I want to have lots of sex before I die

When I turned 40, interest on OkCupid dropped off. I got an occasional message from a contemporary and some from men 10, or more, years older than I. 

I spent 2015 feeling old.

It turns out it's 41, not 42, as one might have thought, that is the magic number. I have never been more popular and the interest is almost exclusively from men younger than 30.

Tinder Match Coversation
22 year old match Why are you here?
Me Lots of sex, you? 
Him *pause* ... something deeper ...
Him casual sex 
Him Are you really 41?
Me Yes.
Him I like older women...
Me Excellent, I like younger men.

But, you might say, "come on, this is online. Everyone loses inhibitions online." But it's not. I'm don't write 41 on my forehead, still I must project it, because the magic works at the pub too.

It's flattering, and while less experienced, they're better lovers than both my husbands combined. The "I like older women" means, in addition to being female and willing, you're a fantasy from a Letter to Penthouse.

But it matters too I'm finally able to say, "no, you can't come in, just because you bought me a drink and drove me home." Banishing the cock tease guilt means you have sex because you want to.

41 - 22 = 19

My mother had me when she was 16, I finally managed to get rid of my virginity at 19. It staggers the mind it was hard to get laid as a teenager, but now I can pick and choose. 

I realized too: sex is not so serious, laugh!

I love this recording from 2006 of Jason Mraz singing Older Lover Undercover. I hope it suites you too.

I'm a round-healed woman

I like young, Asian men

I'm am not an Equal Opportunity Dater.

Detractor Lenny went straight to too fat or too thin(; these preferences define shallow are the greatest sins of dating.

We blabber on about inner beauty, and about love at first sight, in a way which sounds like superstition.

Lenny probably prefers redheads and for some reason that particular filter is OK. If I told you why I swipe right, you'd find me guilty of failing to Give Everyone a Chance. You might even consider it fetish.

Someone said, September 11

Me Someone just said, "I bet you remember exactly where you were on #September11, 2001." I was in the living room, programming. Where were you?

Dennis on my way to work, why are we discussing this in March?

Mike At home getting read for work.

Me I dunno, every time it comes up I start to choke. Not from patriotism, but because this what we, as humans, are capable of doing . I know I'm meta, but I assure you, it's not an pretentious abstraction, it's just the best way I can describe it. 

I went to the memorial in NY and i hated all the fucking tourists taking pictures with twisted supporting beams behind them. 

There should have been crying booths for those of us who don't like having snot running from our noses in public.

It's like all I'm crying for all the bullied kids and myself most of all.

It should be said though, that I cry during all TED Talks, even the one about how mushroom will save the world.


A bookcase ran away

Tinder, I met a boy on Tinder. It was lovely. I felt strong, attractive, looked for boys.

Then one night I decided I wanted to really sleep. So I took 5 Lorazepam. It wasn't enough though, so I took enough 10. And later another two Clonazepam. The day after my therapist was alarmed. Discussed hospital until I pointed out I don't have health insurance. Which made her make a stern face and ask me if I'd be back tomorrow with my Cobra paper work. I promised I would.

The boy picked me up at mytherapists's. Hungover, sick, sleepy, I talked him about suicide, just talking, forgetting normal people don't talk about stuff like that.

Normal people don't say, I have this friend with a plan to jump in front of the train and I thought maybe I'd ask if she wanted to.

He left, because it seemed I needed some alone time. I was sad for a moment because he wouldn't stick around and hold me like he cared.

Anyway, I got my cobra paperwork all together and I've lost all will to look for pretty boys. I want to cry, but I won't. I don't think there any point. I'll just listen to the music.




I'm not who I want to be...

Is being depressed as Ana adult a way to extend teenagedhood indefinitely -- I have you, I hate myself, the world is unbearable. 


I understand why no one understands me

My previous post reads like an obfuscated poem. It wasn't intended to be a riddle. You know? I take it back, I won't explain.

Also, Nina Simone, no more motherfucking Mandopop.


Let me out of here. Where does reality begin? I don't know how to stop or to be anywhere else.

I can't even internalize that this person doesn't exist. The same way it was with Frank. When I'm around people I'm not quite there because it's not him. 

The real is the pity friend from high school.

I feel sick.