I’m just gunna say it how it is

This will be a post that not many will agree on. They may be just as many, hopefully more that will agree with me on. Let’s hope you are enlightened people. I hope you are. If not, well that’s sad. I want to tell you to kinda of fuck off then… but I won’t, because I believe that you have a right to have an opinion… but people with the wrong opinions, well I don’t like you. I really don’t like you.

Abortion is a right. A fucking right. Your right to picket abortion clinics? No. Shut the fuck up. Write an angry letter to your political official. Start an angry blog. Hey, write your own suicide note in your own blood telling the world how you feel these women are murdering babies. Go on. Do that. In your own home. But don’t make a hard decision harder. You can’t understand until you’ve been in that situation… you can emphasise of course. No one wants to be in a situation like that, but sometimes you make a mistake, something goes wrong. But hell, I don’t want to bring a child into a world where I can’t buy clothes for it. Can’t afford to feed it. I want that child to have everything I didn’t have and more. Your child is the embodiment of the love you have for someone else, or maybe is this being you created out of pure love. That’s a child. You want its happiness. How is bringing a child into a world where all it will know is sadness, poverty and discomfort? I don’t want that. I don’t even want that for my enemies. Do I want children? Sure. I’m an only child. I grew up alone. I like being alone, but I wished as a child for someone to play with. I wish I had a big brother to protect me when I fuck up. I want someone to be there when my parents die, and hold my hand because they understand. But I’m alone. So that’s probably why I act strong. Some say bitchy and outspoken… maybe. But I also know deep down, that I came into this world alone… and I will die alone, so I pick myself up when everything seems to fuck up around me. I want a child, because one day, maybe I’ll be so in love with someone, that I want to create something with that person… a little someone that will one day find a love of their own. Because I know that when I find that someone, and I’ll look into their eyes, they will want the same thing from me. But it will be a choice. Because a child is sort of having a tattoo on your face… you have to be bloody sure you want it. There’s sort of no “backsies”. And that’s why abortion is important. The right to decide when you create this being, and with who. Sometimes you make a child, and you fall out of love… that happens. But that child was created, hopefully at a time of love… sure there are exceptions… there are those people who don’t care. They make babies coz they don’t know what else to do. Maybe it’s expected of them. Who knows. But the right to say no, as a woman is my choice. Sex is fun. No, with the right person, the right chemistry. It’s flipping amazing… but I don’t want to live in fear that every time I am with a guy a baby might be created. Use a condom… go on the pill… whatever works for you. But sometimes mistakes happen. It brakes. You forgot. You may be raped. Who wants to bring up a rapists baby? Have a constant reminder of a horrible moment in your existence? Who wants a father who is an unknown rapist? No one. No one can live with that.

Bringing a child into a world or an environment that is not ready, is not “saving a child”… it’s actually selfish… because you have brought a human being into a world that it won’t thrive or grow in. If you have every read any of Darwin’s books, you will be familiar with his world changing theory of evolution (which isn’t just a theory, it’s fucking reality “SAY NO TO CREATIONISTS YOU MORONS”… and yes I’m looking at you America!)… which means you know all about natural selection. Natural selection is technically no longer applicable to humans, owing to advances in medicine, but it still works on a social and anthropological level. Why do people who start life in richer families generally succeed better? (there are obviously exceptions, I mean look at Albert Camus for starters, but there are many… but rarer). With money, sadly comes opportunities. With opportunities, comes better schools, education, travelling… etc. it opens the child to a better job… a broader mind… better access to food and healthcare etc. This isn’t always true, but it is undeniable that it is a major factor. But it helps. So, if I take myself as an example. I’m a 25 year old student. I finish my studies in about a year and a half. I don’t have a job. I have a small flat. I can barely look after myself… let along a tiny human being. When I want a child, I want to be able to buy it nappies. Food. Whatever. I want it to go to a good school. Get a great job. Meet someone that makes them laugh and smile. I want them to be happy. Can I make a child happy now? Nope. So yes, if I get pregnant now. I’m having an abortion. Yes it hurts. Yes I don’t want to have to make that decision, but if I have to I will… because abortion isn’t murder. Abortion is about making the right choice at the right moment. Bring a child into a world that it can thrive in. Because unlike animals, the weak ones don’t just die… they poison your whole life. It’s sort of like being born with a thorn in your foot. You can still walk, but it fucking hurts. Being born to someone who can’t give a child all it needs, is the same. It won’t always thrive, it will eventually sort of go gangrenous and won’t be the best it could be. It takes someone who is born into hardship to say fuck you and pick themselves up. Look at the people who are born with too much money, or too much love and fuck up because they don’t have the fear to pick themselves up and sort themselves up. Life is about balance. It’s about trying your best to be the best you can, not just for you, but for the people you love and respect.

 

So, make the right choices… because that’s sort of what life is about. But it’s your life. So you make the choices that are the best for you. Don’t attach a rock to foot and jump into the deep end. Jump into the water with armbands on. It’s better to float than sink.

–

I dedicate this post to CB. Who always talks to me straight. No bullshit. And who always makes the best choices, even when I can’t, they aways give me the benefit of the doubt, and doesn’t judge me when I do go down the wrong road. Thanks.

Perception : ”We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars

Oscar Wilde

–

Okie dokes, where to start? Well last night was… an illumination in more ways than one. Firstly… I was pissed. Now don’t get all judgy, I’m a 25 year old adult and segundo I can hold my liquor. So now that my alcohol situation is out of the way, I can start my tirade of anger… or shall I say… rant of realisation. Any how, the finality was that I felt as though I had been mind fucked. Todays subject with be the perception we have of others, and I suppose how they differ to reality.

I have to of course talk about myself before making my final statement (I believe it’s done like that in law). I am perceived, per say, as the happy, bubbly, talkative extrovert who makes friends easily and who apparently seems muy outgoing. This is what I was call a mask. No one in life really walks around crying and screaming I AM DEEPLY UNHAPPY. No. i’m not saying that some people are worse off than others, we are all individuals, with our own problems, hopes, fears… and you can’t make a universal rule stating which problems are more important or less important than others. That said, sure it is commonly agreed… being raped is far worse than… your mother not letting you buy the last GameBoy game. Duh. But… as adults we all have our own issues, and it is important to listen and understand that everyone deals differently with every problem.

What I am talking about is this “mask” we all wear… or in some cases, don’t. I have noticed, and I can say this with authority and confidence, people who usually self harm don’t usually desire for death… they long for someone to notice the signs, and help them. People who truly want death, they don’t usually shut themselves in their room listening to Stiff Little Fingers or Billy Holiday and cutting themselves. Generally unhappy people wear a mask out in their everyday lives and only a fair few know of their true sentiments. I for example, I don’t feel the need or the desire to be pitied. Shit happens. Sometimes nice people get more shit than others. That’s life. I suppose that’s why I have little patience for lazy, childish people who walk around telling anyone who will listen that life is crap, that nothing will every get better. Sometimes it doesn’t get better, but you better try. I honestly believe we are the lucky ones here. We live in Europe, specially me in France. We get FREE HEALTHCARE. This may seem not important, for people with illnesses that are incurable (like moi for ex) this is such a weight of your shoulders. Of course I don’t have money, I’m a student, but I get by. And I don’t have to worry about paying for… headache tablets… or my asthma inhaler or whatever. Let’s look at… Syria… best holiday location ever… right? Come on. Many cities blown to pieces, people dying of hunger, little or no education, no sexual or male/female equality… apart front he bombs going off, they now have an outbreak of Polio! Woo hoo! Doesn’t that put our own problems into perspective? Fuck yeah. Get off your chair and try. Wear a mask if you need to, I’m not saying you have to pretend everything is ok, everyone has their own way of dealing with their own shit… but we don’t have it that bad here!

I mean, look, your ex has broken up with you? Cry. Sceam. Buy clothes. Fuck everything in sight. Buy a dog. Eat McDonalds. Complain. But at some point, it get’s better, there’s no point wallowing in the past. Hating. The worst thing you can do to someone is indifference. I swear, I am able to do this to others but when it’s done to me, I’m broken.

Second example. You failed a class, a years worth of university… whatever. THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE WORLD.

I suppose what gets me is that, seriously… the only thing you need to worry about is your health and your security. Because to be honest, you only have one life! If you die, who gives a shit that you were dumped, or you failed a class, or your grandfather died? I remember a phrase which I absolutely love from Catcher on the Rye by Salinger, which is :

“Boy, when you’re dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a god dam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.”

You get me? When you’re dead, there’s fuck all you need or want. So this is why I firmly believe on picking your sorry ass off the ground and shaking off those feelings and trying your best. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but life is worth trying… if you believe it’s worth living.

So, as I was saying about masks… sure, we off give off a vibe or a perception, but i can tell you for a fact, like with anything, when someone is overcompensating… something is wrong. For girls, a guy is too nice to you? He wants to fuck you. A girl is too nice to a guy? She really likes you. A person is always too happy, saying yes all the time? Invite them round for tea. Something is wrong. A friend is always depressed and listening to the misfits and feeling sorry for themselves? Give them a kick up the arse. They need a push.

I realise their are some really unwell people out there, and they obviously need to see a specialist, but this is what the average joe is. This is what life is for most of us lucky ones who don’t live in a place with bombs falling on us, or living with the fear or mass rape, murder, torture… or living somewhere were there is no equality, where access to healthcare and education is unheard of. I suppose I have little patience for people who don’t seize the opportunities given to them, and prefer to stay in the dark.

Lock, Stock and Two Pints Too Many

Okie dokes. Where to start today? Difficult I’ll admit. Well. It’s a beautiful and sunny day here, and it can only put a spring in your step and a smile on your face. But, I shall talk today about something darker… what happens when you drink that golden nectar we all call beer (or for me, cider).

Today will continue from the last two I believe, but I can assure you, will be the last on the subject. Why you may say? Ah ha, I suppose like every good fairy tale, it has an ending! But not surprisingly (well for moi at least) not the ending you would desire. But that ladies and gentleman is not a shock, I mean come on, this is Roxy, everyone best friend! The last to be picked for sport etc! But, hey I’m not sad about that, I suppose you get used to that kinda shite anyway.

So, I’m feeling lazy and tired of all the shit to do with life, so I’ll be brief. Some friends of mine and I decided to do a onesie night and visit a few bars. We had copious amounts of gin at my flat, then headed to town. Now, we were very very hammered, so I feel like this probably explains why I went bat-shit crazy after (which for the people that know me, know I don’t do stuff like this, so yeah. Not my usual self!). We spend about two hours in bar C, and we left because there was live music, and I’m afraid to say we did not enjoy it! We then decided to go to bar MP. Mistake my friends would say, I on the other hand think with hindsight this was the only way, because visibly he didn’t have the balls to tell me, and I don’t want to live in wonder land (what pisses me off, is that I didn’t think he was a shit, I mean sure, I knew the guy had baggage (don’t we all?) but I swear I didn’t think he was this much of a heartless git. You will understand after, but holy fuck, I would have loved to say my own damn face, but anyway…) so I suppose at least I was… sure of his intentions (which to clarify here, is to clearly fuck me, lie and lie again, so super dooper Roxy!).

Anyway, so we all walk in, you could hardly miss us, because… I was dressed as a skeleton, one of my mates was a rabbit and the other one the cookie monster… so yeah. It’s not like we could “blend in”. Everyone in the bar was clapping and stuff, so they thought it was funny. We ordered a few pints and sat down. T’s mates came over and said hello (oh yeah, I forgot to say, dickface, or Mr T, was already there, but I ignored him, because, well he’s a big boy, if he wants to say hello he can, I don’t bite.) We had a few laughs… etc etc… I turn my face, and he is literally eating this girls face. I swear to you, all class went out the window, bit… sad really, I mean… seriously I think we are all old enough to know that PDA is a bit sad. Anyway. So, you are wondering what is going through my mind. Ah ha!!!! Well I was like, holy fuck, the dick. Ok fine. At least he’s made his choice, but didn’t have the balls to tell me. Okie dokes. Fine. I shall just enjoy my night anyway.

This is why I’m not totally sad about the whole thing, is because I have friends who love me and will defend me. One of my greatest friends screams “OI, T YOU FUCKING CUNT” across the bar. God Knows if he heard but hot damn does that make you feel good! This is when it gets funny, funny for me, definitely not for him. Now, I’ll remind you, I have never EVER done this, but as I saw him go to the lavatory, I shout “Oi. Dick head.” He pops his head up, and acts… mmm a mix between, drunk, surprised… and shock? No wait… shy… yeah he really hasn’t got balls… never thought about that. Oh well, (that said I usually go for shy guys but hey, maybe I should change hey?) I then (now I have got his attention) to shout something along the lines of, you piece of shit go fuck yourself. I can’t say I remember anyway. He then shuffles off.

I didn’t realise one of his mates heard and asked my friend C, what was wrong with me, she gave him an abbreviated version. (I found out the next day that he wasn’t aware of anything, so I’m thinking they can’t be THAT close. Oops. He said to C something along the lines of, oh well that’s probably girl A (in other words… well he’s got so many girls begging to date him that he has to class them, plan A, plan B…). Now, for people who know me, I have big issues with myself, my family etc but fuck me if I am going to be made to feel like a worthless pile of crap because a guy thinks I’m not good enough for him. So, even though I would of course want to see him again and all that jazz, for respect for myself etc, I can’t. I just can’t. I just hope he finds happiness. Or at least learns not to treat women like shite (although who knows, he may have made a special exception for me and decided to treat JUST me like shit! Who knows).

–

The thing is, in all seriousness, I don’t wish him ill. I really hope, he sorts himself out, maybe see a Psychologist or something. He has deep rooted problems, he doesn’t seem happy. Now visibly, I wasn’t the girl to help him, but maybe someone else will… but falling into another relationship… would just be a band aid… you can’t be happy with someone if you can’t be happy with yourself. I can attest to that, because I know how much I hate myself. I know why I hate myself, and yet I get up every day and try to be ok. I put on my mask and smile. The thing is, he likes wallowing in his own mess, that he thinks he’s the only one who feels the way he does. That’s called despair, and all I can say, is that everyone feels like that once in a while. So who knows what adventure lies on the other side, but if you don’t try, you can’t find out. As for me, oh well, it’s a shame, I really like like him, but what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger (argh, did I just quote Kanye West? Well… it WAS an expression before he made a shitty song) So… I’ll put that down to experience, and hope that one day it’s my turn for a great guy and a super relationship… or whatever! Until then, I shall… paint, draw, drink, laugh and cry! xxx

I know. I know.

I have to say, I am feeling rather on the apathetic side today, but I shall stroll through that part of my brain, and go straight to the... Roxy, you are dead cringe now. You're 24. Stop acting like a 12 year old who has a crush on one of the Westlife fellas (can't believe I just wrote "fellas". I will admit, it seems the kind of word that sits quite well next to the band Westlife). Anyway. I have a crush. I know. Shock Horror. Me. Me? Yes. Yes I know. Me. The cringe factor is that I am really shy when it comes to my feelings. I think I don't like really telling people how I feel about a person (whether in a friendly or in a "I like you where it smells funny" kind of like (to quote the Bloodhound Gang (first time they have probably EVER been quoted to be honest anyway)). In any case, I don't know the guy per say (he's in my school, 4th year student... and before you start shouting ERRRRR OLDER MAN... I'm the same age as him, I just had to do 2 degrees first), but he did give me a tour of the school (ok, not personally... but well, it felt like it). He isn't really my type (if I were to define my type anyway) but he has something about him which I find... intriguing? (now I feel like I'm in a Jane Austin book... swoon swoon... (argh)) but to be honest, I feel that really he is hot hot hot... and fuck it, yes I'm going to say it. He's hot with two t's. Usher had it right. It's "hott" in here. I'm not going to say anything about him, safe to say he probably has no idea I exist, and I am actually capable to changing direction in order to avoid him (see, told you. This is the reaction of a 12 year old). Unless I am super drunk, and let's be honest, I am never really drunk... I probably won't say anything. I've only ever asked one guy out... didn't turn out great (I'll briefly mention that he is not talking to me at the moment... I think he's too embarrassed. This is a guy we will call X (original? Yes I think so!) (i digress sorry), all my friends think he is super weird and dodgy (but we have been friends for 5 years on and off, he pisses me off). And we have messed around, but I'm not like that. So yeah. Anyway, never liked him, started to have feelings and he started to be weird. My friends personally feel he's chicken. Or doesn't know what he wants. Well I ain't gunna wait!)

So back to super sexy guy from my school (I say school, I mean art school, for adults. You know. Real humans). I haven't seen him in over a week. i think he's either dead, or hibernating. Which, if it's the latter, sucks because winter is a good excuse to get naked inside with someone... but if he is going to be sleeping all winter, not only is my winter gunna suck (I mean even if i never get to see the inside of his bedroom, I would still like to openly drool in his direction from time to time, but hiding behind a cleverly disguised Jane Austin fan... duh!) But, if he does hibernate all winter, then come spring, he will be one horny little sexpot... but he might jump on any skinny french girl and then I'd be dumb. So... I'm thinking of hatching a plan. Except. That isn't me. So... I think I'll just continue my passive aggressiveness and ignore him, and continue my quest for eternal celibacy. If I'm still single in a year, I'll join either a nunnery... or a bordello. I'm betting on the nunnery.

What is truly depressing, is that all my friends have the same discourse of "you are amazing, super cool, bright... I don't know why you're single". Seriously? Last week I even got a "If I were a guy, I would so go out with you". Really? Well. Fuck me oh riley. I'm not looking for prince charming, I'm looking for a guy who has a brain, a sense of humour, can drink a beer, laugh with my friends, and find the right words for me". Now I'm not saying he has to be gorgeous, I tend to go for guys who look "different". But come on, God, don't send me any really obese guys. A little tummy, I'm cool with. A ridiculous hipster moustache? Fine; I'll deal. A guy who cross-dresses on weekends? Fine. Whatever. But holy fuck. Why, why... WHY am I alone?

I don't say this while slashing my wrists, I'm not depressed... I am seriously questioning myself.  I want to know. I personally think it's because I'm too much to handle. Guys can't take a girl who doesn't take shit from no one, speaks her mind and is generally a eccentric funky person. But at 24 I still have hope. (I say 24... but it's nearly my birthday! Christmas baby everyone!). How long should I wait until signing my death warrant? Or join a covent? (I can totally rhyme!)

25? 27? 50?

I might have to join an online wedding site. You know like in Russia. I'd be doing it legally too, I mean i already have 2 passports, so I don't even need to pretend to marry some guy just for a European passport, because I have two. That said, if it ends up like in the movies, I'll either be married to a heavily obese farmer... or a axe wielding murderer. I think I'll choose the murdering fuck-head. I'm pretty sure he'd make it a fast death. Or maybe like in Reservoir Dogs, he'll cut one of my ears off (which, i'd then go for the fat farmer, I'll just roll him over with the tractor, or fill his gullet with boiled eggs. Fat bastard probably wouldn't even choke. Probably slowly chew each one and ask for more).

Still. Need a plan. Mmmmm fuck it. I'm gunna flash the sexy guy from school (by the way, totally found him on Facebook... the guy has two youtube accounts as well, so I can perv on him from the comfort of my own flat... Now I sound weird).

Logging off. Need to make eggs. (I joke. It will be hot chocolate (no lactose, it will be soy)).

p.s. If the sexy guy from my school, in 4th year happens to pass by and read this (which is doubt, come on... he has never spoken to me)... I'm not a sociopath. I am just very shy and scared of making any decisions that will hurt me).

xxx

“SPAM” and not so fast mails…

Lately, I’ll agree I’ve been pretty busy, I apologise to my very few readers (that said, over 11 000 views in 2 years… feeling pretty cool right now) for not writing as much as I’d like, but alas, I have started another school… (after history and history of art, it’s up to graphic design…) in Paris, and I have no time at all!

So, SPAM… I am of course not talking about the gross looking congealed processed meat, but in fact the lovely mails we all receive in our email “trash cans” (definition : Spam is the use of electronic messaging systems to send unsolicited bulk messages, especially advertising, indiscriminately). In general, I am lucky enough to get a few seedy emails from people offering me various “busty/sexy/hot/horny housewives/topless…” (all or a variety on these examples) women… a couple of bizarre, clearly misguided emails offering me “penis enlargement”, which to be honest, if I was a guy, I’d be worried about getting and the usual “spend a zillion dollars and get this” or “how to get a green card”. Now, I don’t know why, but this got me to thinking… I actually get more trash emails that actual people sending me emails to find out how I am, or if I dead. Sure I could be offended, but in reality… it’s a sad comment on how society is getting… automated and anti-social… with so much social media at our disposition, I feel that people are feeling too connected, thus no longer crave real intimacy and friendship. You no longer have to interact with someone to find out about what they are doing. We are a few clicks from becoming a real “Wall-E” world (cf: go watch the movie losers xxx). I’m worried… that in a few years my only relationship will be with my 15 year old Tamagotchi. No, i’m not kidding, It’s still alive (does it count if the batteries have died?). Even when one does send an impromptu email… you have to wait a certain amount of time before getting any sort of replies nowadays… why I hear you ask? Ok, here is what the people across the pond call the “low down” :

1) No one will respond immediately or make the first move, this indicates neediness and unmanliness (or in general “no ball syndrome”… apparently this is more figuratively that physically, i have, you will be pleased to know done the “leg work” as an anonymous blogger to check),

2) Replying fast apparently also means you are too eager (thus back to point 1) and a giant loser, so there is an appropriate time lapse before a response (between 24hours and 72 hours, after that he/she isn’t interested, so hunny/dude you should let it go),

3) This “time lapse” equation is hard to calculate, because it can vary… for ex, needy person will wait for 24hours and conclude that the guy/girl = not interested (maybe because there is a larger percentage of interest on this person), but if someone is more “blasé” about the response, he/she won”t be annoyed/irritated by the time lapse…

This leaves as all juggling more than the initial “hi-how-are-you-bla-bla-bla” conversation opener with the “OMG-will-they-think-i’m-desperate-lonely-loser” as well as… “desire” (how I hate that word… I feel like I’m in an 80’s mustachio movie when I use that… I shudder, excuse me for that. When I was a kid, you didn’t think of “perception”, you just did what you wanted when you wanted. I try to be like that, aka… if I get an email, I reply… immediately… but even I am reeled in to the “yes-my-name-is-roxy-and-i-am-single” dilemma… So what to do?

In my opinion, I’d want to say fuck it and not think about the consequences, but I feel that I’ll then receive an angry letter from someone complaining that that attitude gets people pregnant or dumped. So… maybe my advice should be that people should do what they feel is right… but I don’t agree on that either… there is far too much “missed communication” (don’t you dare use the word “connexions”, that’s bullshit). But I’m lost… what are we supposed to do? I don’t know the rules to these games any more… Oh blasphemy…

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with “C”… haven’t got it ? Okay… it’s a cheater !

Now, I am not one to comment on “gossip”, mainly because I like to think it’s beneath me (but who’s kidding, nothing is really beneath human nature). But, since I am a “woman of the world”, I shall comment on a “new fashion” shall I say?

“cheating”

I am lucky enough to come from a non divorced background, so I have (as some psychologists say) a good chance of recreating this same “mating pattern”, or at least be more optimistic about finding “true love” and what comes with that particular territory. In any case, my values have always been that you should not do to others what you wouldn’t do to yourself. In this case, I shall not fuck myself over, and thus not fuck others over. And so is my mantra. I am definitely not perfect (my bank account can credit to that statement), but in a lot of domaines, I have (sadly) sacrificed sometimes short “pleasures” (shall we say) for the greater good (or for my own self respect and/or better prospects) in the search for “something better”. Now… true, I will admit to never (yes NEVER) being in a LOOOOOOONG term relationship. No. Not me. Oh well. But, for my defence, I travel a bit too much, I’m very choosy and… I know that I’m worth more than just a “guy” to keep me entertained. Being very independent doesn’t always help either. I’m an only child (thus accustomed to my own company for long periods of time), and also fairly bright (I have been told?!)… and as a feminist, I know that a woman shouldn’t settle for any old “joe”. I have always said that you should do good, and not being religious (my defence being that religion has caused many more deaths (through history) than saved and that I don’t need God to live my life) I do (sort of) believe in “karma”… in that if you do good, you get good in your life (nothing is 100% obviously) and if you do bad, there is a sort of… balance…

Let’s get back on point.

I don’t want to give the example which influenced my desire to post on this topic (for the second time no doubt!) but cheating seems to be back with a vengeance. Many in the press say that the victim is “humiliated”. But I can’t help but say… really? It isn’t “him/her” that is… I would hold my head up high, yes I was cuckolded… but… I am not the one who did bad… so why should I run? I mean cry, sure, shout a bit, swear, scream… go for it, but no way would I feel humiliated or ashamed. For one thing, I’d probably go and get myself 2 or 3 bottles of whisky, a couple of bottles of diet coke and a game of Twister, invite some friends over, but on some Queen tracks and get drunk. I’d try and smile, I’d make a few fart jokes and watch some trashy TV. I think I’d also do some internet shopping (you know… ahem to… feel good…). All I can say, is the importance is actually to be the victim and not the cheater… because the victim always has their morals, and when you’re single, it’s better to have them that be on the dating scene where everyone knows you’re a cheater (who want’s to date someone who they know is going to cheat on them?).

So, to end I shall send a mini warning :

“If you cheat, be prepared to feel like shit”

Alright?

Sexual Penpals…

Bla bla blaaaa

Just like the fuck-buddy… the sexual penpal is the new “must have” gadget of the 21st century. Don’t lie. Everyone has one… or at least a dirty little secret they won’t 100% admit too.

Let me explain. Is the fuck-buddy is your physical toy… the sexual pen-pal is your imaginary one… or at least one you don’t have regular sex with. He (or she) is… not computer or techno-phobic like some other guys/gals. He/she will reply to texts, e-mails… dirty texts… photos… and if you’re lucky (and he/she doesn’t mind spending money/time/credit on you) the elusive “chat” (this dirty way of communication is good for the popular nineties fad of phone sex… nowadays it’s more skype sex (or msn sex if you still have windows 98).

In any case, the sexual penpal is the person you exchange more or less steady contact with, rare daydreams (because let’s be honest, you’re not too attracted to them) but you keep the relationship alive, because… if you’re honest… you like the attention.

There’s not point lying. We all do it. Everyone has a sort of emotional “tampon”. A guy/girl who we keep around to make us feel good about ourselves. The sexual pen-pal is just the same. Except that you swap dirty provocative texts with the latter, and keep the emotional tampon around for when you want a bucket of ice-cream and a hug. I really like my sexual penpal. I like him because I know I better looking than him. I like him because I know he likes me. I know things about him… so sexual blackmail usually gets me small gifts (don’t worry, don’t call the RSPCA, we are friends… he just… likes me more than I like him…) anyway.

The sexual penpal is a great tool to try weird fantasies and desires out. Sure… you might not really do them to him per say… but if you really want to have “up the butt sex while wearing clown shoes and wearing nothing but bacon” then… it’s a good idea to try that idea on him/her first (this is how I found out he likes anal sex… thus the blackmail…).

What you notice about the sexual penpal is two distinct relationship evolutions : either you continue to talk… and even if neither of you want to admit it (either because the sex was embarrassing when it happened, and/or he has misshaped balls (this happens. Get over it hunny. Could be worse.) you have actually become fond of each other… (more of this in a minute) OR you lose touch because he : a) Is embarrassed, b) Decides not to keep contact because he has got a new girlfriend/realised he could never get you back into his 6m2 apartment for some “rollin’ on his mattress bed (classy… it’s on the floor… but he says he likes it that way” c) Is bored… etc.

In any case, like most things it’s either yes/no, black/white, 50/50, yes/no… etc.

To illustrate point one (becoming fond of each other) I’ll tell you about my “sexual penpal”… No lies, all truth (and in case my daddy’s reading this… It’s all a lie! ^^).

I met him online. Yes did I hear you cringe on the other side of the screen? Yeah, I know… online dating is… I’m afraid for social retards who can’t function in real society… and thus need to use the inter-web to find a date (yeah I’m talking about you, you immature little boy)… Anyway. We met online. I was in a period of my life, when I only needed, and wanted one thing… so we got down to work. He then moved to another city pretty far… which led to me forgetting him and finding someone else… but for some reason, he would text from time to time, so… as a friendly person that I am (I really am) I texted back and forth for a few months… at the beginning, all you talk about is sex… and a bit of “what are you doing at work/school/prison/pirate ship”/ etc.)
I started to noticed more and more  texting… and so I eventually asked him “Are we friends?” He replies by telling me he doesn’t want to date me. Now for some girls, you might shed a tear, urinate yourself… or both. Me… well I’m not really like that. What actually came into my head was “Why the fuck wouldn’t you want to date me, I’m fucking amazing… and then… Babe I definitely don’t want to date you… or be seen in public with you…” So… I re-explain that for a guy who still insists I’m just his “ex-fuckbuddy”… then why the frick his he still contacting me? Seriously. If you don’t like me… Do what I do… I delete everything about you… literally. For me it’s all or nothing. In any case… he said we could never be friends because we had had sex (no I’m no prude… and I’m no whore… but I don’t see why I can’t be friends with my exes and/or guys I’ve had sex with. Seeing someone naked doesn’t mean “no, no we can’t ever been friends, you’ve seen my pee-pee”. What generation is the write one to be in? (I will just add that this guy is about 10 years older than me…). Anyway… to continue… he continues to text/call/email/facebook the lot. I even got some sexy photos and a skype show (but let’s keep some details personal shall we!?) So… one night, he calls me, we chat… and Roxy loses it. People who know me, know not to piss me off. I go from 0 to 220km/h in 2 seconds flat. To cut a long story short. I get him to admit that for someone who doesn’t “give that much of a crap about me”, he does sure contact me a lot… and I had to say was “Grow the fuck up you baby” and “Actions speak louder than words” and I go the answer I wanted :

– Ok, You’re right. I suppose we are friends… like like to occasionally bump uglies.

That’s all I wanted. Honesty.

Now. Back to sexual penpals. In my opinion, they are great ways of of experimenting and well when you’re bored on a 3 hours train/bus/car ride like I usually am… it’s a good way to pass the time. And it’s cheap sex. No condoms or buying drinks/dinner for anyone. I think it sounds like the perfect relationship. Problem is. Sometimes they get jealous… which I never understand.

Relationships are just like investment banking… When should we panic and withdraw everything?

So who are you betting on?

For many, being in a any sort of relationship can be both a mix of both happiness and disappointment. We’ve all been there. Even if each of us is difference, and each couple is unique… we all as humans show “patterns” of some sort. We are animals after all.

I’ll admit… I’m not the greatest fan of relationships. I’ve never had a very long one… and it’s probably because I am constantly disappointed by the people I meet. I know, that at some point someone will hurt me. So… being in a long term relationship… is like investment banking… you put so much in… and you are not sure you are getting everything you put in back, if it ends thats is. If it never ends… your stock can only go up. It may fluctuate… but it always goes up. At the end of some relationships… the pay out is pretty good. You finish friends, or the learning curve taught you something. But most of the time, you end up hating each other, and/or regretting everything (as well as forgetting the good parts… you only remember the bad parts!). Like poker, it’s wondering if you have good cards and betting big on the other person. Is this the person of my dreams? Is this worth my time? Etc etc.

Should you make an investment in ________ ? And when should we get the fuck out before we lose anything else?

Ah ha. This is the age-old question.

Some people are better at taking risks. Some people don’t take any. Some people take too many. And some people… well… they don’t have many opportunities!

Everyone will say that “communication if our best arm”… but there is such thing as knowing too much! (insider trading illegal anyone? Yeah ha!). Sometimes… you are blind… and this is when no one can help you, so you better bed over and kiss your ass goodbye, because you are going to lose big time.

Me on the other-hand… doesn’t take any risks… because I study the market too much… I’m watching peoples stock going up and down, and thinking too much… overanalysing everything… so I always finished last. I’m the modern 21st century Chandler Bing, and even he finished with a great girl, a great family, great job etc. I always find a great guy… and find out he has something weird up his hand. It’s always the good guys who are the really weird ones. The strange guys you see in the street are out and proud with their craziness. I… seem to attracted the crazies like flies to shit.

So when does one realise to take the plunge, put all their coins on one person and take the risk?

No amount of asking your friends opinions and looking on dating blogs is going to change a thing. Experience teaches us to take the bull by the horns and try. We all worry that we are going to be ridiculous or laughed at… but at least we are a bit closer to finding someone that the lazy couch potatoes who watch the shopping channel all day and masturbate to Dora the Explorer and Barney the dinosaure.

So… I guess, If everyone had a certain amount of chips during their lifetime, we better take a few chances, and not be afraid to lose from time to time.