Monthly Archives: November 2011

“More” Sex at “Bare”

Last night I was on the bill for “Bare: True Stories of Sex, Desire and Romance.” The theme for this, the second installment, was “More.” I shared the stage with “Dirty” Diana Adams, Mike AmatoKelli Dunham. and the evening’s host, Jefferson. The sumptuous, two-story space, Union Hall, felt like someone’s mansion, with fireplaces, portraits on the walls and two bocci courts. Apparently Park Slope is not only popular but easily accessible, because the club was full and our event was well attended.

The show opened with musical guests Eden & John’s East River String Band. I was slated to go last so, after I’d slugged back a few Coronas, I headed to the restroom while our host was about to intro the third presenter. Good thing I piss quickly ’cause when I came back, he was introducing me!

I scrambled onto the stage and breathlessly divulged my drunken, dirty tale of DPW sex, circa 2006. I did it in a somewhat rambling, babbling style, which was intentional, but I think I just came off sounding nervous. I kinda was nervous; the place was packed with people, many of whom were friends. I’m usually looking out at a roomful of mostly strangers. Of course, these friends had probably already heard my filthy stories! And the many times I’d told them were my only real preparations; I didn’t want to sound rehearsed.

All the story tellers, including the one chosen at random out of the “Bare Pussy,” were humorous. Diana talked about her idyllic months in a four person poly relationship. Mike shared his enthusiasm for Jewish women and ample derrieres. My “more” was how many people I’d fucked “on the job.” The randomly selected speaker told of an erotic encounter in a 42nd Street porn theatre. And Kelli detailed “taking it like a man” when she wound up having a three-way with boys she thought were girls. Ah, sex in the 21st century!

It was a great night: an impressive venue, a crowded room and entertaining presenters. There was even a raffle for a vibrator, courtesy of Babeland, and my friend Mary won! I’m always flattered when I’m invited to be a part of someone’s event. Our night was a success and I wish Jefferson many more. Keep an eye on his site for next month’s!


Happy Thanksgiving!

I woke up early today and trekked uptown with my friend DA to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It was a sunny, spectacular day and once Santa rolled by, we strolled over to Rockefeller Center to see the tree. It was, unfortunately, under scaffolding but we wound up beneath it, ice skating! Soooo fun!

I walked back home along Fifth Avenue and treated myself to some pre-Black Friday retail therapy. On a holiday! Very decadent. Once home, I needed to figure out food. I didn’t manage to convince my friend Nick to come into the city so I picked up a Thanksgiving Special meal at Odessa and brought it home. Scribble enjoyed some of my turkey soup. I made fun of my mom when, years ago, she served us “Thanksgiving in a Box” and now, this year, I enjoyed “Thanksgiving in a to-go bag.” Hah!

Now I’m sitting under my Snuggie, Scribble snuggled beside me and Jeopardy on the TV, scrolling through Facebook and reading what everyone I know is thankful for. Some are poignant or serious, others are silly or sarcastic, but they’re all sincere in their own way. And they’ve served to inspire me. So here’s my list!

My (mostly) happy and (mostly) healthy family.
This AMAZING apartment! In this INCREDIBLE city! (And the exclamation point!)
The freedom to Occupy Wall Street…or my couch.
Just (barely) enough money to get by. And my sister, with her shitton of money, so I’ll never starve.
Seriously, my sister. She helped me keep this apartment. I get to be the crazy aunt to her four beautiful kids. She’s basically taking care of my parents. While I slack.
My bitchin’ summer job workin’ for The Man.
An exciting life that (thus far) has been jam-packed full of awesome experiences.
The brains and ability to learn from those experiences that weren’t quite so awesome.
My health.
Lastly, my enormous network of superlative, supportive friends!

Online Dating Coach

Today was a full day of…what felt like nothing. I never made it out of my apartment. I brought more boxes up from my storage space in my ongoing efforts of unpacking my belongings and making my apartment feel like home again. I started entering stories for my erotica book into the self-publishing template. And I checked out jobs on Craigslist. which led me to post an ad of my own: Online Dating Coach. The ad reads:

Do you have a profile on one of the many online dating sites? How’s it goin’?
So many people post inarticulate profiles, unflattering photos or worse.
I will make sure you put your best face forward and increase your chances of meeting the woman (or man) of your dreams! Or, more realistically, increase the chances of actually getting a date.
Seriously, the world of online dating is a vast wasteland of unfortunately poor grammar, embarrassing misspellings and blurry bathroom mirror self portraits.
There’s love out there for everyone. Let me help you!
Let’s meet for a cup of coffee. Bring your laptop and in an hour you’ll have a better online presence!
Consulting fee is $50 per hour.

Couldn’t hurt, right? It’s one more of my many attempts to combat my frustration with online dating and the hundreds of functionally illiterate single dudes out there in the ether searching for true love…or a lay. I hate to keep boring you with these idiots but I don’t want to suffer alone! You can read my latest encounters with online losers below, but writing the ad made me focus a bit on what I’ll call Abby’s Rules of Online Dating. There are as follows:

• Post a photo.
• In said photo, don’t wear sunglasses. Or face away from the camera. And if you’re balding, don’t wear a baseball cap. Or any cap. Show your prospective dates who you are..
• Use a real photo. Don’t just take a shot of yourself in your bathroom mirror with your cell phone.
• Post a recent photo. Like, within the last year. And the last few pounds. And the last few hairs. Oy.
• If you pose with your car or boat, you’ll wind up with dates who are only interested in your car or your boat. That’s a personal decision.
• Don’t use a photo that you’ve cut someone else out of.
• Don’t use photos of you in bed or half dressed. Bathing suits are fine if you’re actually at a beach. Or on a boat.
• Don’t post photos of your penis.
• Fill in your profile. If you want someone to be interested in you, you need to provide them with something to be interested IN!
• Have a friend proofread your profile. Misspellings and lousy grammar don’t make a very good impression.
• Don’t send women any of the site’s “canned” greetings, no flirts, winks or other lazy-ass, I-can’t-be-bothered-to-write-a-personal-message messages. Make an effort, fer crissakes!
•  When you email a woman, don’t use any terms of endearment: baby, honey, sweetie, babe, sugar, whatever. You are strangers. Act accordingly.

I’m sure there are more, especially if a guy manages to engage a woman in an online conversation. I just wanted to spit out my personal irritations with most profiles. I actually mention most of this in MY profile and warn men that if they do any of my don’ts they won’t receive a response. But no one bothers to pay attention. (As was evidenced by the guy who thought he was going on a date with a 5’6″, non-tattooed, financially successful Abby. Hah!) So, on with our losers!

An 80-year-old rollerskater from Baltimore, OH, emailed me today:
You do well in anything you put on or pull off. Next put on a pair of roller skates and I will put a pair of tights and skate with you.
Reading his profile, which included these gems, I am an extremely positive guy who actively applies the blood of Jesus to any errant thought I have, that is then erased, and in so doing, releases God’s creative thinking to take place. I felt motivated to say:
You do WHAT with the blood of Jesus?!
I’m not interested in seeing you pull on a pair of tights, thank you!
To which he responded:
What do I do with the blood of Jesus?….I apply it to any errant thought that I have that is judgmental, uncomplimentary, degrading, discouraging, un-creative and needs to be erased from the eternal slate. Do you agree?
I told him, in no uncertain terms:
No, I do NOT agree. I don’t believe in the blood of Jesus…or Jesus at all, for that matter…
Please don’t impose your religion on strangers.

WTF? I chased another dude off OKCupid.

lovelife_lonely wrote:
Wow you got a nice picture and a cool profile i wonder why you are still single with your beauty i believe with your beauty all the men in your area will always sleep at your door step seeking your hand in a relationship cause your beauty is what all the men on earth are looking for… You really look so beautiful and yummy i wonder why you are still single cause with your beauty i believe all the men in your area will always sleep at your door step seeking your hand in a relationship cause your beauty is what all the man on earth are looking for.. 
Do you have a map please give me the map of your beauty cause have lost in the beauty i see in your eyes.. I am interested in getting to know more about you after reading your profile. I guarantee that I am a nice man am not the perfect either the best i just know how to treat a woman like a queen cause i believe woman are the woman of man… How i wish you are online right now so that we can chat more better but i believe everything happen for a reason i will be very happy to read from you soonest Later Paolo

Did you READ your email before you sent it? You repeated yourself a few times. AND you don’t seem to know how to use punctuation.
You will be “happy to read from me soonest”? What the hell?
A few words of advice:
Proofread your emails.
Punctuate your sentences.
DON’T sound like you’re begging.
Maybe I’m still single because I’m a bitch. Who knows.
Best of luck to you!

And Joe, a guy who I’d been emailing with extensively but wound up cancelling our date because he had to get to his cancer treatment, wrote:
don’t get pissed at me and i mean no disrespect but i really love your new picture, it got me horny. joe
And my response:
Uh, yeah. Good to know I can get you horny.
Hope your cancer treatments are going well.
If you aren’t interested in seeing me, you might want to stop emailing me.

Also good? Hearing that, even with cancer, he’s able to get it up! Bwahahaha! Sorry, I don’t mean to ridicule cancer. But I mean, really. If he actually did have to go to his cancer treatment, I would’ve gladly rescheduled our date. I may come off as callous but I’m not that much of a cunt!

loveyou11’s profile reads:
I am US citizen and have my own settled business is mostly with City, State, counties etc in NJ and NY.
He sends me one of the site’s canned emoticon-embellished “flirts”: I’m interested in you. I respond:
Wow! Hold me back!
A profile with NO PHOTO!
And you’re a CITIZEN! That’s impressive! I can NEVER find me a US citizen. 
Very impressive.
Holy crap.

I’d Fuck Me

All this online dating has had the strangest effect on me: it has made me more confident. Dozens and dozens of men are looking at my photos and profile and reaching out. From 20-somethings to great-grandads, buttoned-up businessmen to corn fed farm boys and just about everything in between, guys are finding me attractive. Which is nice.

It fits with my general attitude about myself, one that’s been fomenting for a while now. When I was younger I didn’t have quite as much self-confidence. Like most women I had body image issues. But over the years I became comfortable in my skin and grew into the self-assured, sexual being I am today. Mind you this was all taking place as chronology was working its evil upon me. Bummer; now that I’m finally able to look in the mirror and like what I see, it’s all sort of…sagging.

Nevertheless, when someone says, “You’re hot!” I tend to believe them. Or at least accept the compliment. My stomach is finally flat. My boobs still look pretty good. (Thank GAWD I didn’t have kids!) My thighs seem slimmer. And I’m not sure if it’s the change in my body chemistry or what, but even my own body odor is an aphrodisiac. Yup, that’s right: I turn myself on! Between my reflection and my aroma, who needs foreplay? Heh.

Yet with all this sexy swagger, I haven’t seen much action recently. I’ve been turning down the much younger men, reluctant to merely help them live out their fantasies and risk becoming a punch line. None of the men my age are doin’ it for me. I’d say I’m aiming for the middle ground but even that isn’t quite right. I’ve been enjoying hangin’ out at home a lot lately and, occasional online date notwithstanding, I’m content with my singlehood. I’d rather be single than settle. And masturbation is certainly more satisfying than a lousy lay.

So until my dream dude comes along — and even if he doesn’t — it’s me and my sex toys. And my mirror!

Pro. Active.

Yes, it’s been a whirlwind since I got home, a blustery love affair with New York City! I’ve over scheduled just about every second: seeing friends, making meetings, mostly dull blind dates and the occasional party. This weekend was especially entertaining.

On Friday, I started with drinks at Cowgirl Hall of Fame with Corinne. She brought along Maria and we dished about post-Guccione Penthouse. I grabbed a cab to Soho and met Sandra at Charles Gatewood‘s photo show. I enjoyed a few penis cookies and vodka cocktails served up by an adorable gay boy.

We regrouped at my apartment before we headed out to the grand opening of Ludlow Manor, a 9,000-square-foot shopping mall of a club, co-owned by my friends Georgie Seville and Luc Carl. The place is truly cavernous. I mean HUGE! Three stories of brand spanking new space. Wow. While enjoying the open bar and delicious passed hors d’oeuvres, I perched on the back of a couch, only to be screamed at by the yuppie harpy sitting on the seat of the couch. Before I knew it I was being kicked out of the club. Kicked out! I didn’t even know what I’d done! I have to say, it was kind of exciting. I can’t recall the last time I was ejected from an establishment. It felt like the old days! Sandra managed to get back inside and, when she encountered the woman who’d freaked out, threw a glass of wine in her face. “Don’t fuck with me,” she told the cranky yuppie, “and don’t fuck with my friends!” As the bouncers closed in to escort her out she told them , “Don’t bother, I’m leaving!” Clearly we aren’t suitable for such fancy places.

I bumbled home and was about to slip into my jammies with Corinne called with a potential business proposition. That entailed a trip to a Soho hotel where I wound up passing out on the bed before she shepherded me to Double Down for a nightcap. Hic!

Saturday night started right back where Friday ended — Double Down — where I met up with a guy from SeniorPeopleMeet. The fact that he had not only heard of Burning Man but had actually been was encouraging and I enjoyed his company. He drove us to A Cavallo’s “TrashBall” in Williamsburg, where the theme was, aptly, garbage. The decor was a disaster, the costumes were totally trashy and the place was packed with sweaty participants. It was awesome! I managed to make it back to my apartment through the throngs of drunken Saturday night revelers on the streets and subway sometime around 4:30am.

And now I’m hard at work, emailing away about my upcoming storytelling appearance at Bare on the 28th, my next Singles’ Mixer on December 1st and my excitement about SantaCon, one of my high holy days. The morning began with not one but two 20-somethings telling me how attractive I am on OKCupid. I suppose I shouldn’t take them too to heart, since one is in Croatia and the other’s in the Ukraine. Ha! I’ll take whatever encouragement I get!

Oh, and if I haven’t said it enough — and punctuated it with an overabundance of exclamation points! — I am loving being back in New York City! One of the (many) ways I feel it parallels my other “home” in Black Rock City is that at it’s very worst it is still the best! The bustling sidewalks, the babble of every imaginable language, people so fashionably oblivious to fashion, all of it! So onward, into the holiday season!

Suicide & Glee

A guy I know killed himself recently. We weren’t close; I worked DPW with him. He wasn’t the first, either. I don’t mean to sound callous but I can’t say I’m surprised. And I say this, not due to any reflection of his personality or mental state, but because what I find surprising is that more friends aren’t offing themselves.

I know thousands of people – to varying degrees of “well” – and it’s fairly accurate to say that a large percentage of them could be considered “creative types.” From writers to musicians, dancers to designers, photographers to crafters, painters to performers, many are artists of some sort. And the 21st century simply doesn’t embrace artists.

Years back, when Big Pharma first introduced mood-altering anti-depressants, the press was all a-tizzy about prescription substances that could, essentially, change one’s personality. My friend and fellow fanzine publisher Selwyn Harris  bemoaned these drugs, postulating that most “good” artists are tortured in some way and that with these brave new drugs, art would suffer, as artists would all be medicated and, therefore, happy. Would Van Gogh have painted his wild night skies if he’d been spaced out on Celebrex? Would Bukowski have penned as much anguish if he’d been comatose on Zoloft? And if the Merry Pranksters had been weaned on Adderall, then progressed to Prozac, would they have been so eager to experiment with LSD?

Selwyn eventually partook of these substances, if I recall correctly, and now he is, actually, happy. Productive, sober, married to a nice girl and…happy.  The question is, of course, how does his current work compare with his output while he was gloriously tortured? And is it worth being a tortured artist? Self-medication on alcohol and illegal drugs has fueled a number of “magnum opi.” And resulted in an equal number of “accidental” suicides.

But I digress. (And to even further digress, a recent study finds High Childhood IQ Linked to Subsequent Illicit Drug Use. Not surprising. All my creative friends are also quite clever.)

Today’s world is not kind to artists. It favors the “entrepreneur,” the businessman, the schemer, the shyster. It isn’t easy for the freak, a category into which, again, many of my friends and acquaintances fall. Sure, there is “Glee.” The zeitgeist has never been so “freak positive.” Sarah Jessica Parker was once a “Square Peg,” now she’s the queen of “Sex in the City.” “Blossom” star Mayim Bialik is currently the wry wit of “Big Bang Theory.” And could there be a more unlikely leading man than Zach Galifianakis? Okay, yes, as a matter of fact: Michael Cera.

“Glee” glorifies the loser – the creative, talented, late-blooming loser – who we all know will eventually get to college and flourish. Yet there they are – corpulent or queer, band geek or wheelchair-bound – experiencing – GASP! – gratification! Happy, positive high school experiences! Acceptance, even! Who’da thunk it?

But again, I digress. Yes, “Glee” and other products of mainstream media have come to recognize the inner beauty of the odd kid out. Yet still, life isn’t easy for those of us who just feel “different,” in whatever way we each define different. It’s difficult for us to find – and keep – jobs. We struggle to relate to our relatives. We flail in our efforts to find a place in society where we can freely express ourselves, find reason to get out of bed in the morning, live one more day. Well, at least I do.

I’m not looking for affirmation here. I don’t want pity. But I would like to acknowledge that, while I recognize the stultifying beauty in every autumn leaf, full moon or falling snowflake and appreciate everything life has to offer me, I also find myself depressed, disgusted or discouraged on an almost moment-to-moment basis. So when someone opts out, I actually understand.

Anger Mismanagement

Yesterday I particpated in a video shoot about female climaxes for My friend Jamye was moderator, posing questions about vibrators and masturbation, fantasies and female ejaculation. It was pretty fun. Plus I’ll do anything for Jamye. Or for 50 bucks!

The panel was supposed to include a variety of women and, for one comprised of only six, it was a success: ages ranged from 21 to 52 (me), married and single, and there was one woman of color. Our answers varied even more than who – or what – we were. One woman explained that she experiences her orgasms as colors. Others made allusions to threesomes and same-sex experimentation. The 21-year-old was — hmm, how to put this nicely? — the most vocal. When she cut off the quietest woman (for about the tenth time) by blurting, “I love to be the star! The center of attention!” I thought that quiet girl was gonna smack her. I sure would’ve liked to. And when the words “as you get older” actually came out of her mouth, in the context of “as you get older, your interest in sex decreases,” I swear, I almost lost it. Instead, I put my hands up and said, “Wait, wait just a minute here,” and disabused her of that notion. She back-pedaled, explaining that what she meant was “over time,” as in “over time, with one partner, your interest may decrease.” I’ll buy that. But again, coming from someone barely out of high school, it was a little difficult to swallow. When I asked Jamye what she thought of the shoot, she, too had been irritated with the youngster and said she felt compelled to let her know. I didn’t think it would be worth it.

Last night, as we drunkenly bumbled home from a long day of that shoot followed by her ex-boyfriend’s book party (and after telling me that I should give every blind date “at least three chances”) Jamye told me that people are afraid of me because I come off so angry. I suppose I do. It isn’t conscious. And I try not to be. I know people often take what I say way too seriously, hear me as more forceful than I mean to sound.

The gig I worked last weekend went well. I jumped in the second I got there, asking a woman who looked harried if I could help her before I’d even been told what to do. I elegantly solved a problem, efficiently ran a few errands and generally made myself useful. I wasn’t a whiner. And I don’t think anyone experienced me as angry. People I’m close to may see me that way but that’s mostly because, well, ’cause I’m being myself with them… I guess once you get to know me, you see my caustic side. But not everyone does. Sigh.

My sister and my mom both firmly believe that I am terminally unemployable. That I’ve been unable to keep myself from telling off every boss I’ve ever had. I don’t suffer fools gladly and I suck at faking how I feel, so if I think you’re an asshole, you’ll know it. Granted, it’s difficult to work for someone an idiot. But most of my bosses have been worthy of my respect.

Much of my anger comes from finding myself out of step. I feel like I’m perpetually ahead of the culture curve. A decade after I was doing something, it comes into vogue. Or gets good press. And becomes profitable. Maybe I just don’t have the right stick-to-it-ive-ness. Or the focus. Or perhaps I just get bored easily. But tell me, am I wrong to hope for one well-placed supporter? One person to “champion” my book proposal(s)? Advocate for me in a job situation? Is everyone too afraid, worried that my misplaced anger will cause me to implode?

That’s what I’m assuming. So here I sit, laptop on my lap, researching self-publishing sites and ready to do it on my own. I’ve stopped applying for jobs. And I won’t be expecting any favors. Fuck everyone else. Ya hear me? FUCK EVERYONE ELSE! How’s that for anger?

Monday Musings

Still feeling scattered…some random Monday stuff:

If I haven’t made it abundantly clear, I am REALLY happy to be back in NYC! I lovelovelove this city! The weather has been stunning — colorful, sunny fall days — plus I got some paid work. And right in the middle of it all, I was lucky enough to tag along with Jamye Waxman and Gram Ponante for the Fleshbot Awards. They were awesome! I should be writing about the show soon. (Tomorrow I hope to — finally — have interwebs in my apartment!)

I’ve been scrambling to start a dozen new projects and, thus far, haven’t gotten very far. Having those interwebs will certainly help. I feel like I’m percolating all kinds of interesting ideas! I’ve had a few books in the works for years and will finally get them into cyber-print. I’m planning another one of my singles’ mixers for later this month in my attempt to bring dating from the internet to something more brick-and-mortar. I’m hoping to plan a biggish event for February.

Plus I’ve been re-establishing myself in my apartment. After the past two years thinking I might’ve needed to sell it, my sister helped me hang onto it, so I can finally unpack my boxes of stuff. Though I’ve kinda gotten used to the starkness. I put my lady head vase collection back in my apothecary shelves and all I could think was, “Man, I can’t bring any dates home with me or they’re gonna think I’m insane!” Hmm…

Which leads me to my new puppy! Scribble is one pound, eight ounces of adorable Poodle deliciousness! And so much fun! Seriously, I’m now eager to get home and hang out with her. I know there are guys who can’t tolerate tiny dogs, so she may be a deal breaker for prospective suitors but, oh well!

On that topic, I continue my search for romance (or, more realistically, a free meal…or beer) with the online dating. Every day brings another idiot into my life! If I were totally serious about this it would be downright depressing. (Am I repeating myself?) It’s a good thing I have a sense of humor. Oy. Check out a few of the latest, with my editorializings:

Best new profiles on SPM:
No photo and his “interests” were listed as my grand kids my kids also fishing. Uh, yeah.

Another without a photo and Free to do when and where I choose to and to injoy doing it with the person i am with. Injoy? Really?

i like walks in the going to dinner movies concerts At least this guy had a photo.

I wasn’t sure if this guy was fucking with me or if he was actually interested. Either way, he come off like an asshole: Just wondering what your view of “Luddite” is..guess your one too, since your on this site !!..kill me,,naww ..never happen…and on that note got my two cents in and have fun…

Other jackass on SPM:
hello ladys…i’m 6’/205 lbs in decent shape,blue eyes/brown hair…single, happy and healthy…i live alone and have a great job(engineer)…down to earth , a lot of fun and i like to stay active…i’m looking for a new friend who’s fairly local, attractive and outgoing with similar interest and some fire in her soul – someone i can hookup with , meet for drinks, go to dinner, sporting event, concert or a trip to the casino…
His message to me:
cool profile – i’d fuck you…lol….i’d do it just to see the rest of that belly tattoo….
Wow! Awesome! I can’t wait!

And the guy I had dinner with last week? Here’s our latest (and, I’m assuming, final) exchange:

I didn’t know what to expect.  I was a little suprised at how tall you were. What I do notice from your email is that each of us has their own gremlins. What you worry about, I don’t and what I worried about you don’t. I think you did fine.  
Here’s some feedback. I want to meet a financially independent woman. I supported my wife who claimed to interested in working and helping to support the family but that turned out to be a pile of shit. So, I was interested in that aspect of the date. At the time, I thought that you appeared to be on a limited budget so, I offered to pay. I think most men will offer to pay. So, this may not be an issue for you with other men.  
As far as “not as different is concerned”, it is hard to grow up in the 60’s and not have met some very different and interesting women. You are not the “most different” person I met. Actually the most different for me, is a dedicated church going evangelical. Is that you? I tried to let you know that I wasn’t that different by telling you story of Watkins Glen (Greatful Dead, etc) and Woodstock. Was I wrong?  
I think women are more uptight about conversation not flowing than men are. It is almost universally the answer I see on OKC. My answer for what is worse on a first date, no physical attraction or no conversation? My answer is no physical attraction. 
I like feedback as well.  so pour it on.  
I am going out of town the week after thanks giving.  I may be in Binghamton the following week. That is the last week of hunting season. I would like to try to get a deer if I don’t get one next week.

Wow. Okay.
I would’ve been a bit happier to pay for my meal if I’d had some say in where we dined. You did chose a particularly expensive restaurant. I apologize for being less well off than you. And for being tall. If believe if you’d looked at my profile a bit more closely you might’ve seen how tall I was, that I’m a freelance writer and part time Burning Man employee, which sort of says “I don’t make a lot of money,” and seen my tattoos.
The fact that you keep bringing up Woodstock only further proves my original assessment: you are way too square for me, as well as for any of my friends. I grew up in the 60s too, but I wasn’t old enough to DATE during them. In other words, you ARE different. From me. And hunting season? Seriously? You actually go out and kill animals for sport? I’m no vegetarian but, again, wow.
I wish you the best in your search.

I love that he misspelled Grateful Dead. Hah! I love that he picked a restaurant where the appetizers cost $20 but would’ve preferred that I pay my half of the bill. Ooooookay! Sooo sorry his marriage turned out to be a pile of shit! Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Ack!

Like Riding a Bike

When I disappeared into the desert, I was determined to have sex again. It had been so long I was worried I wouldn’t remember how. I was also concerned about the whole “use it or lose it” thing, afraid that, er, lubrication would be a problem, as my gynecologist had warned me it might. In the end, it wound up being close to a year and a half, the longest I’ve gone without getting laid since I began keeping track. Decades, in other words. I don’t know how I made it those many months with my sanity intact.

So yeah. I finally got laid.

There was a guy — another DPW guy (hey, that’s all there is out there!) — who I’d been kinda flirting with. It had been ages since I’d needed to “work” at sex so I wasn’t even sure that I was flirting. It would be more accurate to say I was enjoying this guy’s company. And he seemed to be enjoying mine. I’d noticed him when he initially arrived in town; he was tall and attractive, in that outdoorsy sort of way that you rarely see in NYC.

Over the weeks of the pre-event build we engaged in witty banter and word play. Then, on the Sunday night the Gate opened and after a long evening of drinking a bunch of us wound up at the Ghetto. Er, Doomtown. I got up the courage — yes, liquid, I know — to say to him, “So, I don’t like hearing no, but do ya wanna make out?” He said, “Sure!” and we scrambled up the stairs to the fancy deck overlooking Black Rock City, a romantic vantage point, even if we weren’t actually looking at it. We made out on the couch like a couple of teenagers for a not-very-long time before I invited him back to my trailer. I’m sure I probably said something along the lines of, “Wanna go have sex?” We stumbled the short distance between Doomtown and Commissary Camp, climbed into my box and ripped off our clothes. I can’t quite recall who ripped what off of whom, but the job got done.

The sex was athletic and energetic. I got spun around like a baton! And all the metal signs I had shimmied into my windows to keep out the sun wound up rattling and falling. We both laughed a lot and he expressed plenty of enthusiasm. One of his best lines, blurted while he was between my legs, I believe, was, “Wow I have missed this!” Which led me to believe that it had been a while since his last lay as well. It was fun.

I woke up to a morning wood quickie, he got back into his Carharts, and we both went about our day, a bleary-eyed Monday and the first day of Burning Man. I don’t quite recall when I saw him next but when I did, I said something like, “That was fun. If the timing works out, I’d be up for doing it again.” He agreed.

The timing worked out just over a week later, the night of the last Ghetto party. I’d had a long day of rolling around nudging loiterers to leave, enjoying a few beers along the way. By the time the party happened, I was pretty happy. I was equally pleased when, if I recall correctly, he seemed into it. I can’t remember who had the perverse idea of leaving the party for a quickie and then coming back.

We stumbled in the direction of my trailer and managed to get about half undressed. It was a frenzied fuck, more hilarity than horny. I think. It’s all a little blurry. This time it was me slipping back into the Carharts and we bumbled back to Doomtown. I was pleased to be sportin’ a “freshly fucked” look; my hair was a total mess. But he disappeared shortly thereafter, which struck me as a little weird but whatever. I danced late into the night and went home alone.

The next day, a bunch of us were hangin’ out after work, having a few beers, and I took the opportunity to ask him, “So, are you socially inept or just an asshole?” Without missing a beat — or sounding surprised — he answered, “Probably both. Why?” I told him that our mid-party interlude felt sorta like hooker sex, that without any kissing at all maybe he should’ve left me $250 on my nightstand. “Yeah, my ex-wife complained about that too,” he admitted, somewhat sheepishly. “Well, you might wanna work on that,” I told him.

Social ineptitude or assholery notwithstanding, we continued our flirtations over the two weeks until Line Sweeps. One evening in the Saloon he informed me that he was going home to bed. “Are you telling me this just to let me know or would you like me to join you?” I asked him. “Both,” he replied. We walked back to my trailer together and tried to watch a movie before passing out. We had sex in the morning – cute, cuddly sex — but still, no kissing.

Another week went by and it was Mutiny, a long day of drinking and debauchery. Still somewhat shy, I could sense him sort of orbiting around me and there were a few moments of semi-PDA. Long after the sun had gone down I somehow wound up as the sober-est driver, transporting a truckload of crew from Frog Pond back into town. I don’t know how we managed but there was an impressive session of exhausted intercourse. Yet, once more, no making out.

Back in Reality Camp, he stayed with me a few nights but nothing more happened. We slept in separate beds. After expressing an ambivalence about dogs he was really great with the puppy. And he continued to say lovely things. Aside from the fact that we were going to be living on opposite coasts, in the end, the lack of romance — specifically any kissing, at all — was a deal breaker for me. It was one thing to do most of the “work,” meaning making the first moves. Even without his ever being the aggressor it was evident that he was interested. But I really, really enjoy making out. So without that, I couldn’t see the point. The few  times we fucked were most definitely fun and it was awesome to get back into the saddle, so to speak. It was like ridin’ a bike. At this point I’m just looking forward to my next opportunity!

Editor’s note (actually, writer’s note): My apologies to this particular gentleman if his feelings are hurt or whatever. He knows how I felt cause I told him, a few times. It’s up to him to either change his anti-kissing ways or, better yet, I suppose, find a woman who shares his aversion. Best of luck to both of us!

Vast (Cyber) Wasteland

Sigh. I have been feeling SO scattered! Not having internet access in my apartment is a royal pain in the ass. I just can’t quite concentrate in the coffee shop. Hopefully I get something hooked up soon! Until then, the best I can do blog-wise is complain about blind dating…

I’ve only been back in NYC two weeks and I managed to schedule 10 dates. As a result I’ve tolerated paranoid emails, name-calling, cancellations, rescheduling and feeling ridiculed. I’ve had to buy my own beer and my own tea, and when dinner was paid for, it was done so begrudgingly, since the dude’s ex-wife wasn’t as financially independent as he would’ve liked. Mind you, he chose a really expensive restaurant or I would’ve paid. Hell, I didn’t order an appetizer (or a second beer…or dessert) just in case I did have to pay. But he offered. And then complained about it in an email. Whatthefuckever. He almost fell off his barstool when he saw my (wrist) tattoos. I asked him if he actually looked at my profile pix, since my crown tattoo is very visible. In that aforementioned email, he also said, “I was a little suprised at how tall you were.” Yet one more little factoid that was INCLUDED IN MY PROFILE!

So yeah, the dates I actually went on have been varying shades of tolerable. The latest was a nice guy, if not a match made in heaven, but I can’t quite grasp how it was we wound up out together. I’m beginning to lose faith in OKCupid’s marshmallow robot! One gentleman sent me a note assuming I’d be “surprised by his profile,” one that was accompanied by a shot of him in black underwear, holding a whip. He thought he was interested in BDSM but, when it came down to it, is only seeking a woman who’ll take charge in the bedroom. I assured him that his profile did not surprise me in the least, given my bizarre lives, and met with him, more or less, on a “consultation” basis. I enjoyed his company and hope to introduce him to a few sexually aggressive females!

SeniorPeopleMeet has been a horror show. One guy cancelled on me, rescheduled and then cancelled again. He said he had a chemo appointment. Now, if that’s true, I’d be happy to reschedule again. And if it’s a lie, it’s a pretty evil one. Fortunately I found one guy on there who’s actually a burner. I won’t get my hopes up, but at least he won’t make fun of me — and Burning Man — through an entire meal. Ugh. How do I communicate to men that I’m not interested in “squares” without sounding like a square myself? “Don’t be a muggle!”? I don’t even know what “normal” is anymore.

Well, at least my one-month membership on SPM will be expiring (not a moment too) soon! Check out these gems:

like to ride motorcycles go to dinner i am new at this.

[Uh, that’s pretty obvious. Are you new at typing, too? Sheesh! This next guy’s screen name is WILDJIM. Uh-huh, really wild!]

i am a veteran i do a lot for the clubs of the vets my passion in life is are my kids and grandkids

[Yup, nothin’ like grandkids to say, “Whoa, baby, I’m a WILD man!]

Hey girl… I just viewed your profile. My name is Bob and I am here in Reynoldburg Ohio. A couple quick things; I am self employed and a Antique Furniture Dealer. I do have some cars and my favorite is my 1969 Firebird Convertible with 912HP engine. Yes it is quick and fast. You will see this in my photo’s. I do want to mention that I do not know you other than by your photos. I like to joke around and please don’t take this comment only as a complement… Well from what I see from your photo’s I would travel across the Sahara Desert in 120 degree heat barefoot and walk across many pieces of glass just to hear you tinkle in a pop can :)) Smile!!! 
Hey I am Reynoldsburg Ohio and you can give me a call on my cell phone at 000-000-0000.

[Yeah, I get it. You’re in Reynoldsburg, OH. So why the hell are you writing to me? Are you gonna drive that super-fast ’69 Firebird all the way to Manhattan to meet me? Oh. Wait. Tinkle in a pop can? Sooooo not my thing, dude!]

I want you, my dear readers, to know that, if nothing else, these dates (or near dates) are all blog fodder so I can continue to entertain you. If I were only (only? ONLY!) looking for true love, I would’ve jumped off a bridge ages ago! Cause online dating is a fucking vast wasteland! Anyway…onward!