An Inventory

Spurred on by a random diary I stumbled upon, I have decided to take stock of my "assets" so to speak. By that I mean all of my potential, viable, and hanging-by-a-thread potential non-relationships. By non-relationships I mean people who only interest me in sexual terms or in general terms of intrigue. I’m listing them as a way to understand what’s going on, to try to find common themes. To try to ascertain what the fuck is up with guys in this city.

The Enemy: Works for opposing counsel, tried to fight me on the phone about my client’s compliance, met me in person, was instantly much more agreeable. We flirted shamelessly in front of bitter staff members, he said he wants to blow this popsicle stand and become a fire fighter. Say no more. His smile. My god. I suddenly realized how fucking delicious he was. Being sworn enemies could make for awesome, awesome sex. He disappears from the face of the earth… medical leave… who does that? Comes back, we never get a chance to reconnect. I think about calling him at work… but it feels awkward. We had such a smooth, easy thing going and it got interrupted, I didn’t know how to regroup. I saw him a couple times as he was being devoured by attorneys with sharp teeth and I had places to be. Afraid there will be no reason to bump into him again before I leave. I see him in my dreams he’s so sexy. Sexy, a little simple, a little street. Yum.

The Doctor: As evidenced in a previous entry, there was plenty intent, plenty chemistry, just not fucking timing. This is the hardest city to coordinate a hook up in. I swear. We texted with the worst synchronicity ever. He’s borderline nocturnal. I’m not willing to sacrifice my sleep for a good fuck. Yet. Yet. We had the sexual connection, love of Lil Wayne, good vocabulary in common. That was enough for me. I was ready to call in his offer to bring me a bottle of whisky. He’s fallen asleep a couple times mid-plan. Fucking doctors and their double shifts and saving of lives. I persevered for a while and still may because, to be disgustingly honest, this is a particular notch I do not yet have on my belt, it’s a story I don’t have to tell. Hmm.. sensing a thematic connection. I’m turned on by careers…

The Bouncer: Super sexy. Funny. Sexy. Tall. Oh so tall. Did I say sexy? All those chicks hating that night and he ignored them, all of them. He knew what he wanted. That I found oh so hot. We texted. Spoke randomly. Another issue of the night-men. He works two jobs. He called me absolutely when he could. At random, 10:30 in the morning when I’m walking to court. he was sick. He didn’t care, he wanted to let me know he was still there. timing, timing, fucking timing. This is the problem with meeting men at 3am. They kind of expect you to be around at that time all the time. Eff. Sexy.

The Russian:An ex-boxer, sports writer, tall adorable Russian. Funny and snarky. Calls me on my shit. Downside: he’s all relationship-y. Like wants a family relationship-y. Yuck. Can’t we just fuck? Who knows. I haven’t inquired as to the fluidity of his standards for a "relationship" 😉 How many guys would really turn sex down? We’ll see. My issue is that I don’t often put that out front unless it’s obviously, drunkenly the reason we started talking. I just finagle my way to it, dodge the "liking" that often ensues, slip the compliments and the romance. I make it work. I can make it work with him too.

Mac-a-licious: Oh coworker. Oh married/at minimum committed coworker. He smells like someone you just want to throw on a bed or at least push up against a wall. He’s tall, and thick, and beautiful. So sweet and helpful. And I just stand there for minutes at a time staring at him pretending to not know something so I can stand there a little longer. It’s a little pitiful and so not powerfully feminine of me to linger and make up reasons to be around him. I don’t care. it makes my day go by faster. Gives me something to smile about, look forward to. No harm in that. Men objectify women and take pleasure in seeing them, being around them all the time. No shame in my game. And if he ever, ever EVER broke up with that girlfriend/wife/whatever she is, it would be on. On like donkey kong.

The Attorney: He works for the other side. Fights for the devil and looks like an italian light skinned cuban freddie prince jr. Stands up there and shoots down what we do with such balls, god it’s fucking hot. And the suits. Jesus. They’re all ridiculous. They all wear Armani. Gucci. Sex on a stick. something about an oppositional, confident man. Something about fighting with him. I see him from afar. There have been a few instances of contact and they always feel electric.

The Warm and Fuzzies: The boys in my program. Oy vey. There are few things hotter than strong opinionated men who understand what my job, my passion is about. These are dangerous, I see them get emotional about their clients, I watch them adorably grapple with issues I feel I have a good grasp on. They are dangerous because despite my pure and unadulterated certainty that I DO NOT WANT RELATIONSHIP, I could totally fall for that. I almost did last semester. One of them, a little anxious, talking about his clients, then talking about rock concerts, I almost proposed. **sucker**. I shy away from these. Could be way too complicated but could be a lot of fun. I can’t imagine having sex with someone who knows what projective identification is. Nerdy hot.

So we have the concrete sexual possibilities, the far-off fantasies, and the dangerously real. From this I have gathered that there is no shortage of intrigue in my life, and yet NOTHING is happening. I’ve found countless excuses, reasons not to after being given many wide open doors. Missed opportunities, ball dropped. Ha. Being in relationships for so many years perhaps I never figured out how to navigate such a rich, wide world of opportunity. I am so down to figure it out though. Finally the owner of this life, of these options. Finally tied down by no one, no thing. I think I just woke up to the fact that this is all me, mine. Going to embrace the rain 🙂