Underwear Under There

Camo Briefs From Yandy.com. No, I don't own them, but I would, if he wanted me to.

I’m thinking about underwear a lot, and I know myself well enough to know that this is a sign. It actually started last week, as I had two dates with two different guys, and in each case it was an “I’m very likely to fuck him tonight” date, so I started thinking about my underwear. And his. And what else would be under there. Continue reading


The Penisometer

Telling your ex that he has a spectacular penis and you don’t know how you’ll live without it is not necessarily the best way to break-up. Especially at the end of an “I swear to god, this is the last time we’re ever doing this, so let’s go all out” fuck session. Talk about strings attached. Big, hard, throbbing strings that you put in his hand and say, “here, pull this, you can probably get me back.” Smart. Continue reading

Chicks (Like Me) Are Crazy

It’s happening again. My inner-crazy-chick is trying to make my outer-cool-chick do stupid things. More like NOT do smart things, but at a certain age, that’s the same as doing stupid things.

And no, this has nothing to do with the fact that the ex once again came over for a seemingly legitimate reason yesterday and we wound up fucking the afternoon away. It’s sweet that he knows when my kid gets back from soccer though, right, so he could keep an eye on the clock. I really do need to stop this. Continue reading

Sometimes We Relapse (or That Familiar Pain In My Ass)

I had to go to a wedding over the weekend. I’m divorced and in my forties. Most of my friends are either divorced and in their 40’s, or unhappily fat and married in their 40’s. Weddings are like a fatal explosion of cynicism and fantasy at which we all drink too much and pretend it’s not us – neither the cynicism or the fantasies. The only thing I like about them is that it is a good chance for to realize how hot I am, and feel a little sanctimonious about it. Sanctimony is a great defense against cynical depression. Continue reading

Dipshit the Teletubby

I get that the whole idea behind dating is that you meet lots of people, get to know them, give them a chance and hope that somewhere, in all of that energy, you find a good one. This is the same logic that causes people to pan for gold, bent over and knee-deep in a river. Or pray, just in case there’s a heaven.

I am neither a gold-digger nor a magical thinker. I just want some no-drama good times that include good sex. But that voice that says, “give him a chance, be nice” wins over now and then. And that, my friends, is how I wound up on a date with a Teletubby. Wishing it would end. Continue reading

Always Be Prepared

I used to joke that I would never fuck a guy who didn’t have condoms with him. Even if I had them, I figured he was generally unprepared and who knows what he decided to stick it in during a heated moment, like the one I imagined us in, when he didn’t have condoms. Seemed like a simple rule. Until the other night, when I was out with a guy, and totally wanted to fuck him. Continue reading