weak-minded and brainwashed like Paris, that's me

and wtf is a neo-feminist anyway?

"A neo-feminist's view of abstinence" by Elisabeth Sandoval

Handsome Man at a Bar, you think I'm cute? Thanks. Do you appreciate me or the idea of having sex with me? Because your thinking has likely been influenced by the cavortings of Samantha and Co. in the "city" or the women in most rap videos. I am not those women. If you want a workout, go get a one-day pass at Bally. It's free.

Members of the "Sex is Natural and Fun and If It Makes You Happy, It Can't Be That Bad" club want sex so badly that they willingly and repeatedly live out the following scenario: Things go "great" for a month or two. Sex quickly becomes a part of your interactions. Maybe he even meets your parents. And then, well, things just change. He dumps you or you dump him.

Regardless of why the relationship died, you are now one of many women whom he could point out on the street. "See her?" he can tell his buddies. "She's cute, huh? Yeah, I had her." I never want to be "her."

What's ultra ironic is that while I disagree with almost the entire tenor of her piece and her conclusions, for myself and most of society, I DO get the whole "Do you appreciate me or the idea of having sex with me?" because that's all it's been lately on the personal front, which is why I've taken a step back, especially from the STUPID men who sortof flock to this idea of me as this person with no feelings who they are "safe" telling their fantasies to but blah blah blah and then they're gone.

Of course I'm happier on my own without that bullshit, but no, this week has not been good for me, but I'm going to woo that book proposal for all I'm worth and putting my money where my mouth is, so to speak, when it comes to dating my writing so I can afford that home office and get to finally say fuck you to sallie mae and just not feel so financially constrained. I'm gonna take my writing on to four star restaurants, put it up at the fanciest hotels, make love to it for hours, bring it flowers and gifts and give it backrubs and engage in countless acts of PDA. Whatever it takes, baby, whatever it takes. Becuase of course my writing is a better date, and, frankly, the only dating option I have right now. It might still break my heart, might still make me cry, but at least it's sortof somewhat even slightly under my control, unlike my crazy ass emotions. At least maybe it will have a payoff, maybe, even though I don't know if I truly believe it, maybe I can get me one of them there those fancy ass book deals. All I really want is to be debt free, then I feel like I can really move on with my life. Or maybe that's totally backwards, but if I'm gonna be single for the very foreseeable future, probably for a long long while, I better stop sitting around and feeling sorry for myself and bursting into tears willy-nilly and just put it all back into the writing. I'm about to read Neil Strauss's The Game, maybe I'll learn some tips from that too. Whatever it takes, 100% of my energy will be focused on the real writing. Because, as H. said, not blogging is the new blogging. Right on, I say totally hypocritically, of course.