Text Sex?

I despise talking on the phone. I sound like a 5 year old, I’m bad at making conversation, and to be quite honest just find the whole ordeal of telephone conversations to be awkward. Then cell phones come out. And the text message right along with it. And suddenly phone-phobes like me have a way around it! The TEXT, you heavenly function you. No longer must we make awkward conversation with people we don’t want to talk to! The phone rings, you leave a voicemail. I text you back. We text. Happy ending for all. Same goes for sex.

Wait. Sex? Text Sex?

Yup, it’s true, Text Sex. Sext. what ever you wish to call it is apparently taking over the world. While talking to BikerBoy last night, he informs me that he is “hard as a rock while thinking of doing me.” Am I the only one who finds it completely strange? That you are typing these messages of hot steamy moments you desire, sending them out, over wavelengths or however text messages travel, only to be recieved in the phone of (hopefully) the one you are desiring, hoping that they are alone?

Is that considered sexy?

And more importantly, is sext a downgrade or an upgrade from phone sex?

Maybe i’m in the minority here, but I don’t find anything sexy about it. It doesn’t turn me on. It doesn’t make me want to run to your house and jump into your bed. In fact, it makes me feel slightly skeevy. Especially since we haven’t even met. but even then.

God willing, when Mr. Right (now or forever, i’m not picky) his idea of foreplay and/or romance will be more than a couple of raunchy text messages.

The Plan

The best way I know to change something you despise about yourself is to just do it. Now unfortunately, my many qualms with my body and looks won’t go away over night, and that is what I consider to be the source of much of my unhappiness.

You see, my senior year of college, I decided I was sick of being the “fat one.” So I decided to lose weight and I did, 65 pounds in 9 months. I dropped multiple sizes, and though the curves I desire didn’t show up, I was content with how I looked semi-naked.

And then I moved home.

And I gained back the whole 65 that I lost…And I am as miserable as ever.

So i’ve decided it’s time to say good bye to the pudge for good. (hopefully.)

Before I turn 24, I WILL relose the 65 I’ve regained PLUS another 20.

all leading me to the ultimate goal of finding The One and losing my virginity.

although it doesn’t necessarily have to be in that order.

Just saying.

Reality? No Check...

When I was 10, I wrote a letter to myself, to be read when I turned 21. I figured, according to my calculations, that I would be just graduating college (that mythical place that I always dreamed about) and my life as a real person would begin. I wrote it, thinking that I would never forget about it. But I did and 21 came and went, with out me reading this very important letter addressed to “Ms. Grown-up Girl.”
But shortly before my 23rd birthday, I stumbled across it in a stack of old report cards and other forgotten papers. I read it. And it sent me into a tizzy. At 10, when I pictured my 20s, I saw myself married, with children, and a job that I loved. I even included pictures cut from my American Girl Magazine and Teen Beat of the things that I would have in my life. What my husband would look like, what my kids would look like.
What a dreamer.
Clearly, at 10, 21 is a lot older than it actually is. However, reading the thoughts of my 10 year old self with 23 year old eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder how I ended up here, so far away from who I wanted to be. No boyfriend, no dream job, and definitely no kids. It seemed like I had moved home after graduation and put my life on pause for a while, although I guess time never got the memo.
And so, I took action. Since turning 23 two months ago, I’ve:
applied to graduate school
quit my job
been unable to start said graduate school
relocated 3 hours away from my family anyway
continued to job hunt in this craptastic economy
gone on more bad first dates than I ever thought possible.

…in that order.

Not to mention that I:
haven’t had a real relationship since high school
am unqualified for any job that a really want
and have come to accept that I am not the heinous creature i’ve always seen when i looked in the mirror, but still hate my boxy pot-bellied curveless body anyway

oh, and the clincher? at 23, I have yet to lose my virginity. a real sore spot in my side. Probably one of the things that bothers me most in life.

This has to change. I need to hit the play button back on my life. These are supposed to be some of the best years of my life, and I am squandering them away while I wait for life to sweep me up.

And thus has begun what I have dubbed my pre-quarterlife crisis.