“You don’t get me high anymore” – Phantogram

Is it any wonder I can’t get a rush Anymore?

I have flown with the Navy Blue Angels, broken the sound barrier and nearly blacked out from G-Force (and didn’t puke). I traveled the world for a year on tour singing and dancing onstage in front of tens of thousands of people. I’ve met and interviewed most of my favorite musicians and songwriters. I even gave many of those bands their Big commercial radio Break. I flew Slow and Low while we lit up Baghdad in 2003. I’ve crashed cars at high speed while shooting through a windshield.

How can I not believe that my best days are behind me? 

I didn’t ask for a picture of you in bed. I sure as hell didn’t ask for a picture of your cock. Whenever a text conversation devolves into a request for Cleavage shots, I wonder what did I do or say to invite that kind of attention? Whatever happened to a man who appreciating my Sharp wit as much as my phenomenal tits? Whatever happened to admiring my duality of kindness and badassery?
Yeah, you, I’m talking to you. You ruin my day with your “compliments”.

But no one can hurt me without my permission, right?

My lipstick application is a meditative practice in patience and precision.

I’m flat lining again. I just want to drink and sleep. Focus eludes me, I panic at the hundreds of pages of research in front of me while the hound Im watching whines like a bored toddler. I have a reason to put on pants, Samba rehearsal in an hour but I don’t want to go. I want to close my eyes and dream to escape. Can I make a living sleeping? My bed was the best investment I ever made. Too good, it would seem.

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“I wish you would tell me how you really feel but you’ll never tell me ‘cuz that’s not our deal” ~Best Coast

In hindsight, saving myself for marriage was the most detrimental mind-fuck of my life. I was nearly 21 when I got married for the first (and supposed to be the last) time. Crying on my wedding night in a La Quinta hotel bed in Alabama as a well-endowed child tried to go Where No Man (or anything else for that matter) Had Gone Before. I spent a year working two full time jobs to keep that unemployed, spoiled child “happy”, letting him use me however his demented mind saw fit, because I was the dutiful wife and although I realized I had made a mistake, it was a punishment I was committed to til death do us part. Until he decided he wanted to move to Vegas and become a porn star. He told me “You are the perfect wife, I just don’t want to be married”. Oh I cried, begged, blew him in the car and jumped out of the moving vehicle later when he wouldn’t change his mind. I didn’t mourn the loss of him so much as my innocence and the farce that I did everything “right” and G-d had failed me, rather than my judgment.

Fast forward two decades and I had strike two under my belt but this time a gay man in hiding. I know, I know…porn star and then a gay man? I’m not even making that up. My picker is truly broken. Although I can’t say my judgment failed me, I just failed to listen to it. In the 13 years since my second divorce, my serious relationships were serious only to me and short-lived. I’ve said before that there is no such thing as “casual sex” because if I’m attracted to someone physically, it’s because I’m already attracted to their person and therefore emotionally invested. Maybe that is how G-d chooses to punish me when I fall off the celibacy wagon. That old Jew-ish/Christian self-imposed piety from childhood is so deeply rooted as I fear getting hurt over and over again…

But with dry spells lasting YEARS, I’ve nothing left to prove or lose. My sexual peak goes wasted on a vibrator. So when “K” joked about giving me a mustache ride, that led to a sincere discussion of “rules”. He has zero interest in a relationship so to keep my expectations and heart in check, I said no “hanging out” outside the bedroom (except that we both end up at a lot of the same dance events, which is where we met). And only one “buddy” at a time. Dipping his pole into multiple ponds is gross.

I let more than a month pass since that conversation until Sunday, I started to reach for my vibrator and grabbed my phone instead. What are you doing tonight? I asked. He replied “laundry”. “You can do your laundry here and me at the same time”. Totally cheesy but it worked. We went through what was left of a decade-old box of Trojans at my bedside (with “feels like nothing is there” printed on the box. That’s a damned lie, by the way). The next day, I googled “thinnest condoms” and ordered a tin of Japan’s finest (of course those kinky freaks would have the best on the market) and confessed my sins to my Trusted Agent who laughed and asked “Did he survive or did you kill him?”

I don’t feel the least bit guilty but I am keeping it in perspective by reminding myself that K is too vanilla (no teeth, no nails, no spanking, no choking, dont “go there” with anal; his asshole is like a Chinese Finger Trap and I’m likely to lose a digit if I go exploring). He also dislikes dogs and cats, which is a deal-breaker, even if he did grow fond of me. Love me, love my Zoo.  But I like the way his mind works, his choice in books, his Mississippi accent…and that makes it risky. He didn’t know me in my glory days so when he remarked “lucky me” while examining my favorite tattoo which is only visible with my pants off, I replied “Yes, you are”. Because I’m special, even if he doesn’t realize it. And I’m picky. I chose him, out of desperation but chosen regardless, among others who might’ve gratefully worshiped me, at least for a minute.

“Remember me in your lucid dreams as the best you ever…” ~ Michelle Branch

waterfall rapellingMy blind date ended up looking like Zorg from the Fifth Element. And when I handed him my phone to show him “A” picture and he took it as an invitation to flip through more photos, that’s when I tapped out.

My friend asked me about my love life. Well, do you want to know about the man who holds my heart but doesn’t want it, the man I have a crush on who doesn’t know I have a vagina, the man who only wants my vagina, or the Dropkick Murphys roadie who started out promising but then faded away when I wouldn’t respond to his racy selfies in kind.

I also unblocked the Flake. Three months after the fallout, I held out strong but now I caved with his “I miss you, can’t we just talk?”. Out of curiosity, cracking that door open to see if it was safe to come out. It was especially hard to turn him down weeks earlier when he was passing through and asked to see me. I told him in an email that I couldn’t be “just” his friend, that I still wanted him and couldn’t pretend that I was okay with him not wanting me back. “But if you show up on my front lawn with a boom box, I’d consider it,” I replied, rather seriously. Miss me? Prove it. Our few conversations since then have been brief and rather awkward. For a week, I was back to anxiously grabbing my phone to see if I had a text from him in the morning (never did) and considered re-blocking him for my own sanity. He’s also spending 10 days traveling the Pacific Coast Highway without me and I told him not to send photos rubbing it in my face. Because I should be there with him. The walls are up on both sides and it leaves me feeling very sad.

So I hopped a plane to Puerto Rico for 5 days. It was a hell of an experience complete with a trip to the VA hospital Emergency room when I decided to chew on a poisonous plant in the rainforest. I blame my friend for double dog daring me with “Don’t even think about putting that in your mouth…”   The upside to the pain was lips that swelled like a perfect collagen job. Even the doctor remarked (while giving me a steroid cocktail via IV) “Well, your lips do look fantastic”.

I couldn’t resist sending a picture to the Flake, a breathtaking shot of me looking like a total badass, rappelling down a waterfall. He of course responded with a selfie of him at a vineyard in Napa Valley. I didn’t respond but gloated to myself  “I win!”

The roadie hasn’t asked about my adventure or my self-poisoning but offered up more late night photos to which I responded “thanks but I’d prefer we leave something to in-person discovery”.

That same night, a former supervisor from SOCOM who I haven’t seen or spoken to in years and never hung out with outside the job contacted me to ask if I wanted to get a drink. I joked that it was past his bedtime but then we set a date for next week. He was married when I worked with him but he’s either divorced or separated now. And entirely too old for me (although still younger than the 60 year old retired marine “Dos Equis” that I crushed on two years ago). All things considered, I have this foreboding that this is not innocent interest in catching up with a former coworker and already it is feeding into my inner monologue about how men want to fuck me but not keep me. Blame that on my poor choice in men to date but these late night calls out of the blue from recently single (or worse, still married) men doesn’t help. And I’ve never been promiscuous so I’m not sure why they call me. I know I’m a good catch but these men and their transient interest makes me feel disposable.