Out of the Red, Out of her Head She Sang…

I want to be a globetrotter. In fact it is my plan to eventually reach a point in my life where I can travel from place to place and breathe in copious amounts of inspiration. Taste the sweet and supple satisfaction of being surrounded by strange lands, strange smells, strange ways in which I am not accustomed but damn well will dive into given the opportunity. In fact, I would pretty much embrace many extremes given I find myself in a situation where something is extremely appealing or “I just feel like doing something – doing whatever I want…_
Like getting a tattoo for example. I will only do this when it pops into my head spontaneously and I could literally just walk into a parlor and be like, “Ink me.” I would.
On a moments notice.

I’m not a dater. I am not a girl who asks boys out or who easily agrees to a date.
That’s it. I’ve declared it. It’s final. I’m not a make-outter or casual “layer.”
But sometimes it is fun to flirt. Correction - It’s often fun to flirt (hellooo I am a Libra). And I find myself flirting with boys I pick out of the crowd or who I have on speed-dial or back-up just to get my kicks and flirt with given the convenience and the fact that I know they think I have babe-potential and would succumb to such simple verbal pleasures. I do take advantage of this for lack of a better sort of entertainment or outlet for the sexual frustrations of any single soul. Im sick and twisted.

And screw off if you think I’m what some ass-holes would brand a “tease.” I’m a little wounded right now as I was recently pounced on. Trapped by someone who forced themselves on me. I hate cheesy lines like… “O, I’ve never stopped liking you.” Or… “I love your innocence.” EW. I HATE the fact that there are boys out there who have jerked off to “innocence.” Who have tried to steal this so-called “innocence.”

I like how it drives boys crazy that I say goodnight at the door. Or I cut the relationship off before it starts or gets into all that lovey-dovey, talk on the phone 24-7, txt constantly junk. Seriously. This is what I refer to as “suffocation.” I’m just not “girl-friend” material. Not right now anyways. Not with you.

I am rocking mad attitude right now, aren’t I… I am being a little biotch.
I could likely still be jaded from my high school days. Ok, I wasn’t the foxiest girl of the bunch… in fact… I wasn’t even that good-looking. I had braces and glasses… and the few fellas that did find me somewhat attractive got off simply on my “innocent\librarian” look that fulfilled their pubescent sex fantasies. CRINGE.

But in high school there are a select few individuals who I “liked.” LIKE LIKED. I have never like liked any boy that sincerely since then. The kind of like where you feel it everywhere. The kind of like where you get ROLLERCOASTER FEELING when you see them walking toward you in the hall. I love the feeling of the drop.
You think about them. You want to see the person, talk to the person, run into the person, get to know the person etc etc. eeeeeeee The- I – can’t- help – but – smile – im – so – smitten – feeling.
Those were the days.

Unfortunately… none of these individuals I felt this way about back in elementary school and high school felt the same way or anything for that matter, for me. I was simply the chic who got 100 all the time, the chic who you would humor at a school dance with one slow song, maybe even a chat in class. But never, not once did you ever consider me “girlfriend” material.

I remember the week I got my braces off after 5 years of shier embarrassment of having a mouth full of metal and a big ol’ tooth-missing gap that I had in every year-book picture since grade 8 graduation. Mad Sexy. Well that week during reading week first year, he came up to me at a party and he asked to see me smile knowing I had just gotten my braces off and false tooth installed... He smiled and complimented my righteous pearly-whites. In that moment I thought I would know what It feels like to be liked back. To maybe even be a girlfriend. Bastard lead me on. The cherry on top → Had a super hot totally cool girlfriend the next week. (That’s a whole other story).

BUT NOW - Tables have turned. Do I feel bad for often leading guys on… not really because I have not been convinced that a boy has liked me for me and not the way I look and not the way they characterize me in their meatheads as their cute little innocent virgin girl to be all their own. News-flash. I don’t rip off the Catholic school uniform and reveal some lacey negligee. I reveal some fruit of the loom 100 percent cotton my mom bought me for Christmas. Comfortable and economically-practical bitches.

Anyways. Im getting lost in a rant I shouldn’t be ranting about. I just wanted to say that I think I’m still “jaded.” And the day I stop being “jaded” is going to be incredible. It will mean that I have gotten over the past and over myself (then and now) and able to experience dating and romance with joy and pleasure, freely and willingly.

I am a hopeless romantic. I’d love to be able to get lost into some crazy romantic adventures with some babe and travel the world. But until I meet that asshole, I am so overwhelmingly content with just swatting them flies as they come. I like boys. I will continue to flirt with them, smile at them, allure them. But I will not and am in no hurry to date them. Kiss them. Boff them or do anything else that involves them and me doing something I don’t want to do.

Strange men: please don’t come up to me at the Subway or Greyhound station and request my number. And please don’t harass me and call me a “gold-digger” when I refuse to give you (a SCARY STRANGER) my number and\or panties. CRINGE AGAIN.

I watched a film called Teenage Girl today. It was about a middle-aged man who felt like a teenage girl inside… or something roughly along those lines. It was beautiful – the ideas and themes it addressed. So often people see our exterior and think of us a certain way. I am not the person on the inside that I often portray on the outside (materially speaking). And do I have to be… I want to look one way because I like the image aesthetically… This does not mean I have to match or act a certain way just to satisfy others’ narrow minded assumptions that comply neatly with their mind’s feeble characterizations of the way I physically look.

I like wearing hoop earrings. I dig make-up, lace and tequila shots. But no Sir – I do not ever want to or have had any sort of interest in going down on you.

So Zip those pants and get me the fuck out of your fantasy.

I think it’s fitting I end on a few angry bars of Carly Simon while lathering up in the shower…

“You walked into the party
Like you were walking onto a yacht…”

Xoxo
Peace and love
LO.

If I were an elementary school class trip I would be:
- Porky’s Pig Farm