Posted by: ecrivain | August 19, 2012

Thanks For The Unkind Comments

Why do people leave nasty comments?

I get it if you stumble across my blog and think that I’m a miserable bitch who deserves to be alone because I seem really negative — but why do you need to bother wasting your time and leaving me a message telling me that you hope I’ll never get married because I “don’t deserve to”?

Have you ever considered that maybe the loneliness is what’s driven me to the point of being bitter and miserable? Have you considered that, when you face rejection time and time again and have had your self-confidence stripped off over the years and you’re clinically depressed and lonely that you’re not going to be optimistic and cheerful? Have you also considered that this is my blog and that this is meant to be my forum for venting?

If you find my blog stupid and annoying and you find me pathetic and disgusting, here’s a simple piece of advice for you: Don’t fucking read it.

Posted by: ecrivain | August 19, 2012

27 And Never Been Kissed

Came across this article in Salon this morning and it struck a chord — for obvious reasons.


FRIDAY, AUG 17, 2012 07:30 PM EDT
27 and never been kissed
I felt like the last woman in America to have virgin lips. How did this happen, and would it ever change?
BY TIFFANY HAACHE

“I think she’s a virgin,” said my classmate from grad school, gossiping about a mutual friend. “She’s 26!” he continued. “It’s weird to be a virgin over 24. Even for a woman.”

And most people would agree with him. A virgin in her mid-20s is like a unicorn. Lolo Jones, a stunningly beautiful Olympic hurdler, made huge waves when she admitted she was still a virgin at 29 years old. When one of the main characters on HBO’s “Girls” revealed her 20-something virginity, many viewers scoffed. No way, not realistic. It just doesn’t compute in an age of casual hookups and “friends with benefits.” But at 27 years old, I could one-up all those women. Not only had I never had sex, I had never even been kissed.

It will probably not surprise you to discover that I grew up in a church-every-Sunday, sex-is-for-marriage Christian household. Until college, I played that part well. I wasn’t one of those evangelicals who would share my beliefs with anyone who would listen. I was easygoing, live-and-let-live. But I subscribed to traditional Christian values. I had no intention of having sex before marriage and, while I am pro-choice, I personally would never abort. For the most part, I kept these feelings to myself. If you didn’t ask (and most people didn’t), you would have never known.

But college was a far cry from the safety of my Christian youth. At my liberal arts school (one of the most liberal in the nation), I hung out with all types of people, socialized often, learned to grind on the dance floor, and discovered the bliss that alcohol can bring. I didn’t drink much, but when I did, it opened an unfamiliar side of me – the flirty side. For a supposedly Christian woman, I was living on the wild side.

I carried my never-been-kissed status around like a secret, but it was also freeing to realize no one would ever have to know. In those days, I was still looking for my perfect mate. I wanted a guy who was attractive, smart, and open-minded but Christian enough to be willing to put off sex until marriage. But most guys were either too liberal to wait or too conservative to be OK with a woman drinking and flirting in the first place. I was drawn to those bad boys like a moth to a flame, and some of them were interested in me, but I needed to play it safe and keep them far away. So I became the queen of elusiveness, throwing up walls all around me, because I doubted my ability to resist temptation when temptation was standing in my dorm room looking very hot and bothered. Years later, I found out that some would-be suitors who might have had a shot at meeting my impossible criteria thought I had a boy waiting for me back home. If only I had known.

But my college freedom was short-lived. After two glorious years of independence, I transferred to a different school and moved back home. I continued living there after I graduated and I started working, which basically led me to revert to my pre-college lifestyle. My mind had been opened to the left-leaning ways of the world and there were one or two relapses, not least of which was getting totally hammered at my office Christmas party. However, for the most part, I was back in good-girl mode. The fun-loving me began to feel trapped, like the oxygen was disappearing from the room around me and I couldn’t breathe.

Thus began a chapter of my life where I flitted from city to city every so often. I wanted to be free and to live and experience life. Well, as much as I could without compromising my values. And I did get something like that: the kind of excitement that comes from traveling on your own as a single woman in your twenties. I slept in a strange man’s house for five days in one country, traveled up a mountain in another country with another stranger five minutes after meeting him, spent an entire day in a European city with a girl I had met that morning, had a 4.5-mile beach on a tiny island all to myself to watch the sunset, and experienced the fun of second-language bargaining in yet another foreign land. I was living the dream. But in all those years of risk and adventure, I never had the one experience I wanted and feared most: a relationship. Or even, let’s be honest, a good fling. The idea of it took on magical proportions in my mind, the stuff of Disney happy endings and romantic comedies. A kiss at sunset, a passionate embrace in the rain, a date filled with clever banter — any one of those would have sufficed.

I told myself I didn’t need anyone. I told myself I was happy having other experiences. Dating was not a priority. I think I had two dates in five years. Which doesn’t mean that I didn’t have offers, but when they arrived, I found reasons to dismiss them. I put those guys in my ever-growing “friends” category, or I just never returned their calls and avoided contact until they got the message. Clearly, I was wanting in the maturity department. But the longer I waited, the higher the stakes became, and the more nervous I was to go on any dates whatsoever. It was so unfair: I wanted to be friends with a guy first and then, after I had got to know him in a no-pressure situation, I might decide to go on a few dates with him. But cruel fate would have it the other way: You had to date a guy in order to get to know him. And the older I got, the more people just assumed I was experienced at sex, dating and relationships. Of course they would! I was 25 by this point. There would have to be something dreadfully wrong with a person to be so inexperienced at that age.

More than anything, I feared rejection. No guy was going to stay with me when he realized what was up. Runner Lolo Jones is easily a 12 out of 10, but in interviews, she’s said men would get antsy at the three-month mark and make themselves scarce when it finally sank in that she was not going to sleep with them before marriage. I am nowhere near Lolo’s level of hotness. My very optimistic projections were that a guy would stay with me for two months tops before splitting to find a woman who did not wear a chastity belt. I didn’t think I could deal with those repeated rejections, so I didn’t just wear my chastity belt. I wore my lip guard.

But then, one day, it happened. Twenty-seven years of total abstinence — and it finally happened. Did I find my knight in shining armor? The answer is a big, fat no. There was no dramatic rain. No glorious sunset. In the end, it all happened quite fast.

While out clubbing one night, I was drinking and flirting with a guy. When the club closed, he got the brilliant idea that we should go swimming in our underwear in the outdoor pool at his apartment complex. Drunken me was all for it. Naturally, the other part of me tried not to consider what he had in mind. I decided to go for the thrill of breaking the rules.

Of course, once we were in the pool, he zeroed in for the kiss. He was a tall, muscular, fairly attractive man, and I remember thinking, “Why not?” By the time we were kissing I had long forgotten his name. However, I do remember thinking that I had no idea what I was doing. Blessedly, the alcohol in my system made me very enthusiastic. It was easy. He lifted me up partly out of the water, and my legs wrapped around him quite naturally. We made out for a long time that night, but he was a gentleman, and we didn’t take it much further.

It was hard being one of the last 20-something women in America to never have been kissed. I’m sure people think I wasted a lot of good make-out years, and maybe I did. Still, we only get one first kiss in our lives. I may have waited 27 years for mine, but it was worth it.

Posted by: ecrivain | April 15, 2012

Hello.

It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?

Nothing horribly exciting to report. (Though, maybe that’s a good thing compared to endlessly reading about how unhappy someone is.)

Nope, haven’t lost my virginity.

Nope, haven’t been kissed in a long while.

Nope, haven’t been on a date.

Nope, haven’t met anybody.

But, life, unexpectedly, is okay.

Or, maybe, after having found a therapist who’s right for me, I’ve started to just see life a little differently…and maybe that’s enough to change how I feel…which is all I can really ask for.

Stumbled across this on Post Secret today:

To the woman who wrote this: I get it. I feel the same way.

Posted by: ecrivain | January 15, 2012

So, I listened to that CBC podcast — and I liked it.

I thought it was a very dignified interview with three people who happened to be virgins.

To be fair, one of them identified as asexual — and that sort of makes it different. But still…she’s a virgin.

The only thing that made me a little sad was listening to the one guy who was 42 who, on the one hand, identified strongly with his Roman Catholic faith but at the same time, felt like it was “over” for him and like there was no chance to find someone…and here, I don’t think the sadness was solely focused on his virginity. He sort of seemed upset that he still hadn’t found someone yet.

Ultimately, I think that’s probably what bothers most of us who are still virgins — we’re not solely seeking that physical connection to relieve us of the “burden” of being virgins. It’s that emotional connection that we’re seeking — and it’s that emotional connection that needs to be present first before you can even entertain thoughts about doing the deed and being sexually active.

And when it’s so difficult to meet someone and have a relationship, you’re bound to ask yourself if there’s something wrong with you…and in most cases, I don’t think there is. Sometimes, it just boils down to really shitty luck.

People get together every day — those who are lucky enough to have had zero trouble in this regard fail to understand why it’s so difficult for the rest of us.

Take my boss, for instance. She went online, met a guy who she invited to her place and had sex with on their first date. Now, six months later, they’re looking at moving in together and engagement ring-shopping.

(She’s an odious human being, by the way.)

Anyways…that’s that.

I don’t know if I would have been a horribly engaging person if I had appeared on that radio program, though.

I’m a virgin because I never met anybody — I have dated very casually, done everything that people usually suggest (in the same manner in which people give overweight people advice on losing weight…you know, like they never thought to do that themselves) to meet people, but I have never met anybody I wanted to be in a relationship with (and who similarly wanted the same thing of me).

The older I get, I wouldn’t say that it gets more “difficult.” It remains the same.

I don’t think my virginity defines me.

My loneliness haunts me, of course, but I’ve had to deal with that all of my life…so that’s nothing new.

The only thing at issue is my biological clock ticking. Once upon a time, I thought I wanted kids…but now, I sort of feel like that might not happen — not in any natural sense, that is.

Anyways…thought I’d post that.

Posted by: ecrivain | January 15, 2012

I guess this is my first post of 2012…is it? I don’t remember now as I start to type this — and honestly, while things are “same old, same old” where my non-existent love life is concerned, work has been stressful.

It has been confirmed: I do not work well in teams made up predominantly of other women — especially the clique-y type who act like they’re still in high school (and talk, like, they’re, like, totally 16-years-old, ya know?).

Here’s what complicates things — and it’s a recurring thing in my career so far: there’s a new player at the top and he’s the sort of man who prefers dealing with a certain type of woman — the completely non-sexual type who isn’t flirty or charming but who knows how to get shit done.

I guess it’s the one time in my life that it has worked to my favor that I am completely, totally unattractive to men — for certain big wig types who are almost idiot-savant like in their genius with all things business, but maybe not-so-social, it’s easier to deal with a completely humorless, all-business type of female as opposed to a giggly, baby-voiced, boobs-pushed-out airhead who stalks the hallways with her posse of girlfriends. (Because, it only takes one giggly, baby-voiced, boobs-pushed-out airhead to make it into management and you just know all subsequent hires will be various friends she’s picked up along the way.)

I’ve always been an outsider with few friends — that’s just my lot in life. In the working world, I like to go in, get my work done and then go home. End of story. I don’t want to socialize after work with bimbos who never invite me along, anyway.

And, trust me, I realize that I sound sort of jealous here, but that’s not the case.

The Queen Bee of the Airhead Posse happens to be my boss…except, she barely deals with me directly because she doesn’t like me very much and has actually asked her admin assistant to assign me work like I report into the admin assistant. This assistant, by the way, is also her best friend, who you can see on Facebook posting pictures of girls’ only long-weekend trips featuring the entire clique from work.

I made the mistake of voicing my complaints to a new middle-manager who has turned out to be dumber than a sack of shit and who promptly went to my boss to tell her everything I said. Now, I am persona non grata — even more so than before.

So…yeah, I’ve been stressed.

A few weeks ago, a radio producer for the national radio station up here in Canada emailed me to ask if I might be interested in being on a radio panel to discuss the Virgin Diaries. I briefly emailed neverhadaboyfriend, who had also received an email from the radio lady.

I had zero interest in appearing on radio — especially in my home town — and couldn’t bring myself to respond. Luckily, if you go over onto http://neverhadaboyfriend.org/, you can access the podcast.

I plan on listening to it later.

So, maybe there’ll be thoughts on this later…maybe not.

I’ve recently started doing freelance work on the side, so that has been occupying a lot of my time, too.

Yup. I have no personal life.

Posted by: ecrivain | December 5, 2011

The Virgin Diaries

Okay…so how many of you watched TLC’s "The Virgin Diaries" last night?

Was anybody else as horrified and embarrassed as I was? As if I didn’t think TLC should be renamed the "Freaks and Social Rejects Channel" before…now I definitely do.

Being a virgin myself, I was more than a little curious to tune in — and I winced, shielded my eyes, quickly changed the channel a couple of times, and also screamed in horror as I watched newlyweds, Ryan and Shanna awkwardly maul each other when they kissed for the first time.

They looked like they were eating each other’s faces. And even before we got to the long-awaited kiss (because not only are they virgins, but also virgin kissers) you had a series of interviews with the couple where it became painfully obvious that, while Shanna was overeager to finally kiss her groom and do the deed, Ryan seemed less so.

It was made all the more awkward because Shanna seemed completely oblivious to this fact.

In an article in the Daily Mail, Ryan admits that it wasn’t as good as he was expecting, while Shanna said it was painful.

In the article, we have this:

Speaking candidly, Ryan says: ‘It was good, but not as good as I was expecting,’ adding naively: ‘It was not really like in the movies.’

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2070048/The-Virgin-Diaries-Shanna-Ryan-consummate-marriage–say-sex-like-movies.html#ixzz1ffV2LEYs

And I cringe all over again.

The one scene that I cringed over the most was this (as described in the Daily Mail):

‘And I’ll have a surprise waiting for you’ interjects Ryan with a smile.

Shanna ploughs on with her plans: ‘We’ll have our robes on, we’ll slowly take our robes off, then do foreplay, and then have sex.’

Ryan then explains that he has never kissed a girl on the lips. ‘We’ve joked about it before, "Oh I really want to kiss you right now"’ he says, leaning close to Shanna before abruptly pulling away. ‘Oh, nope,’ he laughs.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2070048/The-Virgin-Diaries-Shanna-Ryan-consummate-marriage–say-sex-like-movies.html#ixzz1ffVFl8Rd

Okay, I’m going to say it: I think they’re freaks.

Okay, maybe more Ryan and Shanna, and not the others, but hell, I have a huge problem with how they portrayed themselves as well…and yes, I hold them responsible for behaving like naive, desperate, needy and pathetic creatures.

So what if you’ve never had sex — whether by choice or not?

Why be ashamed of that status and "confess" it to people with the sort of embarrassment that someone with an STD should have when calling up their numerous partners to inform them that, hey, they may have passed it along to them?

I get that they were doing it for "good television" (and trust me, this was not good television), but I don’t see the sense in automatically bringing up your virgin status as soon as you meet someone.

Okay — I get that you don’t date around much, but come on now…where’s the common sense here? Every person you date isn’t automatically going to be "the one" you’re going to be with forever and ever.

When (yes, I’m being optimistic here) I meet someone I’m serious about, I sure as Hell will not be bringing that sort of shit up on the first date — maybe not even on the second or third dates. If we were back at his place and it was clear that things were going in that direction, then, yes, we should have the discussion then…or maybe when you’ve reached a place where you think, "Hey, maybe this could be something"…but definitely not during your first date.

I was embarrassed for all the participants on this show and I’m furious with TLC for lumping virgins in with all the other freaks they daily showcase on their channel.

Posted by: ecrivain | October 26, 2011

Here’s one for the jealousy files: the moronic bimbo that was hired as an assistant because she’s the manager’s best friend, received six pink roses today, delivered to the office, from her newly-minted boyfriend.

The card simply read, “Just thinking of you.”

All the girls gathered around and “oohed” and “aahed” while I sat in my cubicle and tried to concentrate on the piling work on my desk.

I felt this sting of rejection — I felt like a loser…not just in the dating world, but in life.

Always the one left standing on the sidelines while this moronic bimbo was dating three different guys at once and has now narrowed it down to this stupid shmuck who sends her flowers at work.

She pretended to be embarrassed, loudly saying, “OH MY GOD! SO EMBARRASSING! HE SENT ME ROSES! SO HUMILIATING!!!”

She’s crass, clomps around like she owns the place, and gets paid to essentially give our manager unsolicited dating advice and talk endlessly about her oh-so-fabulous life (I’m being sarcastic).

I sort of really, totally hate her.

I know it’s really just jealous, but sometimes, I find myself thinking dark things — like how much I’d like to smash her knee caps with a baseball bat or throw my mug of hot coffee in her face.

Anyways…

In other news, I’ve joined the company’s “Fit and Fabulous” weight loss club.

Me and a bunch of other chunky monkeys get together every week to do a weigh-in and exchange dieting tips.

Recently though, this skinny girl joined. I think she has delusions of being Jillian Michaels or something because she’s been lecturing us on how it’s not just about dieting and how we need to get our fat asses onto treadmills. She’s trying to get us to all go to the gym together during lunch (there’s one near by and our company offers a corporate discount).

I think I might actually do it, though. Like, why not? Maybe losing some of this weight (and I have to be honest her: I’m not that overweight…but I could stand to lose some belly fat) will make me feel better.

Posted by: ecrivain | October 22, 2011

Yesterday, there was this article about this matchmaker who, for a fee of about $1,500, will basically hold your hand as you tip toe your way into the online dating world.

The reporter starts off the article like this: “Now that dating has veered so hard towards the online realm, it seems almost retro to take proceedings back to the bar.”

The first sentence was the only thing that I kept coming back to and thinking about.

Why?

Well, most of my fellow bloggers who are firmly entrenched in the same boat as me will know the roller coaster ride we call online dating — sometimes we want on the ride, most of the time, we want off.

Has dating really veered that hard onto the online realm, though?

Why do I continually find myself reading about or hearing about people who didn’t meet online? Did they just lie about how they met?

I’m considering dropping out of the online dating world again because — well, I haven’t had any success.

To recap the old story: the guys I’m interested in and want to know better never respond to my emails. The ones I’m not interested in — the pot-bellied, balding, older divorced men — will sporadically email me.

Sometimes, I’ll force myself to go out on dates with the guys who seem okay — like, technically, there’s nothing “wrong” with them. And some of you even encourage me onwards, saying, “Well, if there’s nothing wrong with him, give him another chance!”

Is that what it comes down to? For those of us who have failed so badly at dating (nevermind relationships…let’s take baby steps and just manage to date someone for a couple of times), is it a matter of just trying to stick it out with someone who’s got nothing wrong with them because…well, isn’t the main message here that it’s better to be with someone than with no one at all?

I guess a part of me just thinks, “Well, am I closing the door on the only avenue that I have of possibly ever meeting someone?”

But then I think about how miserably I’ve failed at connecting with anybody — and then think, maybe it’s my fate that I will never be with anyone. Maybe my fate is to die alone one day and for someone to eventually find my skeleton three years later when they realize I’m behind on my rent. (Based on a true story found in the newspaper…read previous post.)

And the thing is…the things I thought I wanted…well, now I question how badly I want them.

Do I even want kids anymore?

I don’t know. I find them cute in small doses, but then I think about how they eventually grow out of that cute phase and they’re just a financial and emotional burden and drain that’s tethered to you for the rest of your life.

Do I want to be married?

I honestly don’t know.

The last guy who contacted me was a bartender.

A 37-year-old bartender who made it clear that he had a number of other girls he was checking out and talking to online, but that I was close to the top and he wanted me to be his first date.

I’ll admit it: I was mainly turned off by what he did for a living.

I also wasn’t extremely attracted to him.

Who the hell asks someone out through email? It’s so fucking lame.

I get it; we’re all shy — but seriously, it’s never okay to ask someone out via email or text. And lately, I’ve dated plenty of those.

Another guy asked me out via text, didn’t plan the date, and then criticized me (jokingly, he claimed) for my choice of where to go and what to eat (even though he kept shrugging and saying, “I don’t know” whenever I asked him what he wanted to eat or where he wanted to go…oh, and by the way, he was also late for the date). When he followed up via text if I felt like going on a second date, I initially said yes, but then after he “jokingly” insulted me (because all of his jokes were insults), I didn’t bother responding to his text…and then, never heard from him again until a month later when he asked, “So, did we break up?”

A 60-something man with bad teeth, sallow skin, and a vaguely serial killer vibe about him emailed me the other day and said his last Asian girlfriend was very sexually satisfying in bed and wanted to know if I was up for the task of being her successor.

I felt all at once depressed and on the verge of tears.

I haven’t cried myself to sleep in a long time because I think my heart has shriveled to the size of a tiny pebble, but the other night, two tears leaked out before I angrily swiped at them and rolled over and went to sleep.

I just have zero patience for self-pity anymore.

Posted by: ecrivain | October 19, 2011

19 October, 2011 14:21

Recently got this email from one of the online dating sites:

"Konnichiwa! Ni hao ma? The last woman I dated was Asian. Please read my profile and let me know if you’re interested too!"

Click on profile link to reveal a balding, pot-bellied middle aged man with the face of a diseased child molester.

DELETE.

Uh, I think I’m done.

Read this horrifying article the other day about a 38-year-old woman named Joyce Carol Vincent who died in her apartment — and wasn’t discovered for three whole years.

Finally, people came around to her apartment because she was really behind on rent — they broke down the door and found her skeleton in front of the TV (which was still on all this time) and a bunch of Christmas presents she’d been wrapping for friends.

Nobody bothered to check up on her. Not once in all three years.

A British documentary maker made a film about Joyce and when I sent the link to a friend, she later mimicked the so-called friends interviewed in the documentary (doing a great fake British accent): "Oh yes! She had a LOVELY voice! She was just LOVELY!! Oh! Dead, you say? Golly, how awful!" (Ok, so nobody said that, exactly.)

But, I couldn’t help thinking, "Christ…that could be me."

It’s what all of us singletons fear, though, isn’t it? Not mattering — nobody caring. Just…disappearing and nobody even noticing you’ve been gone for three whole years.

There’s just a sadness to it all that’s almost unbearable.

Posted by: ecrivain | September 8, 2011

8 September, 2011 18:46

I get the feeling that, no matter where I work, it’s always the same.

I’m not talking about the job, but rather, the field I’m in — and the type of people who are usually successful and in powers of position.

I’ve never really been comfortable in places where cliques develop because — and this should be no surprise to any of you — I was a loner in high school.

When I look back on those years, there weren’t any real stand out memories — not good ones, anyway.

I’d eat lunch on my own, go to class, and then head home as soon as possible.

At work, it gets difficult because you’re expected to be a "team player" and that often means getting involved in things outside of work that I don’t want to be involved in — like getting drinks after work with people I don’t particularly like.

My new therapist thinks I’m too entrenched in my ways and that I cling to my routines — even though I don’t like them and often feel lonely sticking to them — because at least they’re comfortable.

Anyways, when I quit my old job to take this "new" one — for much less pay, I might add — I seriously thought I was sacrificing a great salary for less stress and a happier work environment. But, as my therapist has helped me to see, no matter where I go, there I am, so I have to really work on my own way of seeing the world if I want things to be "happier."

I know I compare myself too much to others who are the same age as me — and I can’t help but feel as though I’m lacking in comparison and that this is the great secret as to why I’m unhappy with the way my life has unfolded.

Embarrassingly enough, I even went to a psychic for some "answers" once and he told me there was nothing wrong with me, that I would have everything that everyone else had — it just wouldn’t come to my life until later. I also needed to stop comparing myself to other people if I wanted to be happy, he told me.

I’m back to living at home with the parents again — and the thing is, I think I actually prefer it because it makes me feel less lonely. I like coming home to people — even if it’s my parents — as opposed to being alone and suffocating in further loneliness.

I know other people look at me and think, "God, how can you sacrifice your independence?" as if independence was the be-all and end-all of existence.

But you know what? In spite of this step "backwards" I feel a little less alone — and for now, home is where I want to be.

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