ooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOoo!!!!!
(The heading of this entry was supposed to be a ghostly noise)
Mantra of the moment: I am NOT a slut. I AM not a slut. I am not a SLUT!!! I will not be a slut. No more slutlike actions. Why? Because I am NOT a slut. Nope, not a slut. Well, maybe a little...
I have officially, after this weekend's festivities, slept with a dozen men. A DOZEN! In case you can't read between lines, I'll tell ya that I'm feeling a slight bit slutty.
My roommate and I threw the biggest, bestest, freakiest, spookiest, most debaucherous party to date this weekend. About 30 people were drunk, high and dancing in our living room. Red wine got spilled all over our white (yeah, that's right, white) couch. I was dressed as Alice and Luna was dressed as an angel. William dressed like some sort of goth punk rocker from the 80's and we decorated the place with colored lights and cobwebs. It was fantastic.
Okay, now that the stage is set, I must explain some history about number 12. Three times in the last, let's say, 3 months, I have had really fantastic cab rides home with this Paraguayan man named Gustav. Feet fly in the air, giggles abound and cab drivers adjust their rearview mirrors when Gustav and I ride in yellow cabs together. Although these rides are fun, I made a promise to myself before the party started that Gustav would, yet again, not be allowed to join me in my bedroom. Up to this weekend I have been SO GOOD about sending him on his way when things got too steamy. We have always had fun and kept it really casual. On Saturday night the party was moved to Hiro, the nightclub of the moment. Gustav got tired and I got tired, so we decided to take a cab home (we live blocks away from each other so it's convenient, that's how this whole cab thing got started in the first place). Our yellow cab experience was delightful per usual. He came up to my place and, contrary to what I had decided in my sober state, Gustav was invited into my room. He was there all night. I woke up feeling stupid, ashamed, cheap and full of regret. I mean, cab rides are one thing but DAMN, sex is serious!
Since 9 am yesterday I've been trying to figure out why I feel like sex is a "serious" thing. Some people just do it and have no regrets. They don't find themselves lost in guilt and remorse the morning after. Why can't I be that way? (and further, do I want to be that way?) Should a sexual encounter be a punishable offense?
I understand that I am a human being with desires and instincts and hormones and a high blood alcohol level, but are those things really an excuse? I had so much fun when Gustav and I were just phantom cab ride nooky partakers. To be truthful, those rides were much more fun than the shit we did on Saturday night PLUS I woke up feeling happy, naughty and proud of myself for resisting temptation. Are the few moments spent in orgasmical splendor worth the hours and hours of regret and self-deprecation that will undoubtedly follow any encounter of the flesh? I don't think so, but I'm trying really hard to clarify my true feelings on all of these matters. I want a really concrete theory on all of this. Why, you ask? I'll tell you why. I never want to regret a sexual encounter again. Never. I will either decide that they are no big deal and do whatever feels good or I will be a helluva lot more careful with myself in the future. So, Emily...what's it gonna be? (I need an extension on this assignment for now. You know, time for pontification)
On a lighter note, I went to a haunted house last night expecting that NYC haunted houses would be 80 percent better than the ones in Utah. I was wrong. Not so scary. Plus, Will threw me in between him and one of the spook alley actors. Now I know what would happen if we were ever faced with a real emergency. Save yourself, fuck the girl!!! Wow, considering what the previous paragraph dealt with, I shouldn't have phrased it that way, but so be it...
The village parade is tonight. Oh, and trick-or-treating. I love Halloween, but I'm glad it only comes once a year. I'm looking forward to being Alice one more time, but the shine has kind of worn out on her since all I can think about when I look at the blue dress and white apron is Gustav leaning on his arm, lying next to me and saying in a satisfied voice, "I can't believe I got to make love to Alice!" Pedophilia, anyone? Ewwwww!
Maybe next year I'll be a nun.
Mantra of the moment: I am NOT a slut. I AM not a slut. I am not a SLUT!!! I will not be a slut. No more slutlike actions. Why? Because I am NOT a slut. Nope, not a slut. Well, maybe a little...
I have officially, after this weekend's festivities, slept with a dozen men. A DOZEN! In case you can't read between lines, I'll tell ya that I'm feeling a slight bit slutty.
My roommate and I threw the biggest, bestest, freakiest, spookiest, most debaucherous party to date this weekend. About 30 people were drunk, high and dancing in our living room. Red wine got spilled all over our white (yeah, that's right, white) couch. I was dressed as Alice and Luna was dressed as an angel. William dressed like some sort of goth punk rocker from the 80's and we decorated the place with colored lights and cobwebs. It was fantastic.
Okay, now that the stage is set, I must explain some history about number 12. Three times in the last, let's say, 3 months, I have had really fantastic cab rides home with this Paraguayan man named Gustav. Feet fly in the air, giggles abound and cab drivers adjust their rearview mirrors when Gustav and I ride in yellow cabs together. Although these rides are fun, I made a promise to myself before the party started that Gustav would, yet again, not be allowed to join me in my bedroom. Up to this weekend I have been SO GOOD about sending him on his way when things got too steamy. We have always had fun and kept it really casual. On Saturday night the party was moved to Hiro, the nightclub of the moment. Gustav got tired and I got tired, so we decided to take a cab home (we live blocks away from each other so it's convenient, that's how this whole cab thing got started in the first place). Our yellow cab experience was delightful per usual. He came up to my place and, contrary to what I had decided in my sober state, Gustav was invited into my room. He was there all night. I woke up feeling stupid, ashamed, cheap and full of regret. I mean, cab rides are one thing but DAMN, sex is serious!
Since 9 am yesterday I've been trying to figure out why I feel like sex is a "serious" thing. Some people just do it and have no regrets. They don't find themselves lost in guilt and remorse the morning after. Why can't I be that way? (and further, do I want to be that way?) Should a sexual encounter be a punishable offense?
I understand that I am a human being with desires and instincts and hormones and a high blood alcohol level, but are those things really an excuse? I had so much fun when Gustav and I were just phantom cab ride nooky partakers. To be truthful, those rides were much more fun than the shit we did on Saturday night PLUS I woke up feeling happy, naughty and proud of myself for resisting temptation. Are the few moments spent in orgasmical splendor worth the hours and hours of regret and self-deprecation that will undoubtedly follow any encounter of the flesh? I don't think so, but I'm trying really hard to clarify my true feelings on all of these matters. I want a really concrete theory on all of this. Why, you ask? I'll tell you why. I never want to regret a sexual encounter again. Never. I will either decide that they are no big deal and do whatever feels good or I will be a helluva lot more careful with myself in the future. So, Emily...what's it gonna be? (I need an extension on this assignment for now. You know, time for pontification)
On a lighter note, I went to a haunted house last night expecting that NYC haunted houses would be 80 percent better than the ones in Utah. I was wrong. Not so scary. Plus, Will threw me in between him and one of the spook alley actors. Now I know what would happen if we were ever faced with a real emergency. Save yourself, fuck the girl!!! Wow, considering what the previous paragraph dealt with, I shouldn't have phrased it that way, but so be it...
The village parade is tonight. Oh, and trick-or-treating. I love Halloween, but I'm glad it only comes once a year. I'm looking forward to being Alice one more time, but the shine has kind of worn out on her since all I can think about when I look at the blue dress and white apron is Gustav leaning on his arm, lying next to me and saying in a satisfied voice, "I can't believe I got to make love to Alice!" Pedophilia, anyone? Ewwwww!
Maybe next year I'll be a nun.