Today I would like to write a post that’s been on my mind for a while, and that is the Notch List, or as I mostly like to look at it, The Cast of Disposables.

1. PM. We hear plenty about him, so I’ll move on.

2. Let’s call him Arjun. Ethnic, no last name, one night stand, arrived at my house drunk as a skunk, grunted and pumped, we slept, we woke, we never spoke again.

3. Let’s call him SB, or Soul Brother. Effeminate but certain in himself, equally heartbroken, fluently musical, a future affair of the creative will be had, hopefully many times over. The sex was inevitable and fine for what it was. He is not what I seek, physically or emotionally. The latter is because he is just like me.

4. Let’s call this one Mr Dopey Hopey. This one is complicated bc, like SB, I already adore him as a new friend even though I found him in OkC conquest fashion. He is goofy, husky, grinny, good at what he does, friendly, and I think I might want to consider dating him when I’m not the lunatic I currently am. Afterwards, he was the one who said, ‘I mean, that was great but maybe it happened too soon? I’d sort of like to look at a relationship in the future or maybe consider it but I think we should refrain for now.’ Yup. Affirmative.

5. This next one is complicated. Let’s call him Jack Black Attack. (Not to be confused with Jack Black Doppelwhack who is my boss and I have a giant crush on. And have not slept with yet.) — he was our guest for pre Sandra Frankenstorm and with a voice like Zeus who sings like Jack Black Tenacious D style and he smokes every 20 min from his to go ‘cig’. A hardcore party boy even though he’s the oldest of the lot as of yet (28) … I thought he’d at least be around for a bit longer. Even if we didn’t have sex. Which was a little too sweaty and mechanical for me. Sweaty is good, but not if you are so ensconced in your rhythm that you let it drip from your temples onto my cheekbones without notice or comment. But he has recently bound a biddy, so I wish him the best even as it is sad to no longer have a local smoke and snuggle buddy.

I’m only halfway through and I’m so depressed. Honestly, this first half was the winners, then we had a lapse of ‘whatever, what’s a few more fucks’ and then some ones that I really did put hope into and then was crushed by reality.

6. Lipshitz will be his name. We had some awkward bar conversation and then went and mediocrely boned at his apt nearby and then I left.

7. Bellboy I should call again. A nice Jewish boy with a hearty jaw and general set of teeth (is it overbite? Underbite? Unknown. Uncared.) — not a bad lay, not a bad conversationalist. The problem has been my succumbing to his requests every time to smoke up and then all parties being stupidly high even though I might have preferred sobriety had I had a spine or brain at the time. Then he came over on a day that my mind was ashambles and I had to kick him out with little warning and that was that. Also he has the same name as my brother which makes my skin tingle, not in a good way.

8. Oh God, and then we get into awkward nose crinkling world. Beezer. Which I have thusly called him since we were 15. Obligatory poor life drunk choice boning. We laughed about it beforehand, told no one, and have not spoken one word about it after. And that’s just fine with me.

9. Then we have Ma, whose given name is the same as my grandmother’s nickname, so color me freakishly Freudian. Tall, foreign, scientifically oriented, employed, and owner to the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen (a true blue greyhound, so it doesn’t take much). The problem is his lack of social life (like, beyond what I would have offered there is NOTHING but the dog) and his lack of comprehending that when I said let’s NOT DATE that meant we don’t see each other every other day. I have been giving him the silent treatment wrapped in flirty flakiness whenever he crankily tries to insert himself back into my life and pants.

10. The next in the recent streak of Mistake Brigade, Buddha is the hottest of the messes. Enamored with me from minute 8 or so of our first work shift together, the small stocky man mustered up the courage to ask the statuesque single lady for a drink which she cheerily obliged to. First mistake, bc apparently that suggested more interest in him romantically than I had thought saying ‘Yeah, okay, let’s drink alcohol at the same time while talking’ implies. Possessive, crippling insecure, blindly chauvinistic, marijuana and medication dependent, and annoying, I realized after he became my resident leach that I can’t sustain the energy for my own Self Improvement Protocol, much less his much more daunting situation. The question then arises whether to grace him with a little time and friendship or to let it unravel as it will and as I fear he might.

11. And that brings us to The Situation, Mr Jersey film editor who literally couldn’t fathom that a woman might desire an orgasm as well. Good riddance.

You can understand my dismay and discouragement at this conquest list. So I’ve been rather liberal with my bodily distribution, but I guess I would have thought my discretion was a little less disastrous than this. What to do? Is it better to be horny and and alone than potentially overwhelmingly disappointed/disgusted/depressed? Probably. Solo pining just reminds me of what I let go though. And while PM still entertains interest in all things cyber sexy, he’s plenty busy boning whatever he can find in the Midwest and entertaining a creative sleep schedule. Extraction, Ray.

Is what I’m asking for too complicated? Too picky? Too needy? Too risky? FetLife titilates my inner chaste virgin but also rings out warning self protection bells, which I think are also important to hear. So far, mere emails. Maybe NYC’s BDSM community will prove more satisfactory. I’m hoping so. The combination of communication and kink suggests to me a world of sex positivity. Please let me be right.

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