (cheap bastard Ex) but a month later we had a buyer.  I didn't get very much for it, but what I did get contributed to my trip to Ireland and Scotland, so I can't really complain.  See, folks?  When life hands you lemons, you have them appraised, sell them and go on vacation.  I think that's how the saying goes.

DiscomBOOBulated

I discovered recently that my boobs are lopsided.  It's hard enough being single, you gotta be skinny and pretend to enjoy outdoor activities and have white teeth.  Now I gotta do all that with lopsided boobs?  One has always been bigger than the other.  If I have to have such small boobs (that swim around in the giant padded bras where I hide them), can't they at least be even?  The left one can practically fit inside the right one.  My right areola is almost bigger than my entire boob.  It's ridiculous, really.  And now, I noticed that the right one hangs lower than the left one.  It's sagging!  Isn't the only benefit of having small boobs that they're perky?  Who ever heard of small and saggy boobs?  I don't stand a chance!  I guess it's a good thing that men don't love and obsess over boobs.  Oh, wait...

Chapter 4, or Do you rent rooms by the hour?

*warning: this post contains bad words n' shit*

June 2008 was rocky, so why not bring in July with a bang?  My first weekend back from my parent's house I made a new friend...

She asked me to come to this club opening in Newport Beach and right away I knew I was out of my league.  The girls who go to these clubs are at least 5 years younger and 50 pounds lighter than me.  They wear dresses that barely cover their butt cheeks and sit with their legs uncrossed.  Thanks for the beaver shot, sluts.  So, I needed to throw together an outfit that I wouldn’t look ridiculous in, but would make me somewhat fit in.  Besides the beaver-dresses it was also in fashion to wear black shorts.  Luckily, I had a pair (even if they were from Old Navy and made of linen).  I had this red, backless, halter-top that barely fit me anymore because I had acquired a mild case of the back fat, so I put a red tube top under it and combined it with the shorts.  The only part of the outfit I really liked was my shoes.  They have about a three-inch heel, which makes me feel like my legs are longer.  I didn’t look half bad for all my chubbiness.

I lost my friend several times throughout the night and eventually decided to park it outside of the bottle service room.  At least there I could lean up against the wall to try to take some pressure off of my feet (my shoes were having a fight with my feet and my feet were losing).  Or, maybe, it was so I could stand near the stupid-hot 24 year old bouncer guarding the entrance.

He was one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen in real life.  He was Brad Pitt hot (I mean Brad Pitt before he became an affair having dick nugget).  Girls kept walking up to him and talking in his ear and either going in the room or walking away. 

I leaned into his ear and said, “This must be a great job all these girls want to fuck you.” 

To which he said, “Nah, they mostly just want to get in the room.” 

To which I said, “I’d rather fuck you.” 

Ladies, sometimes balls ass boldness like that pays off because then he said, “Girl, I would totally hit that.” 

         Never have such unromantic words been such a turn on.  Apparently, Hot Bouncer likes a big ass.  I happen to have one of those.  So I decided to go all in.  I said, “Don’t tease me, I’m being serious.”  He took my phone and put his number in it, called his phone so he had my number, and told me the place closed at 1:30 and he would get out around 2 if I wanted to wait.  Hells yeah I wanted to wait. 

When he got out he sent me a text that said: so where u wanna do this dance.  I almost gushed right then and there.  But, instead, I texted: somewhere with flattering lighting.  So he texted me: I would suggest we go to a hotel but that’s kinda trashy.  I texted back: I’m totally trashy, hotel it is.  But I make it a rule that we have to ask if they rent rooms by the hour.  We found a Super 8.  Classy joint.  They didn’t rent rooms by the hour and we didn’t have enough cash.  The guy told us we could pay with a credit card and I said, “Honey, we can’t have a paper trail.”  

We went to a liquor store to use the ATM and he bought condoms.  Magnums.  I realized that what I was about to do was on my dangerous-things-not-to-do list and my slutty-things-not-to-do list, and I was paying for half of the hotel room (well, technically, The Ex was paying), but magnums make my vagina smile.

The next morning we walked to our cars and I said, “Nice meeting you.  You have my number, for a good time call.”  He didn’t.  Kids!

This is another example of "Kids, don't try this at home."  But, sometimes you have to make the same mistakes over and over again before you learn...or if you're turning those mistakes into stories.  So, I guess the saying should be, "Kids, don't try this at home, unless you're trying to get enough material to fill a book."