Lockdown.

That's it. I'm shitting down my vagina.  Closed for business.  

I have spent the last three months feeling like a pubescent boy - sexually frustrated, repressed and ultimately unsatisfied.  It was such a waste of time, me desperately trying to find a man and do horrible things to him - neither of which happened.  I have many real things in my life that I should have accomplished this summer. I should have been channeling all of that energy into doing those things.  Those things that I have know I can actually accomplish.

So, little Mary is going into deep hibernation for the (fall and) winter (and maybe spring).

We quit

M

Virgin Boys

Back in December 2006, I was dating / in a relationship with a boy (let's use this phrase) named Stev 

Stev was still a virgin.

Very much so. 

Yet, in December of 2006, I did not know this; I was not aware of this state of being. 

To be honest, had I known this, maybe things would have been easier? Who knows. At least the doctor who I went to get a Screening Test from afterwards wouldn't have given me such a damn strange look when I gave him the equally strange/vague answer! 

I had previously asked Steve if he had had other partners, and each time he had been quite vague. 

Finally, that fateful Wednesday night after a drunken night of Beer and Salsa (a party my friends threw every end of the quarter on Dead Day prior to Finals), I stumbled back to his dormitory with the one main thought on my mind: SEX. 

Yes, I get very horny when I drink~ (tmi? i think not!) 

So what happens next? 

I can only look back on this and laugh. I've always wanted to share this with others; and so here it goes. 

I get into bed, and we start fooling around. I ask him again, "Have you had sex before?" [When I first entered this relationship, to be safe, I had gone and gotten tested...cuz y'know, that's what you do! He hadn't so I didn't know exactly what to think but just let it slide.] 

His reply was less vague then before; but possibly between being drunk and horny, I still didn't give it quite a lot of thought, "I think I may have...in high school...at a party...after a few drinks...I don't quite remember," he said non-committally. 

See, dear loves, I didn't know at this point in time that he was actually rather a loner back in high school and did not socialize very well. I took his word for it that he was "experienced", and so with a wry grin, we went for it. 

There are a few things that should have clued me into this being his first time:

a) He did not know how to put on a condom - - me in my drunken state somehow managed to pull the darn thing on. 

b) He didn't know exactly where to put it; instead, I was on top and had to guide this situation...made infinitely more difficult while in a drunken under-age stupor. 

c) He came really really fast! 

In retrospect -- this horrid relationship somehow managed to endure for almost 3 years -- this should have been my clue to leave this relationship at the get go. 

The main point/question is: if you are a VIRGIN and a guy, do not be afraid to say so when you are explicitly asked quite a few times. I will not make fun of you. I will not reject you. 

If I already like you, and we're heading in that direction, then I will fuck you. 
In fact, I'll blow your motherfuxking mind (mebe)...

But please don't come up with a stupid ass lie and claim that you are when you aren't! 
That's stupid!
 Don't be stupid and please don't lie -- makes everyone unhappy and you will have a very unsatisfied female partner!!! haha. 

<3 Delilah

You poor poor stupid little girls.

So I'm sitting in a coffee shop and I overhear these two girls talking 'bout boys - nothing too unusual; tt's something ladies like to do. But then I start actually listening to what they're talking about and I hear one of the girls declare, 

"Guys just like stupid girls."

*facepalm*
I almost pulled up a chair to their table to drop some knowledge on them. It would have sounded something like this...

Hi, Stacey and Christa. Can I call you Stacey and Christa?  Those probably aren't your names, but it's just easier this way. 

Anywho! Please never say those words again.  Those words are bad.  Bad bad words.  Guys do many things that go way over our heads (that's what she said?) but let's not lump them all together on this one.  You may only hang out with complete douches, in which case you should find better men.  But more fucking importantly!  Smart is SEXY.  I've asked my guys. The verdict is pretty solid: 'Smart girls are hot.'  Women with brains are witty, engaging, interesting, and sassy.

Stacey. Christa.  Give dudes some credit and stop hanging out with total a-holes.

Care to weigh in D&M? or our as yet unidentified readers?
. Mary .

Celluar Phone Disaster

So last night, Yours Truly, had a terrible dream. 

"Terrible?" you ask skeptically with a raised eyebrow and a quirky grin, "Why it couldn't be that terrible!"

Nay, dear lover, it was not a simple terrible dream in which one dies a horrible death; it wasn't that mundane. Instead, it was a dream filled with tragedy, apprehension, and anguish:  I had unwittingly forgotten my cell phone charger at home (or at least the home of my dream world) and my phone was about to die and I had to find my way out of the ghetto and into another ghetto and it was the middle of the night and it was a Saturday night [ which i could have been using to get my hypothetical party on]!!! *gasp*

I see your your twisted faces through your computer screen, the disbelief flashing across your widened eyes, your jaw dropping in shock and trepidation. 

Yes. 

That was me, except on an incredibly frightened -- by which I mean I was scouring every nook and cranny of Costco, a random Umbrella Corporation building (for those who don't know, this is a Resident Evil allusion), random grocery stores (with lots of Gatorade and Cheese - Its)--whilst running away from mobsters and lab rats, talking to my friends on my already dying cell phone by freaking out that said object of communication was well on its way to imminent death, and helping little old ladies with their groceries (then getting whacked in the face by a pan!)-- just to find a cell phone charger cord that could plug into my cute lil' car's outlet! 

I suppose you'd hope that this story ended happily. After all, I did have my amazing smart phone with me, and of course, being a smartphone it had the potential to rock my world (which it did, just not as sexily as it should have). Unfortunately, love, you would be wrong. In fact, I never found the cell phone charger; not only that, I forced myself awake because I was so scared about continuing my drive through the ghetto with a GPS-on-phone that would probably die on me! 

C'mon~ That's a freaking nightmare! That is the worst nightmare ever!! (and I've had some pretty bad ones: how about that time when I died 9 times, each variance a different one than the last, but only slightly while being able to feel my blood and bones realign upon respawning?)

"Wow, that was anti-climatic" I hear you mutter disappointingly, almost spitefully, under your breath.

But dear readers, you are missing the moral of the story: DO NOT LEAVE / FORGET YOUR CELL PHONE CHARGERS AT HOME (especially if you have smartphone).

Oh, but I see you there, snickering that you are so special that you do not have to worry about it because you do not have a smartphone. Psh. "Who would?" you scoff. 

Believe me, love, one day YOU WILL ALL HAVE SMARTPHONES,  then you will not have heeded my word, gone out, forgotten your charger, and your phone would have died and your remains shall be found by early morning joggers (youtube's community channel ref) because you could not escape from those scary monsters that follow you because you couldn't use your GPS because your phone died. Oh wait, did I mention your phone died because you forgot your charger? 

So if you may pass me in the street and I'm looking rather fretful, and you may ask me "what's wrong?", and while I may say "nothing", flash you a winning smile, and entertain you with another anecdote...make note, that fretful (but otherwise fake response to you) was probably me realizing and then worrying that I may have left my charger at home and my phone's battery is soon to die.

(That, and I probably missed  calls& txts to/from my lovers. Can't keep all them lover waiting, now can I?)

<3 

Delilah

Cliche 1. Fortune Favors the Bold.

It was true in the second century BCE and it's true now, right? -- Probably.  Well, fortune definitely favors the bold over the hide-under-your-bed-until-you-feel-like-it's-safe-to-come-out, that bed of course being in your "apartment" also known as your parents' basement.  
I spent far too long being scared of everything: rejection, embarrassment, derision. It stopped me from doing things outside of my comfort zone, and it sure as hell stopped me from having a whole lot of fun.  
I realized this a couple months ago - it's time to adult-up. Be bold. Say what you feel. Do what you want. Dare to be audacious. 


I joined an online dating website: free-harmony as I like to call it. Yes, there have been total skeezy-creepers on this website, but it wasn't and isn't all bad.  I learned how to date someone (partly from failing at it so horribly to begin with - I wouldn't say that I'm a serial monogamist, I would say that I go ballz deep quicker than I probably should...), and also learned that post-coital bragging can be a deal breaker. 


So it's Take 2 (technically Take 3 if you're counting that first dude from up north who tried to make me is flirty email friend and was actually married I later found out after slightly internet stalking him; I may be a creeper, but he is an attempted adulterer: WORSE) on the site and I'm, I have to admit, losing my optimism.  But, if I'm going to push this fucking cliche so hard, then I have to abide it. I will be bold. 




Fortune - prepare to favor all over me. 
. Mary . 

Platonic lovin

Have you ever jokingly (or seriously) agreed to be back-up husband and wife with one of your friends? I wonder if those promises ever turn into marriages... Platonic lovin (with benefits) sounds great...

--Mark

Idea(s) at Dinner.

There are three of us.

Delilah. She's a fucking beast. She talks in warp speed, could kick your ass in CoD, and loves a good rave. She's our Asian perspective (please read our first post)

Mark. A man with a baby face - he's a lady killer who loves dashes.  He'll outsmart you without trying and not even know it (or at least is decent enough to pretend not to notice). He provides the male perspective.

Mary. "You would think every Mary was the sweetest girl in town - but she could be a total animal." That's me.  Two girls are better than one right?

This dinner we had tonight - three old friends catching up and talking about how ridiculous love and relationships are - and this is what fucking happened.  Because if three relatively normal people, well, people that are good at faking it, can spend an entire goddamn night griping, then maybe, just maybe, everyone else is, too.

So this. Well it's part public complaining - part therapy (for us and anyone who cares to join us.)

Let the catharsis begin.