Good Sex, Bad Frat Boy and My Baffling Book Title
Dear Jen,
I'm 22 years old and I can't seem to get over my immature ex. For some reason I can't commit to the fact that he's a loser young frat boy and I need more to my life. Honestly, it's the sex that keeps me attracted to him, and with him having a 19 year old girlfriend now, it's also what keeps him calling me. This has been going on for the past 6 months, and every time I don't talk to him, he just finds someway to lure me back. I want to move on so bad. He's a loser anyway, he abused me, said horrible things to me, and never really cared about what I had to say, yet I can only remember our good times - oh how selective memory haunts me.
What also scares me is that I don't think I will ever find the kind of pleasure that he gives me. It's weird, I've had 5 different partners and he has been the absolute best and he says the same about me. Damn chemistry. I'm pretty much over telling his new girlfriend how much of a loser he is and how much he cheats on her. I want to be me again. Where do I go from here?
- Ewww Frat Boys
Dear Ewww,
Where do you go from here? To the land of caller ID, unanswered phones, blocked emails and slamming your hand in the car door every time you think of him, that's where. You must train the horny squirrels in your brain to knock it off, and make sure that any thoughts of him that do squeak by are the ones that involve him calling you a fat pig with poop for brains. Kay?
I will say this, however -- you won't be able to give this guy the heave-ho until you really want to. It's like people who get hypnotized to quit smoking when they really don't want to quit, or who try to lose weight when they're more excited by pizza than being able to look down and see their feet. It never works. A few months ago I dragged my ass to yoga class for a solid week even though I just so so so did not feel like doing it. I paid my money, sat on my mat and was surprised to find my hand raised in the air when the instructor asked if anyone had any injuries she should know about. I then heard myself explaining that I'd just gotten the cast off my broken elbow and should really take it easy. I am an adult. I am very busy. I paid for that class with my own money and then lied so I didn't have to participate (my cast came off in December of 2005, but luckily my arm still looks a little fucked up so she bought it). I spent the majority of Yoga Week quietly napping on my mat and conjuring up my best "wincing in pain face" in case she was looking at me whilst I was half-assing Down Dog. Unbelievable.
You need not be shocked that someone of such assholian proportions could be such a fantastic lover. Women have been whining about that guy since we first learned how to spread our legs. It's as if The School For Total Pricks is right across the street from the Female Erogenous Zones Research Lab. Luckily, the All Girl's School for I Think I'm a Giant Piece of Crap is just down the road, so everyone involved is having a great time.
Spending your precious time with Mr. Phi Delta Loser is more about you feeling that you don't deserve better than how skilled he is with his tongue. You repeatedly refer to him as a loser, but remember, water seeks its own level. If you didn't think you were such a loser, you'd be out there getting the high hard one from someone who can twizzle your nizzle AND not let the door slam in your face when you're walking behind him. He's out there, trust me, you just have to be ready for him. In the meantime, you need to not worry about the fact that you're not. You're at where you're at. The fact that you realize that this is not the relationship of a lifetime is a good sign.
So what to do? Sometimes you just have to wait to get someone out of your system, but you can help speed up the process. Keep yourself busy, hang out with people who think you're the shizznit, go on dates with nice guys, focus on your many fine points and resist all invitations to talk to him, email him, text him, and especially hang out with him, regardless of how cute you look in your new toga.
♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠
Dear Jen,
I just had a look at an editors' review of your book, "The Straight Girl's Guide To Sleeping With Chicks," and am baffled - what makes you straight? I may be one of those rare people who never particularly noticed whether people were male or female when I was a kid, but rather went for a certain kind of energy (which is found in male actors/circus people, as well as in certain creative or particularly observant women).
I've had relationships as well as sex with both men and women and prefer to have relationships with women. I think I fall in love with women more intensely, but that doesn't have that much to do with sex itself in the way you describe sex.
Most of the women I've been with were bisexual, later perhaps with men again also due to having kids with them. I tend to find lesbians too masculine or too sappily feminine (when submissive) and men too masculine as well. However, I get hellishly confused and hurt by the odd female friend (with whom I have a much too long-lasting and emotionally close bond to end the friendship with), who projects their idea of sex onto me, whereas I enjoy the romance that's there.
Anyway, I think there is nothing straight about wanting sex with another woman, even when it's only occasionally, once or temporarily. Your way of women having sex with other women sounds more like the way (some) gay men have sex. After all, the word is heteroSEXual or homoSEXual, and not emotional, like I'd prefer it.
- Baffled Bi You
Dear Baffled,
I thought about just using the very first sentence of your letter because it poses a very good, often-asked question, but then I thought, "hey, maybe she'll give me some of whatever she's smoking if I print the whole thing."
Speaking of hellishly confused, what do circus performers have to do with the title of my book? Regardless, I'm going to just go ahead here and address the parts of your letter that I understood:
The Title: What the Hell?
I wanted to speak to the curious, confused, not-ready-to-sign-on-the-bisexual-dotted-line-just-yetters. If I'd called it "The Bisexual Girl's Guide To Sleeping With Chicks," a lot of first-timers, or women who are still figuring things out, probably wouldn't have realized I was speaking to them. Believe me, I've been in deep doo doo for this from the get go (always from people who haven't read the book because I address this issue in depth in the intro).
The Sex: What the Hell?
Yes, the book deals with sex in a graphic "you put your right hand in, you take your right hand out, you put your right hand in and you shake it all about" sort of way. It also deals with the emotional aspects. And the political. And the psychological. Again, in order to know what's in a book, you must actually open it and read.
Labels. What the Hell?
I agree, the terms homoSEXual and heteroSEXual fall very short in their attempts to encompass the many, complex aspects of sexuality. And because I, like you, prefer to focus on who makes me giddy, emotionally engaged, doodle little hearts on my notebook and brush my hair before leaving the house, not on whose naughty bits I've played with, I call myself straight. For now, anyway. And only because people demand I call myself something. Whatever happened to self discovery? Can't a girl get in there and find out if it tastes like chicken or fish and whether or not she likes it before she signs up for a whole new team? And why does she have to sign up again? It's silly, especially since all my homosexual friends who've fiddled around with the opposite set get to keep their nametags on while I'm constantly getting sent through the spanking machine. Not fair. Not fair at all.
People convert from Judaism to Christianity all the time, from Italian citizens to American, from material girls to cowgirls from vegans to hamburglers, and then sometimes back again. Getting your panties all twisted and prickly because someone is or isn't calling themselves something seems like a big fat waste of time to me. And really nobody's business but theirs.