Girl 6


Spike Lee’s movie Girl 6 came on a few weeks ago.  Prince produced the entire soundtrack, which is all his original music–therefore it’s amazing, OBVS.  The film inspired many a visual aesthetic (looking at you Little X), and made quite the splash when it came out in 1996. Enough fun facts though, what does this film have to do with my dating life you wonder?  Not much other than she was also sexually liberated, and this catch-up blog will have 6 paragraphs.  Let’s get into it…

If you’ll once again recall, my New Year’s resolution was to have quality sex on a regular basis.  6.5 months into the year and it’s painfully evident that I’m failing miserably.  Like…do you HAVE to be in a relationship in order to secure guaranteed sex?!  How hard is it to arrange and maintain a consistent fuck buddy/friends with benefits situation?  It’s rough out here.  This further disproves gender stereotypes because here I am, a modern woman on the prowl, and I continually encounter men who are very conservative and/or intimidated by progressive sex positivity.

Another hurdle I keep encountering is that I keep meeting men with children.  Listen,  I realize that people have children for a myriad of reasons.  Understood.  HOWEVER, I do not have children, and other than working and occasionally going out, I have time to spend with people I am interested in.  Men with kids have no such time.  They are seemingly  always working or with their children.  No fank you!  It literally makes my vagina dry up thinking about dating a man who’s an active father to their kids.  It’s very sweet and endearing in theory, but in practice, I lose every time.  I will make no exceptions with this particular deal-breaker because I know I deserve to have my child(ren) with someone who has doesn’t already have any. There’s no point in me even entertaining fathers from this point on.

The former coworker from Redemption, who in all honesty is my sexual soulmate, I finally ended it with him last month.  I had to, my instincts were telling me that the situationship was low-key toxic and would eventually leave me bitter and jaded.  Finding an amazing physical connection is rare, and I wish I could’ve ignored my better judgment and really explored all of those possibilities with him but alas, he wasn’t a completely honest person.  More than anything, I hate people who lie unnecessarily.  For sport, if you will.  So much of his life was unknown to me and for us to be so intimate on a regular basis, it didn’t compute.  I had to accept that he had compartmentalized me and that I would never be allowed to see the real him.  I had to prioritize my peace of mind over orgasms.  Trust me, the orgasms almost won.

I’ve had the best sex of my life this year, I’ve absolutely gone through an awakening.  It really is the Age of Aquarius round here!  I am thankful to be 33 and to have had nearly 20 years of varied sexual experience.  From my first kiss at 13 to losing my virginity at 14, to my very first orgasm at 33 with Mr. Redemption.  Yes, that’s correct, almost 20 years after my utterly forgettable deflowering, I’ve finally mastered something that was ever-so-illusive to me during my 20s.  I’d never  been  ashamed about my inability to climax because I always knew that I could and would one day.  I still haven’t even gotten to double digits on that front, so please hold your applause until the end.pzc

I don’t want to get chose!  I cannot stress this enough.  Last weekend an old love interest was in town and we spent time together.  We met a few months after I moved to Florida, so we’ve known one another for nearly 4 years.  Anyway, I initially fell fairly hard for him; the sex was amazing, he had an undeniable Midwestern swagger that I couldn’t deny.  Most disarming was how freely he professed his love for me, like all the time.  Constantly telling me he was going to marry me and I would have his twins (which run in his family), he even ambushed me into meeting his parents one day, which was very, very awkward.  I wasn’t completely taken in because it wasn’t my first time at the rodeo, but all of it definitely softened me in ways I couldn’t suppress.  Shortly before I met my now estranged husband, he and I fell out of touch, and now he travels the country with work.  Fast forward to last weekend, and he’s in my car telling me how he can’t believe I married someone else, how if he can’t have me he’ll drink himself into oblivion, how he’s only ever wanted me, how I am breaking his heart by having all of the sex and being grown and free.  All while crying with sunglasses on at night.  Am I a coldblooded bitch that makes men cry now?  Nah, not the kid, not intentionally anyway.  I chalked it up to him feeling alone with his work and travel, and projecting it onto me, someone he knows will indulge him to an extent.  And even now that he’s back on the road, I find that I am letting him squat on some of my emotional real estate, if for no other reason than my biological clock thinks I need a backup plan.  Eventually I will have to choose SOMEONE with whom to procreate, if that is indeed my path in this life.  Until that day though, I’m Prince to the bullshit.


Love Theory

Currently, being single means a lot of quiet nights at home with a modicum of dramatic forays.  It means sporadic sexual escapades and distant lovers.  It means missed connections and strained relations.  It means I mostly date myself.  I believe that these love experiences are just brief interludes in the soundtrack of my life.  But I have a theory: a love theory, if you will.  Stay with me…

The multiverse theory of Quantum Physics purports that multiple universes exist simultaneously.

…we are a tiny fraction of our observable Universe, which is a tiny bit of the unobservable Universe, which is just one of a tremendous number of Universes in a multiverse that’s constantly generating new ones, and has been for billions of years.

Astrophysicist Ethan Siegel

I propose that my dating life aligns with this postulation.

(Don LaFontaine trailer voice):

In a world…inside of the Universe…inside of the multiverse…

So I rotate through my day to day life and simultaneously orbit my dating pool, interacting with observable suitors.  My universe is full of soul connections that I can never meet because they are love-years away.  Just think, these matches are out there existing far beyond my reach, just outside of my reality, like parallel universes.  It boggles my mind, having such a myriad of choice within my personal microcosm yet being so immensely limited on a macro level.  Every new person I meet is a catalyst for an entirely new realm of possibility. Every decision I make affects my ever-unfolding destiny. Perhaps I’m faring better in another dating sphere where I am better at expressing my emotions and making definitive choices. Perhaps in one of these alternate realities I always get what I want because I finally know what it is that I want.

Consider; what if in an alternate dating universe I never became the bad gal, snore-gate never happened, and we continued dating?  What if in another dimension I overlooked Usher’s sub par sexual performance and we continued to waste each others time?  Maybe there’s even a world where my husband and I never separated and decided to work things out!  Theoretically speaking, it could happen, that’s love theory.  I could spend an eternity wading through the dark matter of these love experiences and their variable outcomes.  It serves no true purpose though, especially if you agree with Nayyirah Waheed’s musings on organic destiny.


Where does it all lead?  I’m hoping that it leads to myself.  That all of these endings are making space in my life for something astronomical.  Only time will tell.

After all, what’s a love theory without some experimentation?  Right Neil?!


March Madness

Ya’ll. The Ides of March had me fucked up out here. There’s good reason to beware. Let’s get into it.

March 15th is notorious because it is the day Caesar was assassinated (Et tu, Brute?). Purportedly bad things continue to happen on that day. Considering my love life has been bordering on Shakespearean tragedy since the top of the year, it stands to reason that a significant story line culminated on the Ides.

Well, the bad gal tried to work work work it out with her former beau from January. Bad idea. Really bad, poorly executed–well this is awkward–why is this my life–this is not how any of this works, idea.

He was bitter. Apparently it wasn’t that I’d casually dismissed him on WhatsApp, it seems the fate of our dalliance had been sealed since the snoring debacle. He was beyond offended, indeed he’d felt disrespected, and proceeded to expound on his hurt feelings while sitting as far away from me as possible on my sofa.

It being March and all, I gave it the old college try. I delivered an honest apology, told him I missed his company and his energy, admitted that he was special and I’d been careless. It softened him. He hinted at still being attracted to me. We were on different pages. So the visit took many turns, most notably I explained to him that he now had “the power” in the situation because initially he was pursuing me (he’d met someone new in the interim) and now, much to my chagrin, the tables had turned.

The slighted party in a tiff can either take the high road or be petty as fuck. I think he thought he was rejecting me gracefully but instead his Id kicked in and he ended up offering me some quickie sex. If you all would kindly recall the realities of our first and last attempt, I think you understand why I hit him with the ill curve cause fool me once…you can’t fool me again.

Then there was a terse emotional stand off which included him leaving, me shutting the door in his face, him knocking. He refused to come back inside.

Like who the fuck has the stamina for that kind of craziness?!

He left for good and I text him that no, I did not want to be his friend, I could see where it would lead (with him trying to exact revenge at every turn through cruelty or disregard) and I would just have to accept that it was simply too late to reconcile.

He agreed.

Beware the Ides of March.

End scene.



What Else Though?!

I’m still dating but I’m not as into it. I’ve had a profile on POF and OKC for years on and off. I’ve met a myriad of men, some that I’m still friends with. I’ve found that online dating is both an act of eternal optimism and a continual practice in rejection: being rejected, rejecting others, it’s a never ending process.

I’ve dated over the years with different goals in mind. When I first moved to FL in 2012 I tried to meet people from my new area before I even moved so that I could transition better. Sometimes I sought connection and companionship. Other times I’ve just been bored and seeking a brief distraction.

So after my epic Redemption I met someone new, who looks like Usher Raymond, six pack and all! He’s very handsome. We had our first date at TGIF because it’s been my favorite place since I was 15. I have the rewards card, ask about me. The vibe was OK. He was clearly very attracted to me, which is always a welcome ego boost, but I found the conversation to be dry and underwhelming.

So we just spent time together last night. Now that we’ve hung out twice, all I can think is: what else though?! Other than being fine as frog hair, what else about you is appealing? I’m asking for a friend.  He’s conservative and awkwardly silly, and his energy has a childish vibe. But most unsettling, and this is where my intuition tends to P.O.P. hold me down, I get the sense that he’s just kind of phoning it in and not being genuine at all times. I hate that.

Even with all the times I withheld the desire to belt out “You Make Me Wanna” to this specimen of dark chocolate manhood, I’m still like meh overall. As a matter of fact I thought about the guy from Say Hello to the Bad Gal and truly missed him, because being gorgeous is cool, but personality and mental connection trumps everything. In closing, I suppose I’ll have to Let It Burn so I can have it My Way. No, he won’t become My Boo and these folks, are my Confessions.



Dear Universe,

You’re the real MVP (points at Universe, pounds chest with fist).


The power of thought is incredible. You CAN get what you want if you want it sincerely enough and are prepared to take the necessary actions to attain it. Constantly thinking about something doesn’t guarantee it will manifest. However, if you are diligent AND put thought to action, incredible things can happen. I’m not talking about getting a promotion or finishing school, no silly rabbit, I’m talking about bomb ass sex! Dick too bomb, if you will.

My 2016 resolution was simple; to have quality sex on a consistent basis. You can judge, you can call me basic, idc idc idc. I started out 2015 living as a married woman. Our issues killed my sex drive and I spent the majority of the year abstaining. It was only when we separated in August that I began seeking out partners old and new to get me back in the swing of things. The highlight was a coworker at the end of November. It was a textbook Netflix & Chill scenario, but I was caught off guard by the intensity of our sexual chemistry. I immediately tried to arrange for a repeat but suffered innumerable slights and general disinterest on his part. I was persistent and desperate and in retrospect I can see how that would be a turn off.

2015 ended and I was still in my feelings about his rejections so our workplace interactions ranged from tepid to amicable, it just depended on the day. Eventually I moved on and left the romp in the past, with no hope for an encore. That didn’t stop me from thinking about him, especially at work, and wishing I could get one more session.

A few nights ago as I laid in bed, I repeated the same thought over and over concerning him, wanting him to want me again, to contact me or say something at work. Nothing actualized. Then there was a happening at work and suddenly he was no longer my coworker. I missed being able to see him and act like I couldn’t be bothered. I missed catching whiffs of his cologne and stealing glances at him throughout the day. Finally I texted him, deftly afraid of another crushing rejection.

The opposite happened.

I’d like to thank the Universe for the assist. This redemption is particularly sweet. I am filled with gratitude. Ashe.

Say Hello to the Bad Gal

I decided earlier this evening to cut ties with my current love interest. Meaning I casually ended things as I’m prone to do. Hear me out.

We met unexpectedly 11 days into the new year. He was refined, carefree, modern, conscious, and handsome: a unicorn really. Our first meet up was at 2am at the “nice” Walmart because irony. Whimsy is quite the aphrodisiac and we were exploring our mutual physical attraction in short order.

Our chemistry was singular, it was instantaneous, intense, consuming, and ever so disarming. Sexual intrigue is clever in this way, it disguises itself as potential, as faux intimacy, as a soul connection. I was smitten.

Now here’s where the muck and mire that is my twisted Aquarian logic comes into play. Ever the control freak, I decided to announce that no, I did not want to be “anyone’s anything” this year and only required consistent, quality sex (as per my sole New Year’s resolution), and proposed we have sex regularly and exclusively. Not surprisingly, he agreed to this arrangement, with the implied caveat that if the initial sex was underwhelming, the deal was off. Well after a week of intense courting, we had what can only be summarized as highly unsatisfactory sex. It was imo, all downhill from there because unfortunately, we both were really into one another, yet I had already constructed these ridiculous emotional boundaries from which I was operating from.

[How do you clean up the emotional shrapnel of a previous dalliance (the details of which are for another post, at a later date) without causing collateral damage? The answer is you should remain self contained until you feel ready to safely engage with new suitors. Did I do that? But of course not.]

So he was always staying over and I took issue with his intense snoring. One night he left my place in a huff after one too many soft elbows and rough shakes and immediately the energy between us soured irrevocably. After a fairly unproductive talk where I queried “what do you want from me?” and he replied “I haven’t decided yet” I knew what had to be done.


I don’t mind being the bad gal. Let me be the emotionally defunct girl who may or may not end up alone. I will carry that weight because I’d much rather be alone than to continue what was clearly a prelude to an eventual shitshow anyway. I put those stupid rules out there, the sex was sub-par (you had one job), plus clearly I am not ready for anything that remotely reminds me of real intimacy. If you’re snoring in MY bed, and I’m up for two hours unable to sleep, that’s unacceptable bro. Call me Petty LaBelle, idc idc idc.

This year cannot and will not be as emotionally draining as last year because the pure unadulterated, unending relationship drama was epic and never again “no fank you.” I am though, slightly concerned that instead of focusing my energies on accomplishing so many critical goals (graduate, secure a better job, flourish) I may just flitter from situationship to situationship because old habits die hard and Aquarians are nothing if not stubborn.

Stay tuned.


2016 is a weighted year for me.  I’ve waited 20 years for this year, only to look back in disbelief, trying to recall the past 20 years of my life without my father.  He passed on July 21st, 1996, I was 13.  I changed forever that day, shed the skin of adolescence, grew a tougher skin, never again looked at the world as a child.

There are other anniversaries of sorts culminating this year: my best friend Brad and I have been friends for 20 years, my best friend Schnovey and I have been friends for 10 years.  My close college friends/family Danny and Blair I’ve known 15 years now.  This is how age creeps up on you, the years mount steadily, it takes more energy to recall days past, and the idea of getting older, of one day being “old,” comes into focus.

Right now though, I’m 32 and I survived 2015, which was one of my least favorite years in recent memory.  In less than a month I’ll be 33 and 20 years away from the last time I was innocent and idealistic and believed in God.  I’ll be 3 years away from 36, the age my father was when he passed away (that may be a tough birthday for me as well).

I realize there is no point in reliving the pain of loss in this way, giving false significance to dates and lengths of time.  Yet, anniversaries bring a perverse comfort: lapping over a date year after year, remembering to remember, hoping never to forget.