Case

I know I’ve been terrible about updating lately. Part of the reason is my spotty internet connection, or should I say, the spotty piggybacking of my neighbor’s connection. I used to be able to use my roommate’s computer at whim, but he is not as generous with his personal items as he was when we were having awkward sex. Now he just kind of bristles at me when I ask him for favors. That seems to be a general pattern in my life as of late. Men who would do stuff for me, who would constantly ask me out and beg for my attention aren’t trying so hard anymore. Hmmm, I guess this is how former beauty queens feel when they lose their looks.

My friendship with Mark is shot. There’s only so much haphazard drinking and craziness that you can tolerate once you decide your legs are remaining firmly pressed together. I used to drink before to slightly dull the pain I’d feel when I’d go home with a random dude. And since the random dudes are no longer coming home with me, I just don’t have much of a reason to drink.

And how sad is it to continue binge drinking on the weekends in your late 20’s? I am turning 30 in less than 2 years, and Mark is already 32. At some point, the line between fun and pathetic becomes blurred. Now I find myself playing Scrabulous online on Friday nights with a bowl of ice cream in my face. Okay, so that is also quite sad, but it’s been a welcome change of pace from chlamydia and dirty sex at the downtown Hyatt during lunch hour with the gifter of said chlamydia. Ugh, I still shudder thinking about that. Lesson learned.

So big surprise—I’ve gained weight. Hell, you’d gain weight, too, if all you do is stay at home and eat. I haven’t steeped on a scale in about a week, but suffice it to say that I haven’t worn my skinny jeans at all and I’ve been dressing like shit lately.

I think I’ll probably break my random celibacy streak this week out of boredom. Frankly, I do actually prefer the no sex thing, but I fear I will become a malodorous, huge tub of lard with too much facial hair if I continue to live this way. I’ve realized how fucking BORING life is without sex. Seriously, what do people do to entertain themselves when they’re not getting off? Maybe it’s because I derive so little pleasure out of maintenance activities, or anything that doesn’t come with a degree of danger. But if I continue my no sex experiment, I am afraid of what I may become. So much of my self-esteem comes from seeking men’s approval, or more specifically, seeking approval from men about my looks. I am not one of those “natural” beauties, either. Only after proper anorexing, intense exercising, exfoliating, shaving, and moisturizing do I become the product. When no one is seeing me naked, I can tell you that there is very little motivation to get up at 6 am in the bitter cold to go pound out 7 miles. This is how the lonely become the slovenly. Seriously, it’s a slippery slope.

I now have the task of seeking out non-gross guys for dates. Actually, I can skip the date part and jump to the rubbing the nasties, but I should take it slow and not let the entire month go to waste. As in, I am no longer sleeping with sleazebags who wear too much hair gel and loud logo belts with big V’s on them. Before I’d meet men through friends of friends, but since I’ve exhausted the supply of men in my circle, I have to come up with a novel way to meet someone decent. Theoretically, I should go where the supply is my set. If I want someone bookish, I should go to a bookstore. If I want someone outdoorsy, I should go rock climbing. But these methods seem so contrived, so forced. I would fall back on my go-to how-to for meeting men(i.e. put on a Wonderbra underneath a midriff top and pair with illegally short shorts and just go running near the Financial District while bouncing around as much as possible), but I kind of have a muffin top right now and it’s just not feasible. Maybe in about 2 weeks, I’ll be able to.

I always did say that life wasn’t worth living past the age of 35. And now that I realize that about 99% of my general satisfaction in life is born of sex, can I really live past 35, when I’m all gross and old? God help me, lest I become one of those cougars who have deluded themselves into thinking they’re MILFs.