That's how I feel about my love life right now. I ignore it and don't make time for dating, and I keep ignoring it, and then sometimes a level of insane desire just bubbles up to the surface, and I feel like I'm going to lose my mind if I don't have some kind of fulfilling sexual contact.
That's what happened to me this weekend. It's also how I know that, blergh, as hard as it is for me to make the qualification, I definitely make the grade as a sex and love addict. Why? Well, here are a couple of reasons that I fit the bill.
- The obsession. All I could think about on Sunday this weekend was wanting to have the release that comes with thrilling making out with someone who I find attractive. Not a "hot" dude. Someone who I respect and am intellectually and physically attracted to who is also cute or sexy enough. Unless you're Brad Pitt in "Thelma & Louise" I'm really not that into cheesecake guys. The mind turns me on, baby.
- The planning. Wanting to have a 1-2-3 plan of action to look forward to for some kind of awesome romantic interlude. One that I can idealize and mythologize and romanticize and fetishize and fantasize and that will satiate my desire for a release that comes with exciting and thrilling human contact.
- The power play. I want it now. Not tomorrow. Not in the future. My desire -- if I'm in the throes of it -- is to be single-minded in my focus. It will fix my problems. Is necessary. Will take me out of myself. Probably one of the classier Craigslist "Casual Encounter" ads I posted when I was partying like a maniac in 2009 was, "Need to be fucked now." That got people's attention. Straight. To the point. Good elevator speech, Mandy.
- The desire to be taken out of myself. Know what I was dealing with this weekend? A to-do list that feels like it is strangling me. So many people to get back to, so many errands to run, so much cleaning and putting together on my new place. I couldn't deal. Fuck it. (That's what my brilliant "program" friends call this urge. A case of the "fuck-its.") And since I resolved that I was done with the "checking out" I had been doing recently with frequent trips to the bodega for gummy bears and candy while watching "The Wire," and was truly trying to face my life and what I actually needed to do, suddenly it all came paralytically crashing down.
And I just wanted to hook up.
So while I was sitting there in the grips of my desire, all I could think about was that I wanted to escape into the thrill of sensual human connection rather than the horrors of the mundane reality that was dripping down the walls like Polanski's "Repulsion."
- The high that comes with it. I do get a high from sex and physicality. It's bliss to me if it's done right or a satisfying, exhilirating connection. Speaking of which, here's a live theatrical performance of some writing I did about haterbating (hate-masturbating) to Paul Ryan on xoJane which Blogologues performed on-stage recently. You should buy tickets for their next show January 17-26 in New York here. And watch the video. It made me feel super Mamet.
It's funny when I reflect on all of this because I've been in New York since August, and I've had sex with -- let's see -- one, two, three, four people total. Is that slutty? Promiscuous? I don't know. That's one per month isn't it? Two of them are people from my past so it doesn't add to my "number," and besides, who gives a shit. I'm safe. I'm disease-free. Don't fucking shame me. Oh wait, now I'm having an imaginary defensive conversation with a made-up critic in my head. Sorry about that. I'm back now.
Anyway, I feel like I have this insanely positive unconditional love that is so healing from my beautiful nurturing dog Sam. He provides me with so much loving and healing touch. But -- I'm still a sexual person. I'm alive. I'm a human. I think that's okay. You don't have to be a nun just because you're not in some relationship with Mr. Right. I want Mr. Right Friend With Benefits.
And that's where I've been at lately in terms of my relationship goals. I just DGAF. I'm happy in my life. If a guy makes me feel I'm reaching my higher self and seems to be a good partner, then that will happen. But it's just not the priority that I had been making it before when I was thinking in terms of the whole women-expire-at-40 fucked-up societal thinking that I tried not have ingrained in me, but I know was very much coloring my thoughts.
So I've decided to find a permanent friend with benefits.
"Oh that's easy, Mandy," you say. "Ha, ha, that should be no problem! Winky face!"
Except it is. Because I'm really picky.
I do think that any kind of sexual physicality or intimacy is a big gift, and I do value myself. Which is why I only want to share that with someone who I am attracted to and it's a win-win for us both. It's obviously a cinch to fuck or to hook up as a woman, regardless of how attractive or fit you are. But that's not the goal for me.
So I'm not sure how to go about this. Do I hire a casting director a la "America's Got Talent"? Post an ad on a dating Web site? Go to a bar in my neighborhood and suss out a hot cute professional who seems like he might be just as busy and stressed as I am?
Here is my ad. Tell me what you think I'm missing.
"37-year-old writer with a lot on her plate seeks a smart, funny, kind and sexy FWB. Don't be gross or aggro or married. Just tell me a bit about yourself, like your education and interests and what makes you excited about life. Include some pictures and video if you have it. Please no dick pics. No chick wants those. We're psychological, not visual. Also, who gives a shit about size. It's about chemistry and compatibility."