On being ugly and intimidating sex talks

It is official. I am too ugly for CL lesbians with short hair and ugly pink skirts.

I sent her pics of myself and she never got back. Perhaps it was because that the only pics of myself are either of me drunk with a cigg in my hand, drunk with a drink in my hand, drunk kissing someone, or my favorite—the ever so flattering drunk while dancing. Hmm…maybe I should work on the deliverables. Unfortunately, the only time I am willing to take pics/feel that I look hott enough to take pics, is when I am working on my 4th Grey Goose and tonic.

But, I have sent the same pics to guys and have never had a problem. Am I too busted for lesbians?! Lesbians with short hair and ugly pink skirts?

But I just want my readers to keep this in mind. I have been invited to join the mile high club 1.5times within one year (the .5 time that woman on the airplane trying to kiss me drunk…if I caved in I know I could have gotten another invite). But I have not been asked out on a proper date, by a guy who would like to get to know me, for a really fucking long time. Which has made me realize…there are 2 looks to your author, which I have discussed before: the hott drunk party girl, hair straightened but slightly messy (think I just woke up from a hott romp), booby revealing clothes, tight jeans and high heels or the messy intellectual. Ill fitting t-shirts, messy bun, no make-up with my face buried in a book.

Guys do not want to bring home to mom the drunk girl dancing on bars, making out with random guys on the dance floor nor do they want the messy intellectual to meet their friends. Hence, why I have not been out on a proper date with the potential for a relationship with someone in my age range in like…a really fucking long time. I am 2 archetypes battling for space in my body. Which I can only, only, blame on the heavy doses of Catholic/Jewish guilt thrown down my throat growing up.

Out of all of my siblings, none of us sleep around. My brother is engaged to the girl who he took to his prom, I am really just a kissing/make out slut, only have 1 one night stand under my belt and that was a friend of a friend so it really wasn’t that ‘pick a stranger off the street’ bad and it was on vacation. Perhaps it was because of my father’s sex talk growing up. My father (keep in mind not my mother), threw in the sex and drugs talk all in one at the tender age of 12. [Him pointing to the rifle in his closet] “First of all, if I ever catch you doing drugs I will shoot you with that rifle you see in my closet. Don’t think that I won’t catch you because I have done everything [insert wild funny drug story]. Yea that was some good shit! But If I ever catch you doing drugs, I will bury you in the backyard and nobody will know.”

“Shit” I think to myself at this point. But he continues.

“I also want you to know, that your virginity is one of the greatest gifts you could give to your husband on your wedding night. Sex is for married people (wait, I think to myself, I was conceived BEFORE you married mom—their wedding date is in Aug and I was born in December.) It isn’t even sex, it is making love because that is what sex is.”

Let’s reflect upon this for a second. You are 12 years old, don’t even have breasts yet (I was a puberty late bloomer), your father is talking to you about sex, not giving you practical advice, but giving you the advice that you would receive from a nun or George Bush…slightly scary.

He continues:

“Making love is special and is meant for married people. I expect you to stay a virgin until you are married. If you do not, you see that rifle [points to rifle], I will shoot both you and the guy that has sex with you. Also, I am going to kick the ass of the guy who you marry, just to show him what would happen if he would ever breaks your heart.”

Luckily for my father, I go for gay boys (always did since I as 12), and kicking their asses is not that difficult of an endeavor.

My mother’s sex talk came out when I was 22 and out of college.

Mom: “You know, my friend got her daughter a diaphragm.”
Me: Oh ok. But is a diaphragm the smartest thing? I mean, it doesn’t protect against STDs
Mom: [Silence] You know, should I have taken you and your sister to get (whispers) that stuff?
Me: Mom, we know that was never something that you were comfortable with
Mom: Yea, but I should have gone
Me: Mom trust me it is not that big of a deal. My sis and I are familiar with that stuff
Mom: [Silence, nervous laughter whenever she discuss sex] oh, well you know I have never felt comfortable with that stuff. [More nervous laughter]

Catholics: Sex talk with talks of chastity or I will be buried in the backyard
Jews: Sex talk after guilt

But Jewish guilt doesn’t end there. So, as many of you know I have been taking Torah classes. Trying to get one with my Jewness and I decided to take a summer hiatus. I wanted to play kickball instead and get drunk on my Monday nights instead of learning about the story of Esther and Abraham. I know, God is going to smite me. Anyway, so lo and behold, I first get a call from my Torah tutor “Hey, just want to check in and see how your summer is going. Hope all is well, give me a call when you can.”

I could deal with that. I mean, its nice, kinda saying ‘we miss you but know that summer is usually a time of debaucherous fun. If you are having debaucherous fun, make sure he is a member of the tribe.’ I don’t have time to call her back because I got the message when I was drunk and work has been a bitch.

2 days later I hear from the coordinator of the program, “Hi, it’s me. I just want to say that we are missing you and that you are always welcome and…(I tune out after this point because I am feeling soooo guilty).” Jewish guilt. And of course I have to resume my Torah classes. But just don’t know when I can with my stats class and my French class (prepping to marry a hott French man). But, I will find a way to take that class, same reason why my mother mustered the courage to talk to me about sex at 22, Jewish guilt.