Proclivities

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I’m a fantastic woman. I’ve worked hard at it. I’m funny, sexy, smart and every sort of nice guys dream come true. If only I liked nice guys…

If I’ve learned anything about myself and who I’m generally attracted to? It’s that they’re all grade A Daddy-Issues-typical-Jenni-habit. Five years of celibacy helped, but my preferences haven’t changed much.

Dating your Daddy issues only lands you in one very unpleasant place. Reliving the pain you watched your Mommy suffer through when you were a child. I loved my Dad, but he was a Grade A douchebag when it came to the women who loved him. Never invested, never present, never available. Completely fantastic if you were standing right in front of him…but out of sight, out of mind.

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Remind you of anyone?

Pretty disappointing when you consider that not only was he a terrible, unavailable parent, but he also managed to saddle me with a type that guaranteed my long-term suffering. Thanks a lot, Dad. It makes me feel a lot better about the 12 page truth sandwich I sent him before he died. I hope it stung as much as eternally wanting what I can’t have, does.

Miss Lovely recently gave in and met Mr. Charming; whom we’ve been dying to set her up with for years AND IT WORKED!!!! They’re having a delightful time and have reminded us all that our friends know us better than we know yourselves. Perhaps that’s the key? Life has a way of breaking even the most beautiful hearts and our friends aren’t looking through rose colored glasses when they set us up with other people they adore.

Internet dating has gone from bad to fucking lunacy. I can’t even. Between the instant dick pics or access to the real one… I’m bored. When I consider the choice between the 25 year old I should feel guilty for, or the 60 year old who should be dating women his own age, I’m left asking the one glaring question I’ve asked for the past 15 years.

Why?

Doesn’t it have to add to my life? I have my own home, the princess bed of my dreams and an egyptian cotton habit I don’t have to justify to anyone. If I feel like making Thanksgiving in July… we’re eating mashed potatoes and turkey. If I want to get up at 4:30 and run, I’m running. The little Dumpling can occupy the other side of my bed as often as she likes and I can do the dishes in panties if I so desire. My life is… mine.

I do miss the silly, insignificant accessories that accompany a boyfriend. Big flannel shirts that smell like sawdust and masculinity. Dirty boots. Cologne sitting next to my perfume. Absentmindedly putting his favorite beer in the shopping cart. The things you take for granted and end up missing the most. I can admit that.

I can also fix that.

I threw on my own favorite big sweatshirt, some perfume and my tennis shoes. A run to my favorite playlist, an uninterrupted long, hot shower, followed by a snuggle with the Dumpling in my favorite bamboo sheets.  Relishing how much I actually love being single.

I don’t want to wade through weirdos in a quest to risk this bliss I created.

No thank you, very much. ♥

Isn’t it supposed to be fun?

Thank U, Next.

I haven’t always been so careless about the men I love.

My first serious boyfriend Mike got my name tattooed ala tramp stamp. He spelled my name wrong and was less than thrilled when I told him that Jenny meant female donkey. My Grandpa had passed that bit of logic along in hopes that I’d remain a Jennifer. I simply changed the Y to a I. Mike wasn’t so lucky. I still wonder if he’s married and named his firstborn Jenny, just to save face…Or ass?

My first love… Eddie. Sigh. Some crushes never die, and when his wife sent him out one-night-stand shopping a few years ago, I had the misfortune of being the unwitting target. Bless his beautiful heart, I hope he divorces her and makes a more honest attempt someday.  I don’t share my toys… and if I’m going to be really honest- we only share what we don’t want anymore.

My taste in men is my most self-destructive trait. I adore being hunted and thoroughly enjoy the thrill of swimming with a shark. I don’t worry about teeth, biting is kind of my thing. I’m intrigued when I see one I want, get all sorts of wordy when I touch one, and have to change the rating on my blog if I want to unwrap him again. When I’m silent and stuck… it’s because I’m not getting laid and I hate that more than anything. How completely basic could I possibly be.

I was in the midst of my third run of the day, contemplating ankle weights and that god-awful baby shark ab workout that had me feeling like a battered blowfish for three days… when Big Dick Tom reappeared. The unfortunate truth to holding a man’s attention these days, is to blow them off and forget they’re alive. Don’t text him. Don’t answer his calls. He’ll be hounding you in no time. I guarantee. I’ve ghosted this poor penis with legs, three times. I’m never available, don’t return his calls and can’t make an hour to meet him for a beer after he’s driven 45 minutes to “conveniently happen to be in my town for the night”. If I don’t want you? All the dick in the world can’t help you.

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And they say romance is dead. Bye Tom.

Bye, boys in general. I am so disappointed in the current state of the manfolk. Did I miss the memo on aiming low? What happened to caring about the quality of person you are? I certainly have my less than stellar moments, but for the most part… I’m trying really hard to be an incredible woman.

I mean what I say. I’m funny. I cook, clean and fuck like good girls aren’t supposed to. I’m a good friend, working hard to have an incredible ass and make a perfect dirty martini. I can grow his dinner, blow his mind and knit the blanket he falls asleep under.

Just sayin…

I’m beyond a fuckboy and it takes so much more to interest me than a giant dick. GTFOH Tom and friends.

Mr. Perfection taught me that I still have to be careful when I’m falling in love with my best friends because even the longest friendship wont stand in the way of him breaking your heart. He taught me that some men take their respect for you off, along with their clothes. I learned some incredibly painful lessons that I probably should have learned a long time ago.  Ultimately I lost him over some particularly bad sex, and he created a need where my previously dormant sex drive had been.

Ahhhh which is when that completely unexpected Mr. Incredicock, lit my damn sheets on fire. Just when you think you know what’s up and you’re grown enough to play fast and loose with friendship and casual sex… you get your mind unexpectedly blown. I learned some amazing things from him, some of which still make me blush. More importantly, he reminded me that there are still good men in the world…and unassisted rock-hard erections. God bless him. Had I known then what I know now, I would have dealt with the fallout and made him a boyfriend so I could unwrap him every day. He reminded me of that age old double standard. If you want to keep him, you can’t touch him for a while. It’s a hunter-gatherer thing and you cannot get around it.

I’m not dating anymore. It’s just too depressing to have awful conversations with bland, unattractive men. I would honestly rather do anything else. After my week on OKCupid and the bottom feeder that is Big Dick Tom, I’m really quite content to put my fine ass back on the shelf until I have a good reason not to stay there.

Being single doesn’t suck. I’m fun to hang out with, dinner is always amazing and I can have as many orgasms as I’m willing to put the work in for. I like me,  I think it’s going to work out. 🙂