baserinstincts

When a Girlfriend Dumps You

What do you do when a girlfriend dumps you?

My sister was musing the other day on the whole bros-before-hos and chicks-before-dicks conundrum. She was saying that friends are not necessarily more reliable than lovers.

And this is true.

I had a great friend back in high school. Immediately after meeting, we connected on all these super-absurd levels.

We remained good friends through college and afterward.

After a while, we were hanging out and speaking less often, our lives had become so
busy.

But when we did reconnect it was always just like old times.

I’m not sure what I did but she hasn’t returned my phone calls for months.

I was racking my brain for some transgression, some slight I’d committed unwittingly.

Did I owe her money (possible but unlikely)?

Had I flirted with a guy she liked (certainly not)?

Did I forget to call her on her birthday (ok I’m guilty of this one but all who really know me know not to take this personally)?

Had I let too much time lapse between phone calls (probably guilty of that one as well)?

But she ended our friendship without even discussing it with me; something you almost expect from a man but never from your best girlfriend.

I still call and leave a message every now and then, to ask how she is and to let her know I still think about her.

But I know she won’t call back.

And yeah it sucks.

With a man you can in many cases easily get over him by dating/sleeping with someone else (or so we love to tell ourselves).

A girlfriend however, a good girlfriend, is not so easily replaced.

Smile!

I know I run the risk of sounding like an angry black woman here.

But this is something that’s bothered me for ages.

An incident this morning on the train (ah yes, again with the lovely MTA) kicked off the whole thing.

So it’s about 4ish. I’m sitting and waiting for my train to
come. A gentleman comes along after awhile and he sits next to me.

I don’t look up but I can see out of my peripheral that he looks normal
enough.

He says good morning.

I mutter a barely audible good morning in reply.

He turns his head, his whole body even, toward me and, clearly
catching an attitude, repeats in a much louder voice, “I SAID good morning.”

I then, instantly annoyed, turn my head and torso toward him, look at him
dead on and said in the best angry black woman voice I can muster at 4
something in the fucking morning, “I SAID good morning as well.”

He retorts, “OK,that’s more like it.”

What the fuck?!?!

I mean if he was trying to get laid he just lost any slim chance he had to begin with.

I’m sure many other females have had this experience.

You’re having a not-so-bright-and-shiny day.

And it shows.

All over your face.

You walk by some man, who seems to think your sole existence on earth is to
smile at him as you go by and he says to you, “Smile.”

Am I the only one who finds this intensely annoying?

If I felt like smiling, then I’d smile.

I smile quite a lot in fact and all who know me can attest that I am generally a jovial sort of chick.

But I have my days, as anyone else does.

Give me that.

If I want to walk around with a screw face on well then that’s damn well my prerogative isn’t it?

If I don’t particularly want to engage in conversation with a complete stranger on the New York City subway at 4 in the morning, well you can understand that can’t you?

The thing that makes me bristle the most about this is that a man would never, ever say “Smile” to another man.

Another man can be angry, and men (and women) will just leave him be.

But I’m a woman, and so I must smile.

Some of y’all take this Adam’s rib business a bit too literally.

Woman is not an “extension of the man”. She’s an individual in her own right.

Meaning, if I don’t know you, especially if I don’t know you, I don’t owe you shit.

Not even a fucking smile.

Outsource your sex life

The other day, I found myself lost in a reverie.

You know those blank out moments where one thought rapidly follows the other and you don’t
know how long you’ve been staring into space?

I know, I know. Who has time for such indulgences these days?

But every now and then I like to engage in a little brain wandering.

In any case, I remember thinking of male escorts somehow and given my
um… situation (or lack thereof rather) I started to really consider it.

I don’t mean consider it in the let-me-go-online-and-find-a-service
sense. But rather, many women just assume that it’s something they’d never
do and never give it a moment’s thought.

I was one of those.

Until I decided to explore it further.

Well what’s so bad about it I ask myself?

I really couldn’t come up with anything.

When I was younger and knew less of the ways of the world, I
assumed, like many of you I’m sure, that a woman would have to be
really desperate to pay for sex.

Dire straits indeed.

In my own considerations that was not the case. I have, as I’m sure many of you do, any
number of men I can call that would be more than willing to “break me off.”
In general, for women, getting laid is never the problem. There is always an abundance of
willing and able partners.

However what afflicts me, (and I’m sure many others have the same affliction) is a certain particularity
when it comes to whom we allow to part the folds. Entry to our sacred space must ever be negotiated,
and therein lies the challenge.

So, seeing as how we negotiate sex anyways, whether blatant or implicit (but seldom really get what
we want in spite of such negotiations) why not get excatly what we are looking for?

Enter male escort.

I love male company. I love it in small doses.

I do not want a man in my life at present. I’m in no hurry to be back
on a leash.

I would like, however, some one or ones to warm the sheets
every now and then.

Finding said ones however is a task fast proving far more difficult than I
expected.

In our great Society, the one of instant gratification, when one
wants something, one can usually just go out and get it.

If I had a few hundred or thousand dollars to play with then why not
treat myself to the exact company I want? One ordered according to my
specifications. I tap danced for a man for the last year. Why should I not
control the strings for a little while? Anywhere else you can have
exactly what you want, made to order. So I ask you, what is so wrong with
me dialing up an intelligent, funny, extremely attractive man, who’s
sole objective is to cater to my every sexual whim? One whom I can,
without guilt or pretense, send home afterwards?

Nothing.

Except maybe the price tag(the price, monetary or otherwise, is always
too high isn’t it).

As it were, I’d rather buy shoes.

Or vibrators (I’ll need them).

Cruelest of Ironies

So I’m newly (and happily, let me add enthusiastically) single.

The breakup saga will follow at a later date but first, an observation.

I have a libido.

Let me clarify here.

Having a libido, and a healthy one at that, has never, ever been my problem.

Until recently.

The relationship, and that’s how I’ll refer to it for now, was a hard one. Stressful and contentious pretty much from start to finish.

And in these last few months of it, my libido has all but disappeared. That isn’t in itself a surprise because we spent a good deal of time fighting.

Who wants to fuck when you’re fighting all the time?

I mean I know some people are into that, but not me.

Anyway it got to the point where I was really beginning to think something was wrong with me. Even all my friends seemed really concerned that my interest in sex had waned so much.

I tried changing my diet, getting more sleep, watching more porn, and whatever else I could think of but I could not bring myself to want to fuck my boyfriend.

Then he’d complain about the lack of sex and that would lead to more fights.

I know now of course, that the problem lay not in my diet, or sleep patterns or lack of attention to my porn collection but in him.

Well, in us.

It’s difficult, if not impossible, to muster any feelings of desire when you’re furious all the time. Or alternating between furious and intensely annoyed.

And so after much consideration and soul searching and second guessing and advice seeking, I dumped him.

And, I kid you not, the very minute the last of his things left my apartment, my libido returned in full force.

Oh the joy!

I can’t even concentrate on work, I’m thinking about sex so much. Any day now one of my coworkers is going to file a harassment complaint against me.

I could cry with relief.

Except…

Now I don’t have anyone to have sex with.

Ain’t that just a bitch?