The blog formerly known as...

Divine Idiosyncrasies has undergone major reconstruction and is now available at its own domain (click link below).

 

As you may have already guessed, I've always been fairly sexual. I've already written about my childhood exposure to pornography, and people hardly ever believe me when I admit that I've been masturbating since elementary school. (And I'm not even sure that's altogether abnormal. *shrug*) So, you'd think that, given my level of sexuality, I would have been promiscuous in my younger years -- not so. In fact, the first time I had sex was on my wedding night at age 20. Unfortunately, it wasn't good... at all. Even during the marriage, I could count on one hand the number of times we had sex... this, despite the fact that I "tempted" him before we were married. (Remember how devoutly Christian 'Two Shirts' was?) So I blame our sex-less marriage on one of two things (or both). First, I was on birth control in the form of a three-month shot (Depo-Provera), of which the side effects included absence of periods (NICE!) and extreme dryness 'downstairs' (not so nice!). But more importantly, I wasn't in love with him -- something I didn't completely realize until after we were married.

 

During our sex-less marriage, Two Shirts blamed me completely, telling me that something was physically wrong with me and that I was tempting him to have an affair. (Secretly, I wanted him to have an affair so I would have a reason to leave him that wouldn't send me hell. No such luck. The bastard held out!) By the time we separated, I had really started to believe that something WAS wrong with me sexually. Was I frigid? Was my 'juice-maker' broken? But shortly after our one-year separation and subsequent divorce, my self-confidence and libido had returned. And I had something to prove! So I invited Two Shirts over to my place and used enough porn tape moves to etch that night into his memory for the rest of his life. See, 'Two Shirts'! I'm quite the opposite of frigid; and my 'juice-maker' works just fine, thank you. (And it appears that you CAN turn most lemons into lemonade... including childhood exposure to pornography... who knew?) Anyway, I didn't have sex again for over a year. But for me, that night confirmed what I knew I was truly capable of; and that was enough.

 

By my second year of grad school, I was in a serious relationship and having sex again... well, sort of. I loved 'Red' very much---I was in love with him. So sex was more like 'making love'... very sensual and exciting. The only thing was... he was paralyzed from the waist down. As a paraplegic with an injury lower on the spine since age 15 (car accident), he could still achieve an erection; but it was infrequent and short-lived unless he took Viagra. So the most important element was pleasing one another... aside from penetration because he couldn't feel that. While this helped me develop my sensuality quite a bit, I did miss actual intercourse. That's, of course, NOT the reason we didn't work out (even though his sister-in-law made free to tell everyone -- behind our backs, of course -- that there's no way I'd ever be able to be sexually satisfied with Red).

 

After Red and I broke up, I finally had one of those cliche relationships where we stayed together for the sex... but I wasn't able to recognize that until after we broke up. 'Rock Noggin' was a personal trainer who thought that any talking was too much talking... oh, except if it was about himself or sex. The sex was great at times; but often, I knew I was around for the following purposes only: (1) to show off to his friends, (2) to satisfy his sexual fantasies (I felt like a living, breathing blow-up doll at times, no joke!), and (3) to meet his emotional need for a woman. Rock Noggin' taught me a very important lesson though. Before him, I had never had a vaginal orgasm... only through clitoral stimulation. So I had proven to myself that my G-Spot is alive, well, and feels damn good!

 

After cooling off from Rock Noggin' for a few months, I started my dating spree... of which you all have been aware (see entire blog). Pre-dating-spree, I had only slept with three people over the span of six years. Post-dating-spree, my number has increased by five over the past year. That seems like quite a drastic difference to me. There was Frenchie (who couldn't keep it up to actually have intercourse... yet I still count him), Gramps (twice), CY (many many many times... but also within the context of a serious relationship), BM (once), and RG (who was sadly reminiscent of Frenchie). But I suppose it's not as bad as I think. After all, I've dated a whole lot more guys than I've had sex with. The real difference to me has been the introduction to casual, non-commital sex -- i.e. sex outside of a committed (or developing) relationship. While I expected these guys to turn into dating relationships, it seems that I judged (and subsequently bedded) much too quickly. So I went on dating hiatus to figure things out but really was just avoiding the issue altogether... until things got complicated with RG...

 

RG is balding (not bald), thick (not fat), and walks with an odd (not feminine) swagger. Nonetheless, I'm incredibly attracted to him. This could be attributed to the fact that he has a confident air, is very intelligent, and shares a great deal of interests with me. So we were getting along just fine when I began to notice (and dislike) certain things. Although very touchy/feely, he would take us to the point of having sex and stop short. He also said a few rude and/or inappropriate things that showed a lack of sensitivity and/or social awareness. And finally, I started to really feel like he was a spoiled brat. He grew up VERY well off. His family owned a jet to take them on vacations; and for his 12th birthday, he got... a full-size tennis court. He went to private school (even for college) and only wears J Crew clothing. I've always known that I'm not of the rich mentality (at all), but going out with RG made me realize that I'm surprisingly judgmental of folks with money. Nevertheless, things were still okay... and then...

 

A friend of RG's came to my apartment one night and brought her dog in with her. And while she went to the bathroom, her dog did too... all over my apartment. And when the shit hit the carpet, do you know what RG did? He waited by the bathroom door with a hand full of paper towels, saying, "She'll clean it up. It's her dog." I said, "Yes, well, it's MY carpet" and snatched the paper towels out of his hand. When his friend got out of the bathroom, she was mortified and, of course, helped me clean up. However, RG continued to only watch. Later that evening, I found more doggy remnants in my bedroom. So what did RG do? He handed me more paper towels and watched me clean it up! That's when I knew I had a real primadonna on my hands. So I broke it off with him, letting him know exactly why.

 

So what does this have to do with sex then? Well, RG just recently moved to my city (which he was in the middle of planning when we started going out). And within two days of his being here, we had sex. I had no intention of that happening. I really wanted to be friends with him because we have so much in common. However, when we were hanging out, I was reminded of how and why I liked him so much in the first place. So when he made a move, I accepted... with this crazy subconscious notion that we would start seeing each other again (i.e. developing a relationship). Well, although he has made it clear that he'd like to hang out frequently and has begun to buy me things again, I still get the impression that he thinks we are "friends with benefit," something I just can't be. Within a serious relationship, I've had a whole lot of sex; and with guys I've dated, I've had a little bit of sex. But I've never had a whole lot of sex with a guy I had no intention or potential of having a relationship with. I just can't do it. I just can't. There's a reason benefits don't come with part-time jobs... too much cost for too little return.

 

While I feel great having come to a solid conclusion about the 'friends with benefits' issue, I've still got to deal with my tendency to hastily judge the potential of a relationship (including its 'sack-worthiness'). So...

 

Moving to my town in a month or so, RG contacted me through MySpace to get the scoop on the local arts and literary scene. So I sent him an email worthy of recognition by the tourism board. Thus ensued a regular email affair... long, winding, funny, articulate emails that proved similarities in interest and thought. Then began the phone affair... long, winding, funny, articulate phone calls that continued to prove the same. Finally, a meeting... this past Thursday.

 

So much expectation. He'd seen photos... lots of them. But me? With a handful of photos that were old and/or distant, I had no real idea what to expect. Would this be another Lanky N. Lispowitz, another case of good email and phone but absolutely no face-to-face dynamic?

 

Thursday. Oh Thursday. Things are good. Just thinking of him makes me... ahem...

He's coming to see me again this evening.

Here's hoping.

I found this in my computer files and felt compelled to share. It's a journal I wrote when I began to identify myself as agnostic, so this also marks my official departure from the Christian religion. I've cleaned up the grammar a bit and added a few necessary details; but other than that, these are my raw thoughts at the time of conversion. Beware---this entry is a bit stream-of-consciousness!

Okay… so I had something to say. Now that I’m typing though, what I had to say has completely left me. That happens. My best thoughts are in the car. I should go get them. No, I mean that my best thoughts come to me while I’m driving… but it feels forced to speak them into a tape recorder. That just breaks my train of thought. It also feels forced to be typing out my thoughts right now; but if I keep writing long enough, it won’t feel forced anymore… my typing will begin to coincide with my thoughts… that is, if the damn space bar will begin to cooperate with me.

So why am I writing this? Okay – it’s because my entire life view has changed in the past week or so. I used to believe in God… the Christian God. I grew up with a mother who would make me pray with her in times of trouble while she cried profusely... oh, and at every f'g meal. Of course, I don't mean that she cried profusely over our chicken strips and fries; but to this day, she still mutters "Thank you, Jesus" under her breath when we bless dinner. That irks me... really, really irks me! It would be damn funny... if she wasn't my mother! Anyway, back to childhood. Sometimes, we read some Christmas stories on Christmas Eve… sometimes. We seldom went to church; and when we did, it wasn’t for very long… a month, maybe. Then we'd stop---I don’t know why. (Of course, I also never knew why we suddenly would start going again.) My guess as to our spotty church attendance is that mom felt persecuted (one of her favorite words) because (1) my step-dad wouldn’t go with us, (2) she was divorced, or (3) any other reason that would suggest that she was being judged in some way. Maybe she was right in feeling that way---I don't know. However, I do know that my mom has always been paranoid about others’ opinions of her.

Okay… back to the God thing. So I didn’t really grow up in church… but all of my friends did. Church was for whole families and people with money… cutesy girls with Bible verses taped to their bathroom mirrors… ribbons in their ponytails… and Levi red tabs on the backs of their jeans. That wasn’t me. These people were better than I was. Some agreed and made fun of my cheap Kool-Aid-stained backpack while others were compassionate enough to take me under their 'oh-so-popular' wings. But it’s all the same if you think about it---why would I want to be “taken under wing” when all I really needed was a friend? Pity is a wolf in sheep's clothing! But I suppose I’m making myself out to be a lot worse off than I actually was. I was generally known as a sweet person, and I was well liked. I ran into the occasional bully; bullies could see me coming a mile away because I couldn’t see them coming from just a few feet. But I was never stuffed in a trashcan or any such nonsense. The most that happened to me was theft, teasing, lying, and idle threats... and most of these things happened due to jealousy... stealing my poetry to pass off as their own, lying to my friends to get them to be mad at me, threatening me to stay away from boys who liked me. Oh, how I miss childhood! Ugh!

But wait a minute! I was supposed to be talking about God! Am I avoiding this issue or just unfocused right now? Anyway, when I was in high school, my mom decided that she wanted to do the church thing “for real this time.” So we started regularly attending a pentecostal church. While we didn’t handle snakes, this church was still full of shinanigans… a fat, blind black lady who could clap with so many parts of her body that she made up a one-woman band… people speaking in tongues (which was really just the same non-sensical syllables repeated over and over again while closing their eyes and looking very strained)… people “falling out in the spirit” after the “spirit” made them dance up the aisles… secular CD-burning parties…

After a while, I had had enough of that crap! So I started going to a youth group with my high school best friend… it was at a Presbyterian church. I was safe. The most excitement there involved singing along with the guitar. I didn’t even do any mission work. I just had fun and sang when it was required. When I got to college, I thought that this was my time to establish myself in my own religious beliefs. I liked the nice, normal Presbyterians; so I joined a Presbyterian-affiliated campus group… Reformed University Fellowship (RUF). It was fun. I met lots of people. Then I met my ex-husband (referred to as "Two-Shirts" in a former blog entry). I hated him from the first time I met him. I thought he was a complete dork. He even walked funny… sort of pelvis first. His behavior was desperate… overly eager. He followed me around, knocking on my dorm window to ask me to go bowling in the middle of the afternoon... knocking on my dorm room door to ask if my printer needed repairing while my boyfriend was over. On another day, I’ll tell you the story of how I ended up marrying a guy I abhorred. For now, we’ll just say that due to the bad match, I became a different person… a Bible-beater, a Jesus Freak, a prisoner of the Holy Trinity. (I plead temporary insanity.)

Once I realized what a mistake I had made in marrying him, my faith in Christianity (what little beliefs I truly held) began to crumble. Two-Shirts helped this process along by being the arrogant Christian prick that he is. I’m reminded of his we-should-get-back-together speech --- “So how does it feel to be going to Hell?” My reply, “So why do you want to get back together with a woman who’s going to Hell?” Asshole! Since Two-Shirts, I have had two sexual partners. (By the way, Two-Shirts can barely be counted as a sexual partner. My flood gates were closed so tight that you’d think nothing existed behind them.) One of those partners was a man I lived with and almost married. Another of them was a man I’d known for less than a week. But did I feel remorse for any of these outright displays of sin, these acts of supposed promiscuity? Hell, no! Did I feel intermittent pangs of guilt because God might be mad at me? Yes.

But now I don’t have to worry about it. I used to (and am still getting over) trying to lead the perfect life. But you know what? There’s no such thing. We’re given only one specific life with all of its chances, opportunities, and conditions. It’s our life experience that we’re living out. No one else has it or will have it. Life is precious. For all we know, there is no God... no afterlife. The only thing guaranteed is now. I don’t even believe in the death penalty anymore. I used to be undecided on this issue; but now, how can I say that we should consciously take another life? That’s not our place to do that. We’re taking away the only thing they have… existence… without it, there may be nothing left. If I get fired from my job… if a lover leaves me… if I get into a car accident… if I’m paralyzed… ya know what? My lungs still expand… my synapses still fire. I'll still live and breath with normal brain functioning. But I guess that brings me to another point to ponder… what if my body is alive but my brain is not? I wouldn’t want to go on living... just give my organs to people who can use them to continue their own life experiences. Okay, now this agnostic is just plain ol' rambling. Amen.

All right... so here are the dares I got from my "Dare Me" post and the reasons why I did or did not choose to take them:

 

Don't talk for one day: Believe it or not, this is just too easy for me. I've done this on so many of my hibernating weekends, when I don't even feel like even answering the phone.

 

Run a marathon: I was actually ready to do this, but several of my running buddies (who have run marathons) told me that my risk for injury would be high because I'm not conditioned in the least for this sort of endeavor.

 

 

 

Smoke a cigarette: Good thing this one was a joke to begin with because... no!

 

Go vegan: This is another one that's just too easy. I've gone plenty of days without eating animal products.

 

 

Go to church next Sunday: I've been "trying" church for so long, even as recent as last year. There would be no effect from this but excessive eye-rolling.

 

Go to NYC on 11/4 to see Carlos Mencia: I would have loved to but with what money?