It's better to be looked over than overlooked.
This poor old blog has been a bit of a neglectarooni lately so today I thought I'd bitch about my love life just to push you right over the edge.
I don't know what it is with me and the guys, you know. It is like there are two types of guys out there - the normal, sane kind - and I know they exist, I've worked with heaps of guys and they are all sane (well most of them) - and the crazed fools I end up meeting. I still haven't worked out if I just attracted the loons or if there is something in my dna that makes guys act a bit insane when they get a whiff of romantic involvement around me. But lately even the crazed loons have been thin on the ground.
All I know is that it is extremely difficult to write about sex when the closest you get to it is having some dude knock against you on a crowded peak hour train. Recently I've been feeling about as sexually desirable as a wet Chux. Maybe less, cos there is probably a whole swag of guys out there with wet Chux fetishes. Those wet Chuxes are probably being banged like there's no tomorrow *sob*.
I used to get chatted up once. Really I did. Guys would want to buy me drinks and would do that 'I'm more interested in talking about you than I am about the footy score' thing that guys fake when they want to sex you. They did. I remember it.
Now I don't even get a second look. Phttt. I don't even get a first look. I don't even get checked out by the dirty old men that sit on the bench outside Liquorland at Footscray Plaza.
The mojos gone, people. And there wasn't a lot of mojo there to begin with.
Maybe I'm sliding into middle age with all anonimity that brings. It's scary to think that this could be the rest of my life. I should get a hobby, maybe breeding some type of small dog.
I think I need to buy me a push up bra and a low cut shirt and a bottle of hard liquor.