imaginary sex.

come right here and be you.
suck it up. what you want is not at the bottom of your glass.
though it gives you courage, it will give you no pleasure when later you are exhausted and i am moving on.

be so great and mighty. deep breathe and daydream about what it would be like to see my face in the morning.

and all the things you will have seen to get to that morning.

have strong hands. hold me as i rock and moan. rock and moan.
force me to look you in the eyes. watch me blush. lips slightly parted, drunk with desire.
no one sees you that way. not in this moment. you are incredible. you that is reflected in my eyes.

take over from there, not being able to contain yourself any longer. bring me to my back. thrust and grip. thrust and grip. overwhelm yourself with the moment. give way to the tide. i won't mind. my time came and went. came and went.

choke back tears as prayers in dead languages cloud your judgement. cry out involuntarily as i grasp your shoulders. collapse into deep kisses. share my pillow. hold my hand. close your eyes.

your heart beats and aches. beats and aches. the pain subsides. you know i will be here in the morning. games over. you win.

and all it took was a single step toward.

*i wanted to make a comment about this post, as people have been asking who the mystery man is. um. this is complete fiction. as in, it never happened. all wishful thinking on my part. now that that is cleared up, let us move on, shall we?

wizard, my ass.

my brain in a box. my gift to you.
a hole in the box.
my brain bled through.

sorry about that.

 all i had to offer up to those oz freaks and i could not get even that right. might have been subconscious as i have always been afraid of scarecrows.

i have neither heart not courage in spades enough to save the others, but would trade the lot not for those hideous crimson shoes, only for that thick curtain. or the tornado.

Free Advice, Online Daters

this advice is for men only, as i have never read the train wrecks i am sure make up the female half of this site.  this advice may not pertain to everyone, but is geared toward the things i have noticed over. and over. and over. again.

photos. 4 biggest pet peeves include the snap of you very, very far away. those thumbnails are the size of well, thumbs. many a girl will pass you by simply because she cannot immediately tell what you look like. there are about 70000 of you to every 500 of us. stand out.

second is the fact that you only have photos of yourself with other people. you may think it is easy to tell which one you are of your backwards cap wearing frat brothers, but we have never met you. one head shot will clear up the confusion.

 three, you are wearing a hat in all of your pictures. i do not care if you are bald or have a mohawk or a bad haircut or whatever. girls get nervous when you hide things.

and four. my personal favorite: you look different in every picture. a girl does not need to know what you looked like five years ago, fat, thin, bald, with long hair, rocking a 'stache, whatever. she needs to know what you look like now. like today, or the day that you will meet. if you are self aware enough to know that you looked way better 40 pounds ago, it might be time for a gym visit, as in order for you to be embraced by someone, you have to be cool with yourself. cheesy, i know.

moving on to your profile. no one reads it unless they find you attractive, so that first part on photos is very important. still, who you are on paper is the only thing we have to go on aside from your good looks, so make it count.

first, do not, anywhere ask yourself why you are online dating. everyone says that and as soon as i read it, i skip it. screw you, we are all here and it will not make you the cool kid because you say you are above it all.

also, do not go on and on about how hard it is to describe yourself. why? you know who you are right? or at least how you want to be perceived...opening with,"describe myself? geez, well, here goes..." makes you seem wishy-washy.

llllllooooooonnnnnnngggggg profiles. cut it down. be funny and cut to the chase. women get messaged dozens of times a day, we do not have time to read a book with every profile.

short profiles. fine as long as you are creating the right flavor. be funny and sarcastic and you will usually do okay. repeat the same word in every box and a girl will probably just think that you are stupid.

talking about getting out of a recent relationship. when i get a whiff, i run. she should not be in any way a part of your dialogue. unless you are not over her, in which case, again, screw you. you are not emotionally ready to connect and will end up being another one of those jackasses who gets drunk and slobbers all over me.

spelling, grammar, proofreading. i am not a stickler, but come on. a fifth grade education should translate into better profiles from the ones i am reading sometimes.

what it comes down to is sincerity. be exactly yourself and not what you think will be clever, because chances are, a few dozen guys are out there making the same joke about needing food and water and oxygen as part of their list of things they can't live without.

well, this is getting a bit long, so let us talk about my favorite thing. messaging.

step one, read the profile.
step two. send a message that is less than 3 paragraphs long commenting on what you believe will create mutual attraction. do not reiterate what is in your profile. if we want to read about you, we will. that is why you wrote the thing in the first place.

again. proper grammar and spelling makes a difference.

wuzzup girl. how r u? is not a good message. it actually offends me that someone would think that i was so desperate that i would respond to that.

hi, how are you? is not a great message, either. it does not have to be long, just long enough so we know you are not copying and pasting the same thing to ten other people.


my last piece of advice is the most important. if you do not get a response, do not sweat it. take it personal if you must, because hey, it is you that we are not into, but do not freak. it just was not made to be.

if you do get a response, do not draw out the online conversation forever. make plans to establish chemistry. you pick the place and the time. do not meet at a bar, try something different. we all want to feel special and seem to be avoiding meeting people in bars. our first face to face should be, at the risk of sounding cheesy. again. special.

why is it so hard? to herd cats.

i was thinking last night while tooling around downtown that life really ain't so bad.

and then we walked into the marvel? marble? martyr? bar. whatever the hell it was called. oh gross.

i do not usually find myself in that neckathe on a friday night, as work wins the nightlife fight pretty often, but last night was different. i cannot quite put my finger on it. oh yeah, it rained and i was on the patio four stories up.

while i held my sweating cocktail and surveyed the well dressed and very hungry looking crowd, i wondered why i was feeling like such a bitch towards the place, and actually had an epiphany.

i am a bar snob. i cannot say i am a reverse bar snob because then i sound like those idiots who say that when people of other races hate caucasians it is reverse racism. no, its not. its still just racism.

yup. total snob. i grimaced at the emaciated waifs smoking on our way in. i sneered at the cocktail list full of legal absinthe and a boat load of crap i had never heard of. i gazed disdainfully at all of the people looking over each other's shoulders to make sure that they are talking to the hottest person that they can. i physically recoiled at being presented with a bill for 22 dollars after ordering 2 cocktails i was not even sure had booze in them.

what makes the depot different? people are still roaming around trying to buy themselves out of having a clue.  the drinks are priced by the pour. the smoking chicks still need a sandwich, their costumes are less couture and more hipster, but they are cold in the same skinny way.

and then a light bulb went off.

the three things that make me want to go to a bar have nothing to do with the booze or the people i can make fun of.

it's the music.
it's my friends.
it's whether or not there is a guy in the room i could want in any way.

so we went home. he was not at the depot.

Dating Number 2

what can i say about this that has not already been said? i feel like a marathon runner who got accidentally shot by the guy with the starting pistol.  like i have all the tools to participate, but some clumsy loser is trying to keep me off my feet.  i know that this sounds weird, or dramatic, or something, but really, without going in to specifics, you would have to have seen my luck the past few weeks. it has been just sad.  i feel more like a therapist or guidance counselor than anything. and a prude. hilarious.

what i am feeling is that i might not be reading deeply enough into the people i am going out with because i am trying to make split second decisions on chemistry the way i do in the real world. until just this moment i forgot to stop and realize that that never really worked for me either.  i have also been making excuses for why i should tolerate behaviors that i really can't stand.

guys who do drugs.
guys who show up for a date with no money. a first date. i get that i can and will pay my own way, but i have never gone into anything expecting someone else to pay for me.
guys who smoke pot. different from drugs, as it is mostly harmless but i am so underwhelmed by the personality that comes with daily smokers.
guys who want to talk about their exes. on the first date.  this tells me that you are not over her, because if you were, describing yourself would not have anything to do with your previous relationship. at least not at first.
guys who want sex. first date. you do not know me. you feeling all hot and heavy and probably drunk? well, i cannot help you, buddy. have enough respect for me to keep your hands to yourself.
guys who get wasted. i do not tend to be a big drinker but am all for social interactions and going with the flow.  i do not want to be the girl who had nine whiskeys with the guy who had nine whiskeys any more than you do. trust me. this will not translate into an invitation to my bedroom.

do i sound harsh? well, i am not perfect, either.  though i seem to know a lot about what i do not want, i do not really know what exactly i do want, which, i think is good. maybe now i can actually pay attention instead of just letting that guy with his waving pistol keep bringing me down.

which one are you?

he lurches in, disrupting quiet that exists high above the moody ballads of fallen axe welders. he is drunk, half asleep and hungry. he is hostile and paranoid because he can see in your eyes that you do not want to even approach the stink of beer wafting toward you, safe behind your wall of judgement.

he shuffles in, holding up his pants as they sag madly toward his knees. he scowls in every direction with bloodshot eyes. he finds your armor and knows he is going to get whatever he came for.from you. you with the apron. it is the last time he will look directly at you. from now on he will stare everywhere over your shoulder, slouching halfway out of the booth.

he bounces in, usually with friends. they all bounce. they are a stunning array of neon and chunky highlights. they are boisterous and fun. and fucking annoying. shrieking for attention. drunk and unprepared for human interaction, they suck time like oxygen. unless you are fabulous, you will be forgotten when it comes time to get paid.

he lingers at the door, finishing a smoke. you do not know how he moves because, though he moves slowly, to the beat, he is quiet and moves straight to the bar. ink and leather or ink and some obscure band logo stretch across his upper body, always thin, sometimes toned, depending on his instrument.  you deliberately catch his eye in the mirror.  he gives you a cool, appraising look that will become an all out, bloodshot gaze by the time he makes his way to the bottom of that bottle of jack.

he saunters in, suit jacket unbuttoned to reveal an undone tie, he rakes his hand through his hair and scans the crowd, while simultaneously grabbing a newspaper from the stack.  He takes a booth near the door and picks up the drink list. he smiles as you walk over, makes a polite joke about always being early and reads happily while sipping the beer you get to him at break-neck speed.  your heart drops a little as a woman so clearly not in an apron kisses him hello and murmurs about his interesting choice in bars.

the long slow screw

i put my hands on the counter, fingers brushing through spilt beer or whatever condensation was left behind by the filthy glasses held in the hands of the briefly my problem. the head throbs in some far off place that dissipates every time i remind myself to take an ibuprofen. so i never take an ibuprofen.

i scan the room, looking out for empty glasses needing to be filled and jab at the screen of my phone. three jerk offs i just finished serving went to the bar for shots. for once i am glad. fuck them. one more interaction with anyone in this room tonight is going to drive me nuts.

instead of doing anything for anyone, i do something for me. i grab a smoke and head for the patio.  the cold knocks my headache back to the forefront of my thoughts as i sit down, avoiding the eye of some guy who has fucked a few of my friends and thought, perhaps, he had a shot with me. he reeks of pot and desperation. he looks like mr potato head. i inhale and talk all around him.

my mind wanders to no one in particular. just a faintly guilty fantasy that i could go home tonight and that there would be someone waiting there, someone i could have hbo sex with. someone who would somehow make it so i would not have to get up in the morning and face a double shift, one of them being the last i will have here, at this bar.

i hate goodbyes. i guess that, and sheer exhaustion will propel me through the door without saying goodbye to anyone, once this shift is over.