100 Days

I have an announcement to make. Starting today I will be celibate for 100 days. I will be blogging about my journey here.

If this seems completely out of the blue, I assure you that it's actually not. This is an idea I've been toying with for awhile and a few of my good friends have been urging me to go forward with it. After a number of dating disasters and the realization that sex has been playing an unhealthy role in my life, this seems like the absolute perfect time for my little social experiment.

In other words no one thing or person led to this decision, but rather a multitude of factors and experiences led me open to trying this and seeing if I learn anything about myself. I'm a very sexual person, which I make no excuses for. I've certainly gone 100 days without sex before (I'm no stranger to the "dry spell"), but I've never willingly deprived myself of it. I honestly cannot remember the last time I went 100 days without any kind of sexual content.

Here are the rules and regulations, courtesy of one of my trust celibacy sponsors, Miss Kira Stockdale.

CHELSIBACY (as of 12.04.09)

Mission: Chelsea Holland will remain celibate for a period of 100 days, beginning Friday December 4, 2009 and ending Saturday March 13, 2010. Sexual activity may officially resume on Sunday, March 14, 2010 at 12:00 am. The goal of CHELSIBACY is for Chelsea B. Holland to learn more about herself and those she may date without the implication of sex in her life.

Rules:

• No sexual intercourse with a man or woman.
• No oral/anal sex.
• No hand jobs, fingering or mutual masturbation.
• No heavy petting or dry humping, with or without clothes.
• No nudity in the presence of someone of the opposite sex.
• No shared showers.
• No watching porn alone or in the presence of others.
• No sleepovers with someone of the opposite sex, unless this is with a group or with a long-term friend (preferably gay male) that you’ve never slept with.
• No vibrators.
• **Chelsea MUST admit to the breaking of any rules!
• CBH must remind herself that Taylor Swift is celibate too and use this as a motivating device.

Exceptions:

• Kissing is allowed. All varieties of kisses accepted, as long as it stays above the shoulders.
• Self pleasure is allowed.
• Warm embraces, cuddles, and holding hands are a-okay!
• Dating is allowed, but limited to 2-3 dates per week, per SLB and KRS recommendations.

Consequences:

• For each act of intercourse, oral sex, anal sex, hand job, fingering, mutual masturbation, heavy petting or dry humping Chelsea B. Holland shall pay a sum of $40 to Sonya E.A. Le Brun and Kira R. Stockdale. CBH must be open to suggestions to prevent this from happening again and take measure to implement these suggestions. Subsequent acts during CHELSIBACY as those outlined above will be subject to an additional $20 fee for the 2^nd offense, $30 fee for the 3^rd offense and so on at $10 increments ad infinitum.

• Nudity, shared showers, porn, and/or sleepovers shall be subject to a $30 fine to SEALB and KRS for the first offense during CHELSIBACY. Subsequent offenses of this degree shall be subject to an additional $10 fee for the 2^nd offense, $20 fee for the 3^rd offense and so on at $10 increments ad infinitum. CBH must be open to suggestions to prevent future offenses and take measures to implement them.

So yes, this has the potential to be a very expensive experiment. And lest you think my blog will be less interesting without any crazy sex stories, I'm hoping that this will teach me that there's a lot more to me than a high libido and a knack for hilariously awkward sexual situations.

If you guys get REALLY desperate for a funny sex anecdote, I'm sure I can recycle one from my sordid past.

So.....thoughts? Messages of support? Sighs of frustration? (I'm looking at YOU straight boys who lurk on this blog!)

3/13/10. May it be a day worthy of celebration. :)

Friends with Benefits does NOT include medical

This one comes with a warning. Ooh, I love warnings- they present the threat of danger and they just make me want to do whatever I'm being warned about THAT MUCH MORE!!

Consider yourself warned. This blog entry involves sexytimes and I've tried to make the details as minimal and tasteful as possible, while not taking away from any of the essential bits that make a story a story.

If you know me, you may know that one of my biggest fears is dying in a sex-related injury. An SRI, if you will (this is my favorite of two pseudo-medical terms I use frequently- the other being "UDI" which stands for "unidentified drunken injury.") This fear is second only to the fear that I will be mistaken by a pedophile while I'm wearing a backpack and no makeup and I won't be able to find my ID to prove to him that I'm 25 not 14. I'm sure the fact that it's a Hannah Montana backpack won't help my case.

I, like many of you, have had my share of SRIs over the years. Thankfully, no serious ones. Most are pretty standard- who hasn't slammed their head against a headboard or a wall? I've been elbowed in the face, accidentally thrown off the bed (thankfully not a bunk bed), had the wind literally knocked out of me (hurts like a mother), and gotten bruises of all shapes, sizes and colors. I've pulled more muscles during the throes of passion than I did back when I played competitive sports. But I've never landed in the hospital. The same cannot be said for all of my sexual partners.

Yes, I have finally sent a man into the emergency room. When he first texted me to this effect, I was mortified. Then I found it hilarious. And finally, I found myself with a warm feeling that I recognized as pride.

Is there something seriously wrong with me? How could I possibly be proud of myself for contributing to a serious injury? My ego apparently knows no bounds.

It's not like I get off on hurting people- far from it. But there is something about knowing that a man nearly literally broke his back to please you that is a little bit....flattering.

I've always worried that I'm too much for people. Too much personality, too demanding, too stubborn, too loud, too dramatic, too opinionated, too passionate. Too randy? The fear has crossed my mind. Most guys would say that there's no such thing...but most guys also haven't ended up with a herniated disc after a one-night stand.

I was once talking with some people at my old job about sex (this was a frequent topic of conversation at the workplace- a bit unsettling when you remember that we were surrounded by dead bodies.)I was describing a favorite position that can best be described as "acrobatic". My coworker vocalized his fear that I was going to fall and break my neck one of these days. He suggested that I tell potential lovers "Yo, before we get too freaky, I think you should know that I don't have health insurance."

Funny, yes, but maybe also a bit true. Should I make men sign a release form prior to getting down? Something to free myself of any legal responsibility for injuries incurred? In this day and age when people sue McDonald's because they're fat, should I cover all my bases before rounding any?

Or should I just realize that sex is an experience in which one gives up complete control, and as a result you've got to take the bitter with the sweet? I think at the end of the day, I'd rather screw with such reckless abandon that we both risk personal injury than have timid vanilla sex that barely affects your body, either positively or negatively. I believe that most of my partners have felt the same. Even ER Boy is at a place where he can laugh about it. AND he wants to see me again when he's feeling better. I'll have to think about it. I've got to hand it to the guy for putting in so much effort, but honestly- I didn't feel we were particularly physically compatible. The fact that he landed in the hospital is possible further evidence of this. We may not be the best fit, and that's okay. It's all a learning experience, and while this was my first time back in the saddle (pun intended) after a bout with celibacy, I'm not going to take it as a sign that I should just give up and take a vow of chastity. There are plenty of fish in the sea or some such cliche, and I look forward to finding someone who challenges me both in and outside of the bedroom.

Besides, I totally have health insurance now. ;)

"It's not me.....it's you"

So I've been a bad blogger. I went AWOL. The truth is, I was intimidated to blog after my last post. Not that I think my last post (about how romantic comedies ruin one's ability to be in a relationship) was super brilliant and is the sort of insightful entry that should get me a book deal or anything. I wait, I do think that. I'm so vain. I probably think this blog is about me.

Those of you who know me well (or really at all, for that matter) know that fall is my absolute favorite season. This has a lot to do with the fact that it's the season of my favorite holiday, Halloween. But there's also something about the crisp air, the changing leaves, the seasonal drinks at Starbucks, and bundling up in cozy layers that I find somewhat...romantic.

This weekend I got my fall clothes out, and was postively giddy as I unfolded my chunky sweaters. I've got an awesome coat, a cute hat, cable sweaters, argyle socks, and comfy boots. There is however one major accessory I'm lacking this fall- a cute boy to cuddle with.

Truth be told, I can't remember the last fall season where I didn't have someone I could call on a chilly autumn evening for movies, tea and spoonage. It's possibly been years. This year, as I find myself without prospects, crushes or even single guy friends who can indulge my snugglesluttiness, I am super lonely. This weather has me wanting love more tangible. Note to readers, listening to Bright Eyes in cold weather while you're depressed about being single does NOT make you feel better. In case you were considering it.

Can I possibly be so shallow that the main reason I want a boyfriend is because it's cold outside and I simply have a physical need for the warmth of another person's body? I'm finding myself hating every couple that I see these days- kissing on a near-empty subway car, stopping to take a picture in front of an obscurish NY landmark, or holding hands at a charming Park Slope coffee shop. These are the sort of things that usually make me go "aww" on the inside- despite the jaded exterior that I've worked so hard on. Heh. Hard on.

I don't seem to be the type of girl that men want a relationship with. This isn't self pity talking. I'm going on history here. Most of my "relationships" have been of a purely physical nature. Sometimes this was because the person I was sleeping with wasn't very interesting, so I never bothered to try and take it to an emotional level. Sometimes they were very interesting, but they had some sort of fatal flaw that made them undateable in my eyes. And sometimes, they were people that I loved very, very much. People who made me want to forget all my cynicism and just jump headfirst into something beautiful. And yet- inevitably, these people did not share my same desire.

You have no idea how many times I've heard the "I just can't be in a relationship right now because I'm not ready" speech. So many different men. So many different reasons for their broken state. I think it's time that I faced something that isn't easy to face without becoming a bit depressed and discouraged. It's not that these people just couldn't be in a relationship. It's that they just couldn't be in a relationship with ME. And I've done the whole "it's their loss, 'cuz I'm awesome!" thing. I can repeat that over and over again like a mantra, but when am I going to start actually believing it? How many times can you get the "It's not you, it's me" speech before you wake up and realize that it may just be you.

Last winter I fell very hard for someone despite my brain consistently trying to tell me that I should keep one foot on the ground. As usual, I ignored common sense, warnings, and signs that perhaps I should be a little more cautious. I allowed myself to get more and more swept away and I convinced myself that this was going to be a legitimate relationship "someday". But that day never came for us. I can remember the night that I realized it never would. This person had once called me, drunk from a party. It was back in the butterflies stage, where his 2am call wasn't annoying it was endearing. He slurrily confessed his feelings for me and said the following: "Do you think the day will come when we're at a bar surrounded by our friends and I give you a long kiss and then dip you because I'm just so proud to be with you?" It was probably said a lot more eloquently than that- I don't have the same way with words. But that was the jist of it. I longed for that day to come, possibly more than this person could have ever guessed.

About a month later, a mutual friend invited me out for drinks. I knew the object of my affection would be there, and I couldn't wait to see him despite having seen him two days before (yes, I was THAT girl.) I arrived at the bar. He didn't get up to greet me. He spent the next 20 minutes or so ignoring me. There aren't words to describe how crushed my heart felt. It was then that I knew. There was no showing me off, or kissing me in front of his friends or being "SO proud to be with me". I was to be kept behind closed doors. My heart was positively broken.

So I did what I do best. I got drunk and belligerent and sabotaged everything. My heart broke all over again when he told me he couldn't see me anymore, but I don't know why that is. Things weren't going anywhere anyway. I finally realize that.

As I've watched (from a distance) this person date other girls, I can't help but have noticed (through facebook stalking) that he seems to have no problem with treating these other girls the way that I longed to be treated. Like a girl that you like so much you can't wait to introduce her to your friends. It wasn't him. It was definitely me.

And today, as I'm trying to rebuild some type of friendship with this person, I wonder if I can truly be friends with somebody who I felt so emotionally rejected by. I've blamed myself countless times for the reason we were doomed as lovers. I've told myself it was the drinking, the yelling, the neediness, the drama. I've cursed myself for letting such a great guy get away from me. But then I think back on that night at the bar. Back when things were still good, and there hadn't been countless nights of drama. When I saw him disregard me. I regret many of my actions, but I think the ending would have stayed the same.

Which begs the question- what was wrong with me? Was I not pretty enough, not smart enough, not interesting enough, not mature enough? Why am I good enough to be intimate with but not good enough to introduce to your friends? Why am I always the "close friend" and never the "girlfriend"? Furthermore, why am I the friend you can sleep with but not date?

I hope to be back to normal soon, making witty observations, pop culture references and taking jabs at the people who piss me off. I'm just not myself these days. The other day I received a BEAUTIFUL message from somebody who expressed their huge crush on me. It was flattering beyond words, but I told the person that I am simply broken. Oh how the tables have turned. Maybe life really is a series of being broken by people who in turn were broken by those who came before you. And you in turn will continue the sort of negative "pay it forward" by breaking someone else in return.

I hate to be a cynic. Please, someone, someday- prove me wrong?

If you REALLY loved me, you'd hold a boombox over your head!

I went to go see "The Time Traveler's Wife" the other day. I'm sure it's not a very good movie, but I can't really speak of it critically. You see, dear readers, despite my near-flawless taste in the arts, I do have one guilty pleasure that I rarely speak of. And no I'm not talking about my affinity for Italian zombie films or 80's slasher films or even Lifetime movies starring Tori Spelling. I feel no guilt where those are concerned. Those are just AWESOME.

I'm referring to my love for romantic weepies. Give me a film with lush cinematography, pretty people and circumstances that prevent the lovers from being happy together and I will sit transfixed, tears streaming down my face throughout its entirety. Perhaps it says something about my personal life that I'm a sucker for movies about doomed love affairs. I'd prefer not to delve too deeply into that.

However as much as I can't get enough of these tear-jerkers, there is another kind of romantic chick flick that I can hardly stomach. The romantic comedy. Now sure, of course I realize that there are exceptions to the rule. I love "When Harry Met Sally". "Annie Hall". "Love Actually". A well-written, well-acted romantic comedy can be a very joyous experience. Unfortunately, these are few and far between these days. Instead we get things like "Failure To Launch", "Fool's Gold" and "The Ugly Truth".

And the poor quality of these screenplays isn't the only thing that bothers me. I actually believe that these films can be psychologically damaging to people looking to be in functional relationships. And as luck would have it, there is a psychological study to back me up! Check it out: http://www.popmatters.com/pm/column/69953-rated-xoxo/

A friend of mine once remarked that porn has ruined sex for women. She asked me how she was ever supposed to be "enough" for her partner after all the explicit images he's been exposed to over the years in movies and on the internet. I'll admit I find that argument a bit ridiculous. I think most guys would agree that a living, breathing woman who you can actually touch and who can actually touch you is always better than watching a movie about other people having sex. However, I think there's something to be said for the fact that porn may perhaps get our partners to EXPECT more of us. Not that I expect the pizza boy to be ready to go whenever he makes a delivery to my apartment, mind you. And I don't think any of the guys I've been with expected me to have fake breasts and an orange tan. But there are certain sexual acts that...seem to be more readily expected in the age of Internet porn. I have heard stories about friends being subjected to some shockingly kinky things on the first date. I know girls who have been slapped in the face during sex before a safety word has even been established! Has porn taught men to expect a certain level of behavior? Is it up to us ladies to step our game up?

These are exactly the same questions that I have of the romantic comedy, allowing for gender reversal. It is my belief that rom-coms (and GOD do i hate that term) can make women have somewhat deluded ideas about what to expect from menfolk. And that these men, in turn, are unfairly made to feel that they can't live up to the fictional "perfect man" who is portrayed on screen. Chuck Klosterman has an essay in "Sex Drugs and Cocoa Puffs" where he talks about how John Cusack ruined his relationships. He may be onto something. I know a lot of girls who are looking in vain for their Lloyd Dobbler. I mean, I've known some boys who really liked me but none of them ever stood outside my window with a boom box blasting Peter Gabriel. (Note to boys who like me: If you should ever want to try this tactic, you may have more luck with "Africa" by Toto.)

Of course, "Say Anything" happens to be one of the good ones. The latest version of the romantic comedy is filled with cliche upon cliche. Stop me if you've heard this one before. There's a beautiful woman who is super successful in her career but has "never given herself time for love". She meets a man who can get any woman he wants, but doesn't want to committ to any of them. This smart, successful woman is then reduced to several embarrassing situations which the audience cringes at, but which somehow makes her more endearing to her leading man. of course we find out that he's not REALLY a player but is just a misunderstood soul who was hurt very badly in the past and has been afraid to get close to anyone. And then the two of them make googly eyes for a while, until there's some kind of misunderstanding which drives them apart. In the end, their quirky sidekick "best friends" devise some master plan to get the lovebirds back in the same room together. Sparks fly, apologies abound and they live happily ever after. Sometimes, if we're really lucky, their respective best friends get together too! It's like a Shakespeare play, everyone pairs off and we're supposed to leave the theater feeling the warm-fuzzies. Or, you know, suicidal.

And it's not just the lighter fare that might be causing us to have unrealistic hopes. I actually know of someone who broke up with her boyfriend after seeing "The Notebook" because "her boyfriend would never do that for her." Do what for her exactly? Break up with her and then wait until she's happily engaged to someone else SEVEN YEARS LATER before telling her he still loves her? Don't even get me started on these Twilight fan girls who are all a-flutter over Edward Cullen. Maybe someday those girls will realize that jealousy is not love, it's a control tactic.

Admittedly, I'm playing devil's advocate here a little bit. I know what my friend was talking about with "The Notebook". She wanted her boyfriend to do "The Grand Gesture". Don't we all in some way? I've never wanted anyone to go so far as to build me a house, but there are a couple of men from my past that I certainly wish had fought for me a little harder.

But maybe I'll have to wait seven years until I'm engaged to someone else for them to express their undying love. ;)

Bikram gets me hot

Hello friends and stalkers. I have a little something to tell you. You see, I've become one of those obnoxious people. You know, the ones who can't wait to tell you about how yoga has changed their life.

I used to mock those people incessantly. I've always had an issue with people who tried to shove their "healthy lifestyle" down my throat. People who talked about detoxifying cleanses and gluten-free diets. Don't even get me started on vegans (yes, eating animals is bad....but NO ONE takes my cheese from me!) These people tended to make me feel like a garbage eater whose body might as well have had deadly poison flowing through my veins given all the toxins I was consuming. I don't like to feel guilty, and healthy people made me feel that way.

But no longer. I have drank the Kool-Aid ladies and gentlemen. Bikram yoga has helped me see the light. I now am one of those permanently perky wackadoos who talks about "rejuvenation" and "healthy circulation" and yes, "ridding my body of toxins". After my first Bikram class, I seriously felt as though I had shed an entire layer of skin. I was like a caterpillar, busting out of my cocoon to become a beautiful butterfly.

Err, well, at least that's how it seems to me now that I look back on it. At the time, I was feeling less like a beautiful butterfly and more like a Raisin. I felt that I, much like a grape left out in the sun, had shriveled up into a dry, wrinkled thing that bore little resemblance to my former self. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Bikram yoga, it is a specific style of yoga that is conducted in rooms that are heated somewhere between 105 and 110 degrees Fahrenheit.

I didn't tell anybody I was going to Bikram before my first time. I didn't want anybody to volunteer to go with me, so that I could have the freedom to back out at any time. I was both intrigued and petrified of the concept. I don't particularly like hot weather and I'm particularly sensitive to humidity. I become overheated often, and even waiting in the subway station can sometimes feel like being condemned to the tenth circle of hell. I also have a tendency to pass out pretty easily. I was fairly convinced that I was going to faint as soon as I walked into the heated room.

I didn't. What I did do was sign a release form. This is where the true panic set in. I'm the kind of person who can't read the "potential side effects" of medications because I will begin to feel ALL of them within a matter of seconds. I'm also forbidden to go on sites like WebMD to google my symptoms. All somebody has to do is mention that there is a possibility I could die, and I will be absolutely convinced of my impending death. This is exactly what happened.

Throughout the initial breathing exercise, I could feel my breathing becoming increasingly shallow and my heart rate quickening. I was panicking. The heat that had felt rather comforting and relaxing upon entering the room now felt extremely oppressive. I felt trapped as I knew students were discouraged from leaving the room. In fact, our only goal for the first class was "to stay in the room". After the first pose, I was so exhausted and anxious I was about to just give up. When we went into pose 2, I actually began to wonder which breath was going to be my last. I was unbelievably dizzy and my vision was getting rather spotty. I began to say under my breath in a kind of chat "oh my god i'm going to die".

This is something I do kind of often. On amusement park rides, On planes (much to the non-amusement of my fellow passengers). I've even been known to do it during sex on occasion. When things become too overwhelming for me, I tend to think that the end must be near. You don't have to tell me how bizarre this is. I'm aware.

The teacher came over to me at this point in the class, probably because I was at this point curled up with my head between my legs saying "i'm dying" over and over again. I'm sure I must have looked like an INSANE person. But she came over and asked me if I was okay, and if I needed to take a sip of water. A SIP? I had gulped half my bottle down after the first pose! She then said something really interesting. She said "Sometimes when we feel like we're going to die, it means we're really beginning to live."

In other words- don't be such a PUSSY, Holland. Just because something is scary and exciting and perhaps even a bit painful doesn't mean you're going to die. In fact, that crazy rush of dizzy energy is actually telling me "You're alive! Something new and interesting and DIFFERENT is happening to your body! Relax and let it happen!"

This has changed my life. I stayed in the room. I finished the class, having to back out of a couple of poses because I needed to rest. But I stayed. And the second class I waited at least five poses before voicing my fear of my impending death.

I still feel like I'm going to pass out much of the time. I still feel a little nauseous at times. My body isn't anywhere near as flexible as I'd like to be. After class I am so physically exhausted I don't have the energy to do anything except eat something and pass out.

But people tell me I look better. My skin's clearing up, my smile is wider. I supposedly have a "glow" that has led a few people to ask if I'm getting laid.

Nope. I'm doing Bikram Yoga. It gets me hot. ;)

So yes, I am an annoying healthy person. But I still can't bring myself to go gluten-free. A life without bread? Madness.

Don't Mess With The Chelsea.

Today I got what was possibly the rudest e-mail I've ever received. I'm not going to post the whole e-mail here, because frankly- they're not my words, and I feel strange about that. Even if the person who wrote it is undeserving of my sympathies. The person in question is someone I knew back in college. We were by NO means friends, nor were we enemies. We just liked to get together once in awhile to make out and fool around but we never actually had sex. This is important to the story.

While I feel strange about quoting his words, I will tell you that his e-mail chastised me as a person who thinks that I'm better than other people. He implied that I have an overblown ego, that I'm promiscuous, and that I will never have a boyfriend because I think I'm too good for anyone. And then of course, my favorite part where he criticized my body and told me that I was bad in bed. I must be PRETTY bad in bed for someone who hasn't even been to bed with me to pick up on it! I'm not quite sure what his motivation for this rather confused outburst was, but I think I can safely assume it has something to do with the fact that I didn't respond to his last couple of facebook messages asking me to hang out. Hell hath no fury like a penis rejected.
Here's my response:

Dear ______:

I'm sorry I didn't get back to your last couple of messages. I wasn't interested in hanging out with you, and perhaps I should have been mature enough to "man up" and tell you that. I assumed if I just ignored you, you'd get the hint. I didn't anticipate that you'd wait another several months and send me this glorifyingly warped character assassination.

My reasons for not wishing to hang out with you have nothing to do with the fact that I think I'm better than you. I don't think I'm better than you. Actually, that's a lie- I DO think I'm better than you now, but prior to this e-mail I harbored no such feelings. I'm surprised that you view me as a person with an inflated ego. Those who know me would tell you that I'm quite modest, and self deprecating and I actually have some self-esteem problems that I'm trying to work on. I have trouble accepting compliments, and I certainly don't fish for them. I know your memory of what transpired between us seems to be failing you in some regards, but surely you can remember that I tend to blush when showered with compliments. So no, the reason that I do not have a boyfriend is not because I think I'm better than most men. I am perhaps picky, but that has more to do with the fact that I don't like investing myself in anything or anyone that I'm not truly passionate about. I can only assume that you think of me as self-involved and stuck-up because I did not wish to have playtime with you under the covers.

Of course, I 'm not sure why you would even want to have that playtime. Because according to you, I'm not really all that attractive nor am I good in bed. Listen, physical attraction is completely subjective. There are plenty of people who don't find me attractive and vice versa. That's fine. But you were always very, very complimentary of my physical attributes. Perhaps that was all bullshit, which is fine too. But if I'm such a lagoon creature then why did you try to establish contact with me over a year after we'd seen each other last? Clearly I'd crossed your mind in some kind of positive way. Furthermore, why is there so much hate and seething anger in your nasty words? I think it's clearly obvious what's going on here. I guess you thought your comments about my body would take my ego down a few knotches. Let me tell you something. You can say whatever you like about my personality and my sexual skills. But don't mess with a girl's body image. Thankfully, your words bounce right off of me. I survived an eating disorder and have made peace with my body. Your opinion about my breasts means very little to me, as I have many men in my life who would disagree with you. But I guess you would just say that these "many men" are indicative of my apparent promiscuity. Get over yourself. I'm 25 and single and I still haven't found what I'm looking for. I'm not going to get into my "number" because it's none of your business, as you're not on that list. Suffice to say, that I'm very comfortable with the number of people I've had sex with and very thankful that you're not one of them.

Which brings me to my favorite part. I'm sorry you apparently had such a negative experience in the time you spent with me. However, is it really fair to say that I'm bad at sex when we never had it? I'm not going to defend my sexual skills as I know they need no defense. Any bad time had between us I'm going to chalk up to a bad sexual chemistry. We were perhaps just not compatible in that sense. If it makes you feel better to think of me as a sad single girl who will never find happiness because my standards are too high and who will never find satisfaction due to "frigidity" (that actually made me laugh out LOUD) then go right ahead. I'm not full of myself, but on a good hair day when my skin's looking clear, I think I'm a beautiful, sexy woman. Anyone who doesn't think so is just not for me.

Your e-mail was full of a lot of hate and anger. I hope you explore those issues. I harbor no resentment towards you and am not going to put you down to make myself feel better. I won't even make a snide joke about your size. Oh whoops. Sorry about that. Don't worry, I know it's all in "what you do with it". Perhaps if we'd actually gotten to that point outside of your fantasies, I'd know for myself. But frankly, I'd rather remain in the dark on that one.

Best wishes,
Chelsea

click and send! All I can say is that I apparently REALLY get under people's skin. I'm flattered in a weird way that someone would spend so much energy towards berating me.

I just hope he doesn't respond because I'm the type of person who always has to have the last word and I really don't want to waste anymore of my time on this. How do I find these winners, people?

Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk by again?

I saw a beautiful man on the subway today. I rarely use the word "beautiful" to describe members of the opposite sex- usually sticking to the more masculine adjective "handsome" or the gender-neutral "cute". But this guy was absolutely deserving of one of the prettier, typically feminine adjectives. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. And he had one arm.

No, I'm dead serious. He was missing his forearm and what was there was deeply scarred. He had a prosthetic with a hook for a hand. He was reading a book and I was fascinated by the way he turned the pages. I tried not to stare. I wasn't trying to be rude- I wasn't afraid or uncomfortable, I was fascinated. The train was crowded and he was standing right in front of me. When the person next to me got off at Lexington Avenue, I slid over so he could sit down. He looked right at me with a dazzling smile. "Thank you so much" he said in what sounded to me like a possible drawl. I stammered and reddened a bit. I wanted to play it cool but I got shy. I mumbled something about hating crowded trains without looking him in the eye. He went back to his book.

I'm desperatedly saddened to think he may have thought I got quiet and withdrawn due to his prosthetic. I'm sure he deals with a lot of people who would rather ignore him and pretend he's not there so that they're not being "rude" by looking at him and his differences. He really was a cute guy. I have a strong desire to do a "missed connection" for him, but I'll probably chicken out. "Missed connections" is one of those things that I find terribly romantic in theory, but is probably closer to the pathetic in reality. It's also usually based solely on physical attraction- once in awhile, you see one about two people who had a great conversation but didn't exchange info. But usually it's, "To the gorgeous blonde girl I saw when I was waiting to cross the street at 40th and Lex". Are these all people who catch one glimpse of someone and have to reach out to find them? Could that one look possibly have told you anything more meaningful than "yuuup, I'd hit that."

Does love at first sight exist? I want it to. That idea of spotting someone through a crowded room and knowing that you just have to have them is both insane and exhilirating. People tend to think that love at first sight is what we confuse lust at first sight for. After all, how can we love someone we basically know nothing about based on their attractiveness alone? But I think there's something to be said for feeling a connection and going with it, regardless of whether or not they may fit the idea of what you want in a person. It's why I don't do the online dating thing. I don't want to get my hopes up about someone who looks great on paper, but who I feel no passion towards in person. I need to know how someone's hand feels on the small of my back, how they smell, how their body lines up with mine when we hug. These are not things they tell you on someone's Match.com profile.

Of course, this inner hopeless romantic that I try to keep hidden is probably the reason I'm single. I expect far too much. I don't need to be in a relationship, or even seeing someone, or even getting laid. I can hold out for long periods of time just waiting for someone who is worth it. I only ever really miss having a boyfriend when I need to carry something heavy, open something difficult, or when it's a really cold night. I see so many people in relationships that everyone (including the people IN it) knows is going nowhere. I can't do that. I can't invest myself in something that I don't truly believe in. So do I believe in love at first sight? No. I view it the way I view Heaven. I don't believe it exists, but if it does, won't it be a nice surprise?
Maybe I will meet someone someday and just know instantly that they're "The One". Doesn't it all come down to pheromones anyway?


Or maybe I'm just cynical out of spite that I've never been anyone's missed connection.