Addicted to The Feels

The convenience of a quick swipe right and a connection being made is almost a little too convenient.  It’s amazing how the addiction forms so easily. Third alarm goes off in the morning, yawn, flip over, grab phone to check text messages, group chats, calendar to see where I’m supposed to be today… and then I check for any new tinder connections and messages.  Not only do I crave to read the memes that I missed the night prior to get my girlfriend fix in, but now I seem to yearn the attention of the possibilities of the winks and hopes of a cocktail for the evening.  I craftily juggle conversations between 3-4 guys that range from convos that would be the equivalent of a modern day pen-pal… to the sex conversations that undoubtedly will arise.  I’m amazed how quickly I became desensitized to this entire process.  I mean, I dedicated an entire blog post about how strange it was that men were so quick to send dick pics… come a few weeks later, I too have dove deep into dick pic pool.  God, how basic of me.

All the while, the memory(ies) of Rebound Babe and our Sunday rendezvous remains emblazoned in my head.  Almost as if I can still feel the weight of his body lying on top of mine.  Like when you get back into bed and under the covers and you can still feel the warmth or heat on your legs.  As I try to recapture the memories and replay them in my mind in slow motion so I can relive the moment, I think about inviting him back over.  Exactly what I am trying to achieve here?  Is it really just the physical?  Is it that I need the affection? Or am I playing with this boy’s emotions and just using him.  I honestly don’t really know.

I start my day today, as I normally do.  Coffee, work emails, check my calendar and get ready for the day.  I usually only take a few moments to shower, put make up on, and fix hair… but as always I take the bulk of my time trying to find the perfect outfit to where I feel empowered.  I think many women, or at least a lot of my good-good-girlfriends, hate this part of the day.  Standing in their closets with just a bra and panties on looking at what shade of black they will wear today.  But not me, as I stand in my closet in my underwear, I usually have at least one shoe on my right foot, and I think to myself, “What do you want to tell the world today?” Putting on skirt after dress after top, I make the decision between my Power corporate garb, or the new vintage Chloe skirt that I found thrifting a few weeks ago.  In these past few weeks between restarting this blog and reading the poems in The Dead Emcee Scrolls, has unearthed a faint brushstroke of confidence as I remember who Maureen is.  The unapologetic, take over the world, Maureen.  The Maureen who always knew how to pave her own path.  The Maureen that always knew what she wanted.  I’m slowly starting to remember who this girl is.  And without question, the second that the zipper slid up to show the curves of my hips, I knew… this would be Maureen’s day in the vintage Chloe.

Entering in the destination into the corporate car, I get a *knock knock* text notification and it’s Rebound Babe wishing me a beautiful day and wanted to know what I had planned.  I tell him that I’ll be heading kind of in his direction, to which he tells me that he too will be in the same god-forsaken city as I would be around lunchtime.  There’s a warmth and electricity that sparks up my body as I hope that we’re going to see each other today.  He tells me that we’ll play by ear and hopefully we’ll be able to grab a quick bite together.  The giddiness in me festers like I’m about to see my new crush during study-hall.  All I can think is, I’m glad I wore a cute outfit today that shows off my firm ass that I’ve been doing a billion squats and lunges for.

We both pull into the parking lot at the same time, and feel the electricity pulsate through my body as we meet and greet in a warm hug.  It’s 90 degrees out and I can feel the heat of his body escape from beneath his shirt, which he refuses to let up on our firm embrace.  I’m curious what is it about us that holds this animalistic attraction towards one another, even after all these years.  All I want to do is grab his beard and kiss those luscious lips, but instead, as if with habit, he puts his hand my hip and guides me into the restaurant and we walk in unison as if to the beat of our own song.

I’m not sure what to make of my feelings and how my body responds to Rebound Babe. Its funny how the nervous butterflies take flight for most boys… but their wings remain steady and hold me above ground when I’m near him. Almost as if there’s a protective shield that he casts that says, “Just be you boo.” Is it because this is familiar territory?  Or it because in my head I know the limitations and expectations of what we are to one another.  Conversation volleys back and forth with minimal effort but with full content.  We easily dip into each other food to try and taste what the other ordered, without having to mention, “Yeah, that’s vegan, you can eat that.”   I forgot how easy it is to dine with someone without crazy & ridiculous food restrictions.  Between bites of my spicy tuna, I catch him looking at me.  Its an intense gaze, as if he is trying to soak up every angle to be able to cast a polaroid of me behind his eyes later this evening when he’s lying in bed.  The 14-year old girl in me blushes various shades of flattery, as I take my gaze away from him.  What happened to that Power Maureen that got dressed this morning?  I need to Channel my inner Chanel!

Thinking back into rebound times prior… I wonder why we never got past this point.  It’s strange how hard we both “love” in the moment. As if we both know how fleeting our time together is.  So we make the most of these moments with no expectations, and give full-fledge, badge of honor kind of passion.  The engulfing, intoxicating, no-one else in the room, you’re all the matters, kind of passion. We’re like 2 fishes creating a ripple in a stream, enjoying the ride while it lasts.  Or maybe because we’re both only capable, at this moment, for the superficial attention that we need to feel like humans.  We’re like 2 heroin addicts, coming together every time we need to feel The Feels.

Later that night, as I take another tape down to replay a video of our love fest from this weekend, I hear another *knock-knock* text notification come through.  And it’s a new boy (who’s so new, I can’t even come up with a good name for him yet) asking what I’m doing tonight.


The Return of Rebound Babe

I wake up this morning to a tickle of a beard running up the middle of my back which ends in a gentle kiss on my neck.  Blink.  Why is it so bright in here?  Blink.  I then feel him press his warm body against mine. Blink. Blink.  What happened last night? I realize I’m naked and turn around to face Rebound Babe. Kissing continues as we go in for another round.

The memories of the night prior finally begin to make their way back into my head.  I told myself that this shouldn’t happen again.  And I was very solid in my decision that it wouldn’t happen.  Yet here we are again. Rebound Babe and I have known each other for a few years.  We dated once, and it was shortly after he had ended his long term relationship.  I knew that I was just his rebound babe.  I should have known better getting my emotions involved knowing that he just ended a relationship.  I mean, honestly, where could it really go? But after a few months of what I thought was building a relationship, he suddenly ghosted. I just didn’t get it.  We took a little weekend getaway and when we got back, he was gone. My heart was crushed.

Since he was part of a circle of friends I had, I would randomly run into him, he/I would reciprocate likes on Instagram, or show up at the same shows and concerts throughout the years.  I also found out that he got back with his girlfriend, so I guess it all makes sense.  Then a few years later, after I ended a relationship, I found out that Rebound Babe broke up with his girlfriend again.  So I reached out, and this time, he became my rebound babe.  So he started showing up at my bar, and we almost picked up right where we left off.  That time though, I think WE BOTH knew what it was… companionship and sex.  And that was it.  I went my own way eventually and so did he.  Shortly after, I heard that he proposed to his ex-girlfriend.  So I stopped communication out of respect for their relationship, and this was also around the time that I met #whiteboy.

It’s almost as if there’s a signal that’s let out to all the Ghosts of Our Ex-Fucks the moment you’re single again.  However, for whatever reason this time we both just so happened to end out relationships again at the same time.  It started with an increase of likes on my Instagram posts, which turned into comments, which turned into DMs.  I knew all too quickly where this was going.  He then asks to take me out for dinner, which I declined.  I tell him that I was open to hanging out with him as a friend and nothing more.  I didn’t like our track record of every time we had an empty moment, we were back in each others arms and beds.  We have similar interests, enjoy the same music and always have a good time with one another. So what’s the harm in just being friends, right? Who knows, maybe we are finally on the same wavelength because he actually agrees with my terms.

We make plans this weekend to go to a show. Since I was adamant on keeping us completely platonic this time, I invite EasyBreezy to come to the show with us.  The 3 of us bop all around town with drinks always in hand.  Ending the evening at my favorite dance spot where we all continue to dance the night away with even more drinks. He’s an absolute gentleman who holds open doors for my girlfriend and I; he won’t let us pay for anything for the entire evening (which was completely unnecessary); gives me all the space to cut a rug and battle it out with ReRun; and in a perfect moment knows when to pop in and dance close.  The memories of how easy it is to hang out with him start to creep in as my booze-filled eyes start to gaze at him in a familiar lighting.  And now, the next thing I know is we are in bed, naked.

There’s something so soothing and comfortable being around Rebound Babe.  He carries himself with this humble confidence that I feel like makes him all the more sexy. He’s a musician, with a beard, and a big dick.  What’s not to love?  We roll around in the sheets and switching from big spoon, little spoon, and being completely intertwined dozing in and out of sleep throughout the day.  He lightly kisses each of my eyelids to wake me up and whispers to me, “Open those eyes, I want to see all of your beauty.”  He always knows the right things to say, which I’d like to believe isn’t him spitting game.  It could be my naivete,  my blissful ignorance that allows me to think this way, or that the oxytocin has now clouded my judgement.  But I really don’t care.  I’ve been so neglected for all these years, that I am going to soak up whatever love and attention comes my way.  And right now coming this way, is Round 4.

My Rock, My Shoulder, My Sword

Just about this same time last year I told you how I was having difficulty with my new sense of “freedom” and that I needed to find a new posse of girlfriends to mimic what I had before I moved to The City of Angels.  There’s something about your original crew that will always guide you to front of the line, because Mo doesn’t wait in lines… and all at the same time will be quick to kick in the ass when you ain’t acting right.  There’s no sugar sprinkling or bumpers up along the bowling lane.  The strength of these women is something to be admired, and the fact that the 3 of us couldn’t be more different makes this trio the power of what it is.  I couldn’t be more grateful to have these women in my life.

I’m a spiritual person- but not in that tree hugging, patchouli wearing, non-armpit shaving type- more so that I believe when you do right by yourself, these good acts will radiate in golden hues onto the rest of my surroundings.   Of all the fucked up things I’ve done, said, connived, conspired and wished upon in my darkest of days…. the fact that I am lucky enough to have the girlfriends I have around me… my life couldn’t be more complete.  If this is the cosmos trying to tell me, “Girl…. you haven’t been fucked proper in about a year… let me give you this one thing” so all the moons, stars, suns, universes and perfect outfits aligned….. and somehow the 3 of us just so happen to be single again at #thesamedamntime.

I realize that this blog is supposed to be about 1. online dating 2. the boys I meet 3. one night stands 4. building something with a potential SO… but sometimes its about the growth & realizations that happens during the in-betweens.  And just as much as I like to brag about my sexual conquests and the number of orgasms I had one night (which I hope happens a lot more frequently to make up for some lost time), I feel its necessary to pay homage to the the babes who consistently support, and provide guidance through the dark days.  And FUCK YOU… this is my blog… so Imma say what the FUCK I wanna talk about. So I’ll go into describing the curvature of next boi’s dick soon.  That I can promise!

But back to my sentimental moment as I enjoy a a vodka-st.germaine-rosemary cocktail.  *Ahem* As I was saying…. it’s about the the growth & realizations that happens in this single phase… and where we are trying to get to.  We must remind ourselves to never compare our love-lives, or lack-of-love lives to people who are in these steady relationships.  It’s like they have this fast-track pass at Disneyland to get what their heart desires… while you’re at the ATM trying to withdraw a $20 and the asshole tells you that you have insufficient funds.

ME:  Yeah, but can’t you just withdraw it from my savings??

ATM MACHINE: No girl…. all tapped out, I told you that that the last time.

ME:  What the fuck?  You keeping log on my desperation?!

It’s in those moments when you’re willing to accept a non-sufficient funds fee for 5 minutes of satisfaction that you question WTF you’re even doing with yourself.  The Ghosts of  Ex-FuqBoi’s Past somehow can sense when you’re in your most vulnerable and you get the text of “Hey”… and suddenly your world is turned right side up?  What?!

How is it that these insecurities even develop past it’s tadpole phase?  All I can say is at one time or another, you’re either The Rock, The Shoulder or The Sword to your Good-Good-Girlfriends.  And if you’re lucky enough you can find a tribe in which each one of you are able to be one of those figures when its needed most… hold on to those girls. Because we’ve all needed a guidepost of what I want to embody, the shoulder to cry on when we are at our weakest, and the sword who will slash into every tire of who fucked with my girl.  This post is dedicated to my one my and only Dreds & EasyBreezy. Without you, I don’t know where I would be.  And I never want to know what this life would be without you in it.

The Clarity

I’ve realized that my neurosis and obsessions these past few months/year are a direct correlation between my lack of sexual fulfillment.  Instead of delicious cramped sweaty back-seat sex … I then focused on organizing my closet by color.  Instead of being pressed up against my floor-to-ceiling windows… I focused on making sure that all my fitted sheets were folded perfectly.  Instead of sneaking to the back row of a movie theater to give/receive some head… I would complete entire series of shows on Netflix.  Instead of having lazy, lay in bed all day and have marathon sex… I focused on going shopping for items to flip on Poshmark.

Yes, this used to be my life. I used to have that unapologetic rough sex.  The sex that would leave the images burned into my mind, and the bruises on my legs as badges of honor. The romantic marathon sex that would result in mini naps throughout the day to replenish my energy enough to go again.  The sex that would result in multiple orgasms that every neighbor would hear and curse me with envy.  God, how much I miss all of that.  I became half of a cracked fortune cookie that spent weekends at Bed, Bath & Beyond.  I’m not sure when the passion disappeared.  Come to think of it, I’m curious if there was any actual passion between #whiteboy and I.

All I know is that there has been an itch that has been left to fester and borough inside of me.  Who knew all it would take is a photo of a sexy man and a dick pic to bring this beast back to all of it’s blazing glory.   FuqBoi is sexy and has a fashion sense that turns me on more than his 7-inch dick. As we exchange a barrage of dirty texts and pics, we finally agree to meet. I take notice that he didn’t ask me anything about myself, and neither did I.  Focus was on the ultimate goal here:  Mo needs to get laid.

As our meeting time comes closer, I begin my prep work.  Shave legs and of course the Star of the Show.  I look into my carefully curated closet for the proper ‘fit that will say, “She’s sexy, fashionable, cool and looks effortlessly put together”.  I begin to feel the flutter of a butterfly’s wing that I haven’t felt in about a year since Cub came to visit me. And just like that… the insecurities of my failed romantic relationships spill out in front of me.  Do I dress well enough to be matched for this young-fashionisto who’s #OOTD leave me drooling.  Will this young babe think I look much older in person?  Will his chiseled abs be disgusted by my body and will be unable to keep his dick hard?  As with all things that stress me out, I try to shake it off, practice some ujjayi breakthing, and of course… frantic texts gets sent to the indestructable group chat where I can embody the strength of 5 other brilliant and gorgeous women.  I chill the fuck out, slap on another coat of mascara, recheck my hair, call a Lyft and dash out the door.

We agree to meet at my new favorite local lounge/bar which I chose because it looks a little shady (like me), plays the Sunday jam sessions that was mastered by Art Laboe, and has a good happy hour menu.  I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t getting catfished by a disgusting pervert who just happens to have numerous dick pics and who now has my address. So what’s the harm in at least having a cocktail before the festivities commence, right?  During the 3 minute ride that it takes to get there, the flutter of a butterfly wing has now multiplied to an entire swarm that is now making my hands and legs shake. Shit.  What did I do?  Did I really commit to having a fuck session with some random guy I met on Tinder?  Shit. Is it too late to turn around and leave this guy hanging?  The “what-if’s” leave my head and enter the group chat.  Which I’m sure are coming in rapid-fire and in a flurry of desperation.

FuqBoi finally be-bops into the bar about 15 minutes late saying that he couldn’t find any parking spots.  However by this time, I’ve already shown my entire deck of cards of insecurities to my girls, the jitters are in full swing, and sweat is pooling onto the inside of my palms.  What is it about these boys on these dating apps, they always seem so cool and collected when they walk in the door.  How do I also gain the same level of composure? They are able to chit chat about whatever without the slightest stutter and speak effectively.  While I sit on this stool and can only focus on, “Shit, these jeans are digging into my stomach, I should’ve eaten a salad today.”

I realize I’m zoning out on the ramblings going on inside of my head instead of focusing on how cute he is IRL, and there’s no way that this guy is 30.  He looks like he could be my age, easily.  Unfortunately, now that I’m paying attention to what he’s actually saying, I’m thinking, “Yeah… you’re definitely 30.  Maybe 25. God, he’s a complete imbecile”.  He just sounds so uneducated, as he just rambles random thoughts that entire his head. So I ask myself one question:  Would you still get naked with this guy?  And the answer is, “Abso-fucking-lutely”.

Me:  I’m ready to go, are you?

FuqBoi: Yup!

We finish off our drinks and make our way back to my apartment where my roommate just so happens to have people over.  Great. Now I have to introduce this guy to people? I literally herd my one-night-stand to my room and thank god he got the clue that we’re not here to make friends.  I love when a guy with big thick lips knows how to use them instead of just shoving his tongue down my throat as if he’s trying to taste what I ate for dinner.  Thanks God that although this guy doesn’t know how to form a normal sentence at least knows what say when no words are necessary.

After 3 rounds of saying absolutely nothing to one another except for direction and demands, it’s time for this FuqBoi to leave my apartment.  Thankfully he had to go to work to do …???  Honestly, I don’t really remember, nor do I care.  He tried to say that he wanted to stay here and spend the night so we could continue this in the morning. Which actually, I was honestly considering.  But to think that I would have to listen to this idiot for a few more hours, no thanks. I began to wonder if this is what some guys go through when they take a gorgeous girl home, and their answers are “Uh-huh” with a empty glaze in their eyes.  I walk FuqBoi out to his car, he hugs me and palms my ass to bring me up to wrap my legs around his waist, and tells me that he’ll give me a ring tomorrow.

Me: Uh-huh.

Lying back in bed, with the smell of sex hugging me close, I feel this sense of ultimate release.  Finally all the clouds have lifted, the stress that I’ve been botox-ing out of my forehead has gone on vacation, and my work goals have become crystal clear.  The anxiety that I was facing each morning as I started my day seems like years ago.  Who knew that all I needed was some good ole’-fashioned (Enter Favorite Food Emoji Here).




Releasing The Floodgates

Apparently, I’m completely full of shit.  Here I was few days ago talking about how ridiculous it is that men just send half nudes and dick pics like, “WTF is wrong with these guys?  Do they think this actually works?”  Well, yes girl. It does work.  It did work.

This entire week I’ve been feeling pretty insecure.  Thinking back on all my ex-boyfriends, ex-guys I used to date, ex-fucks and I wonder what I’ve done that have made it all go wrong.  And the carousel of thoughts make their way through my rose-colored confidence. I am not sexy enough. I am not smart enough.  I don’t cater to their needs enough. Maybe I’m too boring. How about maybe I’m the fucking problem… and as EasyBreezy says, “You’re just a bad picker, dude.”  Yes, I get that I’m a bad picker, but the realization of this doesn’t stop me from obsessing about my most recent interaction with FuckYeah, how did it all go wrong so quickly?  And I started to create scenarios of how I could arrange a future sexual encounter, and what I could do to try to get us back on track.

And it was in that moment, that I realized that this is why no one, let me say this again, but louder… NO ONE, should ever go this long without having sex.  It’s just not normal. It’s no wonder that I was obsessing over FuckYeah,  as he was my first physical contact I’ve had since #whiteboy.

No matter the amount of times someone masturbates and watches porn, there’s nothing like the sweet delicious feeling of laying naked with another person.  There is something intoxicating about sex.  Obviously the entire dirty deed and the grand finale is what we think of most.  But what I crave about the experience, is the body contact; feeling the weight of someone on top of you; the careful choreography that’s created while you each try to figure out the steps; it’s someone else’s body heat rubbing up on you and making you sweat even more; it’s the aroma of their pheromones that make you willing to please and do more than you thought you would be okay with it.  All of it. I. Love. It.  This forced celibacy that I’ve had over the past 11 months makes me wonder how did I ever survive this hell?

Which leads me to this weekend and all I could think of is I need to have sex.  I don’t even care with who.

Okay, that’s a lie.  Obviously I’m not going to sleep with the guy at my apartment complex who always flirts with me, who looks like Jorge from 90-Day Fiance.  But you know what I mean.  I went crazy on Tinder and just aimless swiped right on anyone who was a low 7.  Pathetic. Desperate. Horny. Acceptable. Yes, I came to grips with my situation and have accepted the fact that this is what Tinder is good for.  These moments when you just need to release the floodgates.

And enter state right: FuqBoi


Gun Shy & Self- Sabotage

I have an early morning.

I need to wash my hair.

I’m pretty tired tonight.

I didn’t see your call/text/tweet/snap/pigeon/smoke signal.

What is wrong with me?  Girl, get your shit together!  I sit here complaining that I’m lonely, bored, horny. And when the opportunity for semi-decent prospect arises to lift me up from this misery… I make up an excuse to keep me in my stained grey pajamas bottoms and flannel shirt as I sit and watch yet another episode on Netflix.  YES, Netflix… I’m still watching Grey’s Anatomy!

So the question that comes to mind is, Am I ready to start dating again? Or are my prospects on the annoying Lé Tinder, just hopeless.  But honestly, what do I really think is going to happen? That this 6’2″ Arabian prince from Germany is going to fall madly in love with me after our first round of drinks?  That the 5-foot-something man who has his own eBay store will be enamored by my sense of style and I will forever be his muse? That the DJ I’ve had a little crush on, will realize that I’m not as cool as he thought I was, and will leave me standing in the middle of a dance floor alone? Or how about the French photographer who is visiting for a few months will start to capture my ridiculous #ootd posts and can highlight all my good angles, chiseled jawline and flawless skin… so much that I’ll want to keep him around as my Instagram husband?

Exactly, none of these scenarios are actually going to happen.  So bite the bullet, girlfriend.  Just do something.

Dick Pics, the Modern Day Serenade

Okay, okay.  So I wasn’t really back the last time. But this time… I’m back.  I swear. The ex is now out of the apartment and living somewhere else.  And of course still on that pull-out sofa.  Do I feel bad about it, sure.  Bad enough to stay?  Hell no.

So what’s happened in the past year?  Let’s see, Cub came to visit… and wow I forgot how amazing it was to play with a younger pup.  And wow, I forgot how annoying it is to play with a younger pup.  Luckily that fiasco lasted all of 4 days.  Boy Bye.

#whiteboy and I tried to rekindle whatever flicks of affection remained, like trying to spoon for the last bit of Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Toffee Bar Crunch. But like every bursted star, they diminish into the sky with just the memory of its tail to hold on to.  And  I am here again, alone.

This time feeling like a seasoned player, I rejoin the masses to online dating scene.  But damn…. it feels like it’s been too long.  Filling out stupid dating questions: What do you like to do in your spare time? What’s your favorite book?  What’s your blah-blah-blah-bleh? Am I ready for the mindless conversation that feels like you’re interviewing for a spot on the Saturday roster.  I don’t think I am, but I’m just so bored.

A few connections come through all looking fairly attractive.  So I pass off my phone number and texting commences.  Juggling again between a few different boys, all casual conversation.  And then a picture is sent… excited to see the possibility of a selfie, or something that they’re doing.  And instead, it’s a dick pic.  Great. Since when did this become an appropriate message to send without being prompted?  And it’s not like this is just a one time thing, from one random guy.  I’m talking… they all are sending them.  In all forms.  In bed holding it like a trophy; in a public restroom as they take a belfie; the pants slightly unzipped with just the tip out.  Do they not realize that these pictures will obviously be sent to my 3 separate group chats of where at least 10 different girls will begin to laugh and criticize their stout statues?

What happened to talking to a girl and asking her out for drinks with the hopes that it all goes well, or at least well enough for the one-night stand.  How pathetic has online dating become… we hope it goes well for a one-night stand!  I think I’ll hold out for someone to actually make some considerable effort and plan out an evening.