Amor E Morte

I had some pretty dark thoughts as a kid. I don't know if it was normal because I never talked to anyone about them, but in retrospect it's weird to realize I thought about death when I was 7 years old. I'd never known anyone to die or had seen a dead person or had even known about anyone dying. And yet, I wondered what it would be like if I ceased to exist. What would my friends and family do? It was never an actual emotional desire to be dead, but it was still a curiosity that peppered my usually innocent thoughts.

Up through junior high I used to leave my room just-so, so that if anything did happen to me people would be able to tell what I was doing last. Coloring in my book, reading, listening to music, doing homework. Odd that that was what was important to me. I used to make lists in my head for who would get what: Lynne would get my music, Mae would get my stuffed animals, Tina would get my notebooks. I never regarded these thoughts as strange, though I never told anyone about them. They were always just kind of latently there. A passive kind of wonder at what life would be like without me.

I also had a 'feeling' that I would die young. In my thirties so I believed. Who knows what influenced me to think these things, or if they really did come from my own imagination, but this one stayed with me for a while. At least into my mid-twenties. If I was feeling dramatic it would be after I had married and had children, a tragedy for them, and if I was feeling melodramatic it would be just after I fell in love, more tragic for me that way you see.

Anyway I suppose like most things with me I kind of forgot about my 'feeling' after a while. The odd thing is though, I had it for such a long period of time and it never motivated me to somehow do the one thing on the top of my list of things I always wanted to do before I die. Like every hard-core romantic, all I've ever wanted was to fall in love.

How does that make any sense you ask? Coming from someone who seems to have the inability to open her heart?

Excellent question. If anything, I should have been first in line to fall in love with every boy who ever looked at me. After all, I believe love is something different for everyone. I even believe there are people who talk themselves into being in love and eventually believing it even if it's not true. And yet...and yet...never have I known, or talked myself into believing I've known, love in any other form than platonic.

I guess I missed the live fast part despite 'feeling' the die young. Or was I just being true to my independent self who always believed I'd eventually get the fairy tale love? Good things come to those who wait, good things come to those who wait, good things come to those who wait.

That got me through a lot of insecure times.

Was there a time limit on it?

The Field Experience

I decided to be social a few weeks ago and headed out for drinks with a bunch of colleagues. I ended up having a pretty good time, as I usually do when I make myself go to these things, and afterwards went home with a stomach full of warm fuzzies at how well-liked I felt. Or maybe it was the vodka. But I digress.

I chatted with Dee a female colleague of mine for a while and was asked something for the first time ever, right after she asked me something I've been asked thousands of times.

Dee: are you seeing anyone?
QV: nah
Dee: do you want to be?

I was caught off guard and had to think about it. After all these months of posts I still had to stop and think about it. Perhaps I'm not as open to it as I thought I was. I replied something like, "eh," but then went into an explanation of how hard it is to find a guy who's ok with a girl as independent as I am. At any rate, how not a lot of guys approach a girl as independent as I am.

She told me how after she was divorced years ago, she decided she was never going to get married again and is with a guy now who is totally accepting of it. They've been together nine years and have never lived together, at her request. I was fascinated and filled with hope, not because I want a guy who will love me on such specific terms, but because she managed to find someone who fit a pretty limiting bill. (Maybe he's always wanted the same thing, to love someone with a completely separate life, but it still goes to show any want has its counterpart...right?) My standards are high but not unreasonable. I'm willing to compromise...on some things.

She wondered out loud how it could be I wasn't with anyone because I was such a catch. I've never actually been called that before and it made me laugh. Though she can only guess what kind of catch I actually am (I have no problem saying I am a good catch..as long as you don't count all the bad habits I don't even know I have) I have to admit I quite enjoyed the compliment.

I eventually began talking to Kevin, a colleague who has made it known, at least to me, that he's a big fan of mine. Never in a weird, uncomfortable way, which is odd for me because usually when a guy who likes me but I don't like in return says nice things it makes me want to vomit, but still he does it. It is a little odd I suppose, and if anyone else ever really saw it they'd immediately become fifteen and start taunting me about it, but what can I do? I'm sure he's figured out by now that I'm just not that into him but I do think he's a great guy, a wonderful father and I love working with him. I just can't see myself with him.

It's funny because I have another colleague who just got divorced who I also like a lot, and I actually tried to imagine myself with him. He's on the opposite end of the life-style spectrum and I couldn't really see being with him either.

This guy though, I have no problem seeing myself with. But again I digress.

Me being me, after about two hours I was drained. Even being social with people I know and like is taxing for me, so I headed out. Before I left though I gave out hugs. I tend to want hugs when I get tipsy. I hugged Dee and another female colleague and moved toward the door. Gave Kevin a hug, then Simon who had just lost his job, then Rob and then Vikki. Then Rob complained that it was meaningless if I hugged everyone, so I gave him another hug. But then Simon said he's the one who needed the most sympathy so I gave him another hug. Then Kevin wanted another and then of course Vikki had to outdo them all by shouting "make out with me!" As juvenile as it seems, it made me happy. I felt a little bit like Sally Field. You like me! You really like me!

It's so silly because I know they all like me. It's mutual and always fun when we work together. I suppose it was just receiving an expression of it that's not really acceptable in the workplace that sent me home happy.

All in all I spent a lot of the evening talking about my personal life, which I despise doing, but didn't want to kill myself once. Course, I only stayed two hours...perhaps that's the magic number for me? Point is, I'm actually looking forward to the day I can actually talk about someone I'm seeing (despite my hesitation at the question). Then again, it's still a personal matter so I'll most likely keep the conversation short.

"I've Given Up On You,"

the horse's mouth said.

What an odd saying.

But as it just so happens, that's where I heard it from:

It began as it usually does with us gossiping about family matters, the latest being another wedding. The conversation inevitably turned to me, not in an antagonizing way which it might seem written out, but in a way that made me laugh at my mother's logic and how she tries to talk herself into believing things when she clearly doesn't.

Mom: My friends always ask if you've found someone yet. I say no, but she found a place to live! That's what I tell them now.
QV: Oh?
Mom: Yes. I've given up.
QV: What does that even mean?
Mom: I have, I've given up on you.
QV: You have not given up on me finding someone.
Mom: You're not even looking!
QV: You know, you played a very big part in me being this way. What about all those years of, "you have to be self-sufficient"?
Mom: Well it's true! I was always worried about that...if something happened to your father what would I do? I wanted you to be able to support yourself if something happened to your husband.
QV: Can we talk about how insanely contradictive you are? You raised me on routine lectures about boys only wanting one thing and about being independent and then when I become a successful, single woman you complain? You were ahead of your time and yet completely stuck in it at the same time. You created a headstrong feminist without ever burning a bra.
Mom: I created a girl who just doesn't want anyone to invade her free time.
QV: That too. Now can you please just be happy with your masterpiece?

Brutal

A reenactment of the inner monologue/conversation I had with myself last night after letting the engagement of one of my youngest cousins sink in.

.........so e's engaged. what is she, 20? what's wrong with me?
you did not just ask that.
i did, didn't i?
you're just particular.
that is extremely irritating. stop it.
what?
evading the issue by attributing it to a quirky character trait.
seriously? evading? i've beaten this horse past its afterlife at this point.
you're right. apparently there is a comfort in beating this particular horse.
can we stop talking about beating dead horses?
you started it with your whole waa waa still single-
don't say it-
why won't-
i said don't say it-
anyone-
stop!-
love me?
i hate you.
oh please. you know damn well you're right where you want to be.
and where's that?
happily single and content to complain about it internally while maintaining a mysterious air so no one knows what really goes on.
can you please shut up?
you know i'm right.
i'm going to sleep now.
but you don't have any milk for your cereal tomorrow morning.
dammit! i also have to go to the bank and cvs to get soap.........

Is it still any wonder?

Fighting The Demagnetizing Affect

or How Left Brain Is Ruining My Life

There is a guy I occasionally work with who has suddenly come into view. He's one of those behind the scenes people who makes my job easier when they're on the ball, and harder when they get swamped and can't get to everything. The woman who used to work with him quit, so he has in effect taken over my 'account' if you will. I don't believe we've ever had a formal introduction, but I see him more often now and we know each other.

Anyway, the point is, I can't even tell you how long I've known him but in the last week or so I've suddenly found myself thinking about him. A lot. I don't know anything about him, except what comes at first glance.

1) he seems pretty mellow and soft-spoken (probably what made me take notice)
2) he's really cute
3) he's younger than me (early twenties?)
4) he's smaller than me (at least, I think. I'm usually sitting down when he comes by. At any rate, I usually go for the really tall, lanky guys. He's around my height or shorter but still lanky.)
5) um...I'm having quite a few lustful thoughts about what I'd like to do to him (though I probably wouldn't know how to carry any of it out.)

#5 is something new. In the past it's always been more of an academic kind of thing, where I had to almost concentrate on it. With him I'm just suddenly imagining it with no prompting. Is this what it's like to be a 16 year old boy? No wonder they can't concentrate on anything. They're imagining everyone naked all the time.

#3 and the fact that I work with him are what put up a huge wall. However, if he decided he liked me and asked me out, I wouldn't say no. However duex, I probably won't make any moves to give off any signals that I'm interested. This makes me an incredibly large hypocrite as I believe women should just ask out guys they're interested in instead of waiting for them to ask. I never said I was perfect. Though in my defense, I did make it a point to thank him yesterday for helping me out with what was a long, frustrating day. He smiled pretty big. Have I mentioned how cute he is?


But then of course, the left brain has to step in and say, maybe you're just thinking all this because it's been a while since you've found a guy attractive at all. Maybe you're not really attracted to him but you think you are because you think he's cute. Besides, your hormones are off, you cried last night at Running with Scissors for crappsake.

Why does left brain have to be so mean?

Maybe He'll Even Know How To Cook

I'll be moving within the next couple months...in by myself.

I am absolutely thrilled to finally have my own place and extremely terrified I'm sealing the deal on spinsterhood at the same time...you know, since I like being alone and often prefer it after an especially long day of stupid, annoying people.

Maybe a fun, laid-back, successful, affectionate, gracious, animal-loving, humorous, sexy, well-rounded and handsome man with an accent who picks up his socks will live in the building.

And take a shine to me.

One can hope.

Sigh.

Choose Your Own Destiny

When I was younger my mother instilled in me a belief in destiny. A predetermined series of events, there's a reason for everything, if it's supposed to happen it will kind of leaving-the-details-of-your-life-up-to-someone-else thing. Granted that someone else is supposed to be God, it strikes me now as an easy way out. Why should I work for anything if it's all in stone already?

But also, isn't life in the details?

If someone else is planning it for you, isn't it inevitable that a few will be missed? For those who believe God knows/sees/does/controls all I suppose the point is moot, but what about free will? The ability to choose between many options? Why would we be afforded those things if it was all planned for us anyway? That's a really mean trick I say. If this ends up being the case, we're presently existing under a pretty twisted higher power.

And yet...and yet...sometimes I can't help myself from reverting back to that childhood innocence of thinking if I'm meant to have a certain thing, it will come to me. It becomes a battle with my adult self yelling that if I want something, I have to work to get it, it's never just going to come to me. It gets awfully noisy in my head sometimes.

The choice is what ends up being so frustrating. Knowing about it anyway. I can choose to believe either side of the coin, and I usually do at my convenience, but in the end it only makes me feel like a wet noodle. Despite God's alleged hand in my life, I try to see everything as a choice. (I realize that kind of lends a hand to my already large issue with control, but so be it. At least I am aware of it.) I can choose to be angered by the asshole at work or I can ignore his pompous attitude and happily get on with my day. I can choose to be happy with my single status or I can lament not following the standard that has been set. I can even still choose to think that if I believe I'll get something, I eventually will. There's a difference between thinking it and relying on it as the way to live life.

The fact of the matter is I don't always choose the better option, but generally speaking I am happier. It also helps that other things in my life are going well, I admit, but why is it just misery that loves company? Why not happiness too?

So I guess in the end I choose to believe I get to paint the details. Although I didn't choose to exist, I get to choose how. It's a lot more work, which leads to the occasional if-I'm-meant-to-have-it-I-will thought, but the payoff is greater. I've earned it.

The Great Debate

I went down to K's for a visit recently. She picked me up from the station.

K: Hi
QV: Hi
K: So...I think you should start dating.
QV: I agree.
K: (stunned silence)

We've had this conversation many times before, but this is the first time I didn't answer with some unintelligible sound which meant a) no thanks b) don't want to talk about it or c) Absolutely not.

QV: you know...one of the obviously many reasons that kept me from dating is this overwhelming fear of getting pregnant.
K: you have to have sex to get pregnant.
QV: thank you master of the obvious. I meant that in my mind dating always lead to sex which meant getting pregnant.
K: birth control.
QV: are you listening to me? It's not rational. Don't even try to tell me you don't have any irrational fears. Dating just always equalled sex to me.
K: that's because you're mother f**ed you up.
QV: she knows, she's taken some of the responsibility. But at this point I think we all know it's mine. I think if I had been someone else, I mean, if she had given all those warnings to another kid, it wouldn't have affected them the same way it did me. I was so overly sensitive to everything, no matter what she said it was true. When it didn't make sense to me I rationalized it in my own mind until it did.
K: you don't know that.
QV: no, but I still think it.

I can't help but wonder why things happened the way they did. Why all my life people have complimented me on both my appearance and my character and yet, only a handful of guys have ever approached me. How I managed to miss out on years of natural experimentation because I was intensely scared of sex. That's not to say I was scared of my body, because for some reason that was never a problem. But really, how did I manage to build walls so thick it's going to take some damn big explosives to take them down? Or is that just something else I tell myself to justify my single position?

It never bothered me before...having people think I'm a lesbian. I'm an extremely independent woman, I don't dress in lace, I listen to a lot of female singer/songwriters, I'm very pro-women, I don't talk about my sex life- easy for people to assume I must be gay right? Most of the time I don't give a rats ass what other people are thinking of me. Well, people I don't know anyway, I spent way too much of my youth worrying about that. But now that I'm 30 and still don't have a man? Well then it's practically confirmed. Really the only thing that bothers me about it (aside from the absurdity of people assuming that not having a man either means I'm gay or there must be something wrong with me) is that if everyone is thinking this, it lessons my already slim chances of actually meeting a guy. uh.

What bothers me even more is the fact that it sounds like I'm lamenting being single because I'm 30. I can't really see myself as one of those women who suddenly becomes desperate because she hit the three oh and is still single, and yet here I am talking about it. But in my defense, like the greys in my hair, it's other people commenting on it that is drawing my attention to it. I actually had to start dying my hair because everyone and their mother felt it was ok to tell me I had so many. I got sick of hearing it. Will I actually have to start dating because everyone will feel it's ok to tell me I need to settle down? Dare I bend to such societal pressure?

Outside of my closest friends, and this damn blog that I can't seem to give up, I don't speak often about this area of my life. People are fascinated by it. Case in point, there is a rumor among my friends at work that I'm seeing someone. I have no idea who started it or why, but because I won't say anything about it, they've gone crazy trying to figure out who it is. Because I won't talk about it they've decided it's someone at work which is making them even crazier. I find it all hilarious. I have a sneaking suspicion that one of my friends was trying to mess with me when he said he'd heard the rumor, which is why I decided to mess with him and clam up about it. Anyway, it's something to do at work. ;)

And then there's mom.

Mom: I showed my friends the pictures of you. They loved them!
QV: Oh yeah?
Mom: They're all wondering how you're still single.
QV: They need to find better ways to occupy their time.
Mom: They're wondering if you're a Les-
QV: Of course they are. It's the first place they go when they see me and find out I don't have a man.

I'm pretty sure that was a subtle asking, but that was the end of it. People have a really hard time understanding that it's not my first priority. Maybe that's really just all it is...all it has been my whole life. Both my parents were extremely influential in making education my very first priority, which then transitioned into getting a good job so I could be self-sufficient. With my latest promotion and some future investments in mind, maybe it's just a coincidence that now my priorities have room to shift. I still absolutely hate the idea of dating, and with any luck I'll be able to skip it, but I guess I have to admit that it has been on my mind....not just dating and finding someone, but the whole where I am in my life now. The last time I dwelled on it, I quit my job and ran off to Europe for 6 weeks. Although I'm dying to travel like that again, I don't feel the same need.

Then again, maybe a change of scenery would be good.

No, You Can't Have My Number. Ok, It's 212...

I think I've mentioned it before, but guys don't often ask for my number. Or out either, but that's a different issue...something about my body language...The first time I was about 21 and was so surprised I acted like an ass. Hmmm...I think the next one was during a trip abroad. Two actually. Two men from different countries, with little to no knowledge of English, both asked me for my number within an hour of one another. Apparently Europeans have no problem with my body language. Next was the cute, young one with an accent.

A few weeks ago, I had my sixth asking. Heh. My friends and I were at a bar and he randomly came over a few times to participate in the conversation we were having. The third time he came over, he chatted for a bit before moving his position to stand next to me. I, having consumed as many alcoholic beverages my body allows, was a little toasted. Here's a reinactment, as accurate as my addled mind can replay:

Him: so...here's the part of the evening where I completely embarass myself and ask for your number.
QV: um...
Him: in front of all these people-
QV: well...
Him: let's just say I am definitely intrigued.
QV: (intrigued?) I don't really give out my number. But I'll give you my email address. (what? what am I saying?)
Him: ok here. (hands me his phone. I type in my address and give it back. He hands it back to me.) I'm sorry, but you'll have to give me your number. It won't save unless you do.
QV: ok. (what? what am I saying?)

Unable to think straight, I typed in my real number. I didn't want to give it to him. But I did.

And here's the kicker.

He never called.

Or wrote.

So why did he ask?

Yes, yes, I am glad he didn't because if I'm being honest I probably would have blown him off. I was drunk and not really acting like myself. Or rather I should say, acting like a louder, more self-involved self. The only thing I can remember about him is that ridiculousness of a conversation above. And specifically the word intrigued. I guess he just wasn't intrigued enough after the hangover finally passed.

So the point of the story is, if you ever meet me and want my number, hand me a vodka cranberry and tell me your phone won't save unless I give it to you. Apparently I'm a sure thing. And if you call and I actually answer, you must be.

A Bedtime Story

I cringe whenever I hear someone say, "get laid". I'd almost rather hear "get f***ed". Almost. So it would go without saying that you'd never hear me say, "I need to get laid". However, lately I'm kinda thinking...I need to get laid. uuueeeehhh.

I had a dream in which my virginity played the lead. Very strange. It began with a large group of friends driving me somewhere. There were all kinds of blankets and bedding around so I figured it was going to be a big camp out sleep over. We pulled into what looked like a defunct, or at least closed for the season, amusement park. It was dark outside and I started to feel creeped out. Because I was with friends though (none of who had familiar real world faces) I tried to see it as an adventure.

We parked near two lines of trees leading up to a stage. They began to set up beds under the trees which I thought was odd but hell, it was an adventure, right? I walked over to someone setting up their bed and some other friends pulled me away. They lead me toward the stage on which I could now see was a canopy bed. Someone was draping material over the canopy to enclose it. Privacy in a public place I suppose. Even my dreams are ironic.


"Your first time has to be special!" someone said. And then I realized all the chatter that had been going on was about me.

Apparently losing my virginity was the evening's entertainment. Thing was, I never got the feeling they actually wanted to watch, they all just wanted it to happen. They set it all up to make it special.

Weird.

Global Virginomics

There are a number of very basic things that every single human being on the planet has in common. We are born of women (until the practice of cloning destroys us all), we breathe, we sleep, we eat and we die. For the individual to survive, s/he doesn't need sex, but for humanity to survive, we do. (Again, until cloning destroys us.)

I am absolutely fascinated by the fact that out of all the things humans do to/for one another, sex and sexuality carry the most weight. Throughout numerous cultures across seven continents, it is used to gain power, to shame, humiliate, to celebrate, to get revenge, to hurt, to show commitment, to feel a little pleasure on a thursday, etc etc etc. It seems every human emotion can somehow be connected to it, and every political motivation, whether it be socially or locally political between two people, satisfied by it. Whether or not it is true, from my uniquely American experience (or lack of), it seems procreation is last on the list of reasons to have sex.

At the moment all I can do is look at it from this outside academic perspective. It's very odd to me that this basic human practice is something I've managed to miss out on for my entire life. And not due to any strict religious reason, or the desire to save myself for my wedding night (did you know that wearing white for a bride was merely a fashion trend in the 19th century? It did not begin as a symbol of purity. Before that brides wore whatever color they wanted! I want to wear red! My parents would murder me!) or even because I wasn't ready. I mean, I wasn't, but when has that ever stopped anyone? It's like I've just been procrastinating. Oh sex? Yeah, yeah, I'll do that later.

Remember that girl who was the first to put her virginity up for sale on ebay? I wonder how I didn't think of doing that. Then I realize a) I'd never go through with it and b) well, a is really all I need isn't it? But then I read that she eventually had sex in a run-down London hotel with a 44 year old man who paid her almost nine thousand pounds. And it makes me sad. I don't actually think either of them did anything wrong, but that gut reaction to a female turning her body into a commodity is fierce. People turn everything else about themselves into commodities, so why not their sexuality?

I don't know. It seems so much of my life, or should I say my sexuality in wait, is this contradiction between my head and heart. On the one hand I feel like I could put my virginity up for sale. Historically speaking, (for me) it really is only tradition and cultural expectations that put such value on it, thus enabling a price to be paid for it. Ok maybe not so much 'up for sale', but just lose it to the next guy who shows any interest. But on the other hand I want to sleep with someone I actually care about. I want it to actually mean something rather than just be an act of pleasure (which it may or may not end up being) between two strangers.

Oddly enough my head usually wins, but in this case I have a feeling it's going to be my heart all the way. Perhaps it's just because my head matured much faster than my heart that it comes out the winner most of the time. Late bloomer could be another alias of mine, but just because I'm late doesn't mean I won't bloom. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

All this came about from taking a look at my little map to the right. I've gotten hits from countries my ignorant self has never even heard of, and I'm astounded that the thoughts of and about my inconsequential self would appeal to so many people. At least pique their interest enough to stop by. Then again, maybe it's just because Virgin is in the title.

At any rate, I hope by sharing my thoughts I bring a little comfort to others who may be in similar situations and not know how to feel about it. Some days I don't think about it at all, some days I think about how silly it all is and some days I wonder how it is I really came to be the way I am. Thoughts I am sure pass through non-virgin minds as well. Could it be we're not so different? After all, everyone around the world is a virgin, no matter how you define it, before they're not. It's definitely a global thing.

A Good Sign?

I recently returned from a business trip.

At least half of the men I met I found attractive.

This is unheard of for me.

UNHEARD OF.

Of course I didn't do a thing about it, #1 because I was busy working, #2 because none of them were from New York and #3 because I'm a gigantic coward.

But still.

There were blondes, brunettes, west coasters, non-americans...

Needless to say it was an amazing trip.

Perhaps I just need to get out of NYC more often?

Home Is As Figurative As The Heart

I woke up the other morning without immediately opening my eyes, and for a split second I thought I was in my bedroom in my childhood home. The wall with the beatles poster was to my right, the dresser with the big, oval mirror was at the end of the bed and the closet was to my left. I could almost hear the birds that used to chirp in the tree outside the window and the clink of dishes downstairs as my mother put them away. And I felt at home. Warm and safe and comfortable.

All that in a split second.

Then I realized where I was. I was still warm and comfortable, but the safe feeling was gone. Not that it was replaced with fear of danger by any means, but I no longer felt home. Since I left my parents' house I've moved from apartment to apartment, mainly to get away from something or someone I disliked, but I suppose in a way I've also been looking for that feeling of home. I've been in the place I'm in now longer than I've ever been anywhere else but it is definitely not home.

Now I think about it and I know that I'll never be able to get that exact feeling back. It's a security blanket from childhood that I no longer need, despite wanting very much. I visit my parents now, and maybe it would be different if they still lived in the house I grew up in, but I don't feel like I'm home when I do. There is certainly the warmth and comfort and maybe even the bit of safety that I feel when I'm with them, but it's nothing like that feeling of waking up in that pink-carpeted, flower wall papered room.

Perhaps it was simply being cared for at a time when I couldn't have possibly protected myself. Perhaps it will simply be being cared for as an adult even though I don't need protecting...the knowledge that someone will be there, for me, with me, by me...It's hard to feel home by yourself.

My next home will be more about the fact that I own it (fingers crossed), than how I feel in it. After that, the best that I can do is recreate what I had as an incredibly lucky kid for my (potential) kid(s) and hope it's something they will remember for split seconds as adults to make them feel good. My search will eventually have to be satisfied by this new creation with a loving husband (fingers crossed) who makes me feel safe and warm and comfortable in a different way. I guess home is mutable, just like everything else. At this point anyway, just enough to keep me searching...

The Results Are In, I'm Still A Virgin!

I received an envelope from my new doctor in the mail today. A postcard with a picture of bright, blooming flowers was tucked discreetly in it. The other side read as follows:

Good News! Your test results were normal/negative.

(X) Pap smear was normal...
(X) Cervical cultures (for gonorrhea and chlamydia) were negative/normal.

The pap smear is a worry for all women no matter what, but gonorrhea? Really? I could have told you I didn't have that. Not that anyone in a Doctor's office would have believed me.

I flashed suddenly on what kind of card I would have gotten if the news was bad.

The News? Not so good. Your test results...well, you've got health problems sister. What have you been doing down there? Call us.

Arms Opened

"Somewhere deep inside your mind
there is a peace that you will find
with or without these arms of mine"
-Beth Wood

I miss the affection of my youth. Having grown up in a household without any at all, my mother made sure my brothers and I were hugged as often as possible. When I was a preteen I went to sleep away camp and learned to hug my friends once I realized I'd miss them terribly after having spent a solid month with them day and night. I began hugging my school friends. Not in a weird way mind you, it does kind of sound that way, but in the normal way of greeting or saying goodbye. They were receptive. For me it was just an expression of how much I cherished them as friends.

I love hugging people. Only now, as an adult, I censor it...even among people I've known for awhile who know that I hug. Sometimes it's out of respect for the other person who may not want to be touched, but mostly because I feel a little awkward about what they must think of me as I rush at them with arms opened. I used to hug people I just met if it was a friend of friend who I'd heard a lot about. Sometimes I still do, but it doesn't come as naturally as it used to. I wonder where along the way I became insecure.

As with everything else regarding being human, affection is so relative it's hard to believe any two people could connect on a similar level. I throw my arms around all of my friends, both when I haven't seen them in a while and when I've just seen them yesterday. It's really the only physical expression of any kind of love in my life so it's often a need, not a formality or habit. Obviously I've never really experienced romantic affection but I have no problem imagining how wonderful it feels and how empty it must feel without it.

I can take it one step further and say it's my only source of physical contact at all. I remember watching Crash and being fascinated at how the characters, despite having people close to them, were all so starved for connections they treated each other horribly just to be able to interact. I spend a lot of time alone but I can't imagine emoting through prejudices, or doing anything out of ordinary really, just to share a brief moment with someone whether it be filled with fear or anger or happiness even. I wanted to tell a woman on the subway the other day that her perfume smelled wonderful but I couldn't bring myself to say it. I don't know why, it would probably have made her feel good as well as me in return. Does that make me repressed? Or merely in control of my emotions with enough connections to people I know that I don't have to interact with strangers?

I don't know what the people I hug think about it...they always hug back so I assume it's ok. I take from it what I can knowing that it's probably more than they do, but that's ok with me.

I found out that someone I know lives with his girlfriend but has another on the side so to speak. A 'friend with benefits' as I was discreetly told on the side. I don't know if they know about each other, but everyone else seems to know about it, and that the one he lives with is the 'main' one. This boggles my mind. I want to ask him how he feels about each of them. Is he sleeping with the non-main one just to switch it up? Or does he feel connected to both of them in different ways? Is it just a pleasure thing, aka sex as a crash of sorts, or is there an actual need for more than one of that type of physical connection? Maybe it's a guy thing? Maybe it's QV thing to be amazed at what for some people is hardly worth mentioning? Oddly enough, I haven't judged him. At least, I don't feel differently about him knowing this. I'm really just curious as to why he does it.

But I don't have anyone I can just hug for no reason. Hug for a long length of time without it being weird. Hug just to feel someone's arms around me. I miss it. So when I do get to hug, I hug tight. And as childish as it is, the tighter I hug, the more I like you. It's just the way I am. So something I'm really looking forward to when someone finally breaks through...are the hugs. (Oddly enough I don't think I'll be a snuggler in bed...however, he better damn well wrap his arms around me every other chance he gets.) It all makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

It's Ok To Peek!

Still here...just, well, haven't been motivated to write a lot lately. I suppose it's a good thing considering I seem to only write when feeling down or something stressful has happened. But on the other hand there are still times I want to write but don't know what to say considering I've pretty much beaten this dead horse well into its next life. On the third hand, I have been keeping with the positive thinking and though it may sound ridiculous, or only all in my head, I feel like I've been benefiting in small, maybe subtle ways, but benefiting nevertheless.

This post would fall under the stressful event kind I suppose. I went back to the GYN (because self-peeking is a lot less invasive than an actual self-exam.) My second appointment ever. Oddly enough I didn't feel that stressed the night before or that morning even, but that could have been because I was worrying instead about the bunch of guys that were supposed to come in the AM to fix the many things wrong with this hell hole I call an apartment.

Anyway, I made it to the appointment on time, only to end up waiting for an hour while 5 other women who arrived after me went in. This was a new doctor as the first one I went to retired (seriously, could I have more trouble with this whole issue?) so I decided this time to go to a female. I had no idea what to expect from her office, but I should have known Murphy's law would somehow play a part. I was pretty good at not completely psyching myself out though, so by the time I finally got to meet her in her office I was still somewhat relaxed.

She seemed a little rushed when she came in, but I didn't feel like she rushed me. We went through the usual barrage of questions, each one making me feel more and more like the goodiest goody two shoes that ever lived: smoke? no. drink? no. drugs? no. pregnant before? no. std's? no. sexually active? no. (I like how the pregnant/std questions came before sexually active one.) I had practiced in my head cracking a dumb virgin joke somewhere in there, or even just jumping the gun and saying 'never been', but she beat me to it. have you ever been? all I could say was no. I'm sure I was smiling broadly throughout this entire interview because that's what I do when I'm nervous.

Unlike my previous male doctor she didn't have any reaction. Not that that was any part of my being nervous but I'm always fascinated by people's reactions (the few I've witnessed anyway). Also unlike my male doctor she didn't tell me to tell the nurses that I would need the white speculum, like I was some kind of vaginal special needs patient. Within the first 5 minutes of talking with her I realized just how inappropriate the other doctor was.

Just so it's clear, I'm not trying to say don't go to a male GYN, just that in retrospect choosing this specific older male doctor wasn't the best idea for me. He was obviously on the verge of retiring and didn't have the greatest bedside manner, though he was nice enough when we spoke.

During my appointment with the new doctor I told her I wanted to start birth control (thinking 'because I'd like to start having sex eventually' but stating the real boring reason of regulating my period instead) and she explained everything in a quick but complete way. Most of it I know of course, being almost 30 I should by now whether or not I partake, but it was nice to have a doctor explain.

Her examination and the pap smear definitely felt very different and more painful than the last one. it lead me to wonder what the last doctor actually did, or if he did anything at all. My inexperience obviously speaks for itself by saying that, but there it is. He didn't warn me that I would bleed after the appointment, she went so far as to give me liner and tell me it's normal and not to worry. Overall she was gentle and kind and I will definitely go back...maybe even dread it a little less. Maybe.

I definitely felt that I wasn't my usual self, remaining mostly quiet without the self-deprecation, and I think that probably lent to the kind of quiet, good girl impression I probably gave her. Of course, I couldn't possibly know what impression she had of me, but on her way out almost as an afterthought she said, "it was nice to meet you," and smiled. I replied in same and wondered briefly if she said that to all her patients, or if (letting the cynic take over) I was the first older virgin she'd ever examined.

I have never felt righteous about being a virgin, the term itself meaning something different to everyone anyway, until I walked by a group of bible beaters on the way home from the appointment. I've passed them and their big cardboard bible quotes many times before, but for some reason this time I thought angrily to myself, "I'm more pure than any of you people will ever be." I don't know where it came from or why I thought it but I did. I don't even know what to think about the fact that I thought it. I'm not even sure it makes sense. Does anything I think really?

Thought Process

I think D has given up on me. I've emailed him a few times but he hasn't responded. I figure one of the following must have happened:

-He's incredibly busy (which has usually been true in the past) and either doesn't have time or keeps forgetting to write back.
-He's met someone and either feels guilty for keeping up a friendship with someone he used to have feelings for, or she alerted him to how silly it is to keep up a friendship with someone he used to have feelings for.
-He still has feelings for me and is tired of keeping up a friendship on the off chance it might lead to something again. Especially since we live thousands of miles apart and only email once a month if that.

I don't know. Maybe it's for the best. I can't really say that I miss him since our modes of communication are limited and we only actually use them every once in a while. But still, it's nice to check in with an old friend occassionally.

I had a little breakdown a few weeks ago. The first one in a long time...something like 2 years. I pretty much just cried and cried and cried until I realized I wouldn't stop unless I called someone. There were a couple people I could have called, but I didn't really want to call anyone. I finally picked up the phone and called the one person I knew would not only be there for me, but would be happy that I called. It bothers her that I don't often reach out for help when she knows I can make myself suffer.

Anyway, we talked, I cried, she listened, I repeated myself and was self-deprecating, she was supportive and positive. I felt better after we hung up, and I knew it was mostly because I had talked and not kept bottling. After all, it was a buildup of a couple years. The sadness lingered for a few days but eventually it was pushed aside. It was all about the same thing of course...being alone, not being able to open up, wondering why I haven't met one single person in the last 8 years that has sparked any kind of feeling in me whatsoever, how it is that I can be totally happy alone and yet still yearn for company...yes, all the same turmoil I usually harp on when I fall into the sadness spiral.

But the difference is this time, I've been promising myself things with the actual intent to follow through. Change. Being open to experiences. Opening my heart. Looking to find, hoping to be found.

It's all about thought process...I've always known that. The trouble was altering mine.

Maybe now that I'm finally changing channels my vision will clear.

My Sign (Allegedly) Says Stop

QV: Why don't you come visit for a week and help me find an apartment?
Mom: Don't you want something outside the city? A little house?
QV: If I get a little house I'll need a little car. If I get a little car I'll need a little insurance-
M: But don't you want one?
QV: Eventually I guess. When I meet someone-
M: Then meet someone! Get married! Put up a sign! Man Wanted: gentle, intelligent-
QV: Yes I need a checklist. That will make them come a'knockin'-
M: Well do something!
QV: Anyway, I thought you said I was already wearing a sign-
M: Yeah it says keep away! Hands off!

Hooray!

I had a sex dream!
And in that sex dream, I actually had sex!
Not almost. We were not interrupted . I didn't stop myself.
Though I'm pretty sure he was disproportionately large, we did it!
He was wearing a pink condom!
What could all this mean?

"Tastes like a rainbow"

Finally saw Knocked Up, if only because I heard it was hilarious from 4 different people who get my sense of humor. Overall I enjoyed it, but only after I put aside my disbelief at a number of things...namely (if you haven't seen it, don't keep reading...I don't know if what I'm about to say spoils anything so I'm just putting the warning out) not that she sleeps with him, as a friend of mine said she totally didn't believe, but that she falls for him. It's a movie granted, and he does change (interestingly enough I just realized I made assumptions about her changing based solely on being pregnant, and not on her behavior as I did his) I just don't think it would happen. I know, what an optomist. I'm not saying things couldn't work out, just that love may not be part of the picture.

Anyway, the point of this is I actually didn't identify with her at all, despite the fact that I'm also a single, working professional woman that just got promoted and have in the past few weeks gone out and gotten toasted. Well, as toasted as possible before the allergy kicked in and prevented any further consumption. Maybe the fact that I can't get drunk enough to lose all my inhibitions and have sex with someone ended my ability to empathize with her, but realistically it's probably the whole open heart thing. Because who I did identify with was her sister's husband. Her sister's husband.

Maybe if I eat some shrooms it will lead to some kind of behavior altering revelation and I can get on with my life.