I just got done reading old Facebook messages/emails for a fun new project involving my best friend (more on this later). So! I recalled some cool things about my formerly slutty existence. Initially, I thought I stopped updating this damn thing because an ex-lover posted my naked photos to the Internet, but then I remembered that I discovered monogamy shortly after that incident and promptly stopped having sex of the promiscuous variety, thereby eliminating 80 percent of my material.

But apparently, I used to have sex with lots of different people. And since my conquests are so numerous that I inevitably never get around to writing up all of them, I thought I should share some items from a year ago.

In late 2007, I was flirting/going out with six men simultaneously and getting laid by (almost) none of them. I think I only had sex four times last winter. #1 took place on my friend Zac’s 21st birthday after I brought some dude along and we mutually got obliterated at the Kong. Classy. #2 took place in a fraternity house of all places, but it was MIT so I think I can safely say that I’ve managed to avoid becoming a total college cliche. #3 took place post-nudie-pic scandal in Los Angeles with some dude I barely knew, while my girlfriend sat in his living room watching, um, cartoons (I think?) with his friend. AWKWARD. And I met/fucked #4 approximately five days before I went on my first date with Patrick. Little did I know then that it would be my last gasp of promiscuity for many many many months (and counting … yippee).

There might’ve been a fifth guy at some point, but I obviously don’t remember. If you’re him: it’s not that you’re insignificant; you just didn’t leave any traces in my Gmail/Facebook inbox. Sorry, dude.

This list, of course, does not count September or early fall which was a shitshow of recycled ex-hookups. Old lovers get much of the credit for keeping my sex life sustainable (pun alert!) over the years. After my sex-deprived summer in New York, I was determined to get laid as quickly as possible. Former flings are terribly effective solutions. And in general, I went out and went down almost every weekend so my abstinent streak ended pretty immediately.

Junior fall/winter was also the first time I rejoiced in singledom. I usually hated dating and hooking up because I was constantly attaching, detaching, reattaching myself to men. Last year, I was so cynical about the prospect of a long-term relationship that I spent the majority of my non-fucking time making condescending remarks about the guys I was fucking. (To be clear, these were not remarks said to their faces, but rather, to my friends or uh, blog readers.) This says a lot more about me than the guys, and to be fair to my friends, they were becoming increasingly alarmed at my utter pessimism, which I framed then as “realism”. (But even today, post-monogamy, I would still say that I am, for the most part, undateable. Or at least, my blog is understandably a huge red flag for potential suitors. So there you go, I am still a realist.)

Now I am months-deep in a relationship — free doggie included! — and routinely turn down date/sex offers from the boys who used to make my blog/life so interesting. In exchange, I get walks along the Charles, unsolicited career advice, solicited foot massages, and the assurance that I won’t contract herpes even if we forgo condoms. On the downside, this means I can’t throw him out of my dorm room every time we have a fight. Mostly because I live in his apartment and not a dorm room.

I feel like a younger, more Asian version of Jessica Cutler, the sex-blogging D.C. staffer turned housewife. It’s kind of like I spent the last year in a cocoon. I entered as a filthy, whorish caterpillar and now I’ve exited as a butterfly with remarkably domestic tendencies and a desire to mate for life.

In conclusion, this is why I don’t update my sex blog anymore.

“I mean, look at all these rich nerds with fetching Asian ladies on their arms. We don’t want to sound “offensive” but it’s just a thing, you know?”

—Gawker: Following Hallowed Nerd Tradition, Michael Phelps Dates Asian Chick

And in the comments:

“Asian is the last stop before Gay.” #

“My wife already knows when she’s tired of me and kicks me out that my next wife will come from Korea or Sri Lanka.” #

“Mr. Butterfly Champion gets his Madame Butterfly*.” #

“He so horny**!” #

“White nerds dating Asian girls is a trend. I don’t think it’s offensive to point it out.” #

SERIOUSLY?!

- My friends and I make plenty of offensive comments about each other’s race/sexual orientation/etc. but we do so in private. So though I’ve been referred to as a Madame Butterfly, these things are said in jest and directed toward me specifically by my friends specifically, not directed at an entire group of people by anonymous commenters who don’t know them.
- Some argue that there’s truth to some stereotypes like “Asians are the last stop to Gay”. However, I can think of lots of stereotypes out there (”Blacks are thugs,” “Gays are diseased,” “Fat people are lazy”, etc.) that shouldn’t ever be said out loud. Why? Oh, that’s right. Because they’re stereotypes, which by definition, means that they have no empirical basis.
- Interracial relationships are not “trends”. Trends go out of style. I’m pretty sure this isn’t just a hot commodity for the season.
- People have no filter on the Internet, especially not on websites like Gawker, because they mistake “being offensive” for “being controversial”. A racist remark isn’t snarky humor, it’s just racist.

Call this an overreaction, but I’m seriously disturbed by some of these comments. The Gawker article is offensive, sure, but considering the website’s habitual outrage at other people’s displays of ignorance, I’m going to chalk this up to a poor attempt at humor. The commenters, though? I guess they demonstrate that some people out there — educated or not — clearly need a crash course on racism and its seemingly harmless manifestations.

* For those unfamiliar with the opera, Madame Butterfly depicts the relationship between a condescending American and a self-sacrificing, exoticized Japanese woman, who gets abandoned (after marriage, mind you) for a new and improved American wife.

** A reference to the Vietnamese prostitute in Full Metal Jacket. Everyone’s heard “Me so horny. Me love you long time”; no one ever knows where it’s from. Now you do.

(reposted from Tumblr)

Excellent summary via nickdouglas:

BUSY? SKIP TO THE EXECUTIVE SUMMARY AT THE END.

1. When the polls close:

(map from Huffington Post)

2. What states matter:

According to the prediction models at Fivethirtyeight.com, McCain absolutely can’t win without Florida, Georgia, Missouri, Indiana and Montana. He has less chance of winning without taking both Ohio and North Carolina than you do of wearing a condom and getting HIV.

3. What states matter in what order:

I distilled this from 538’s Nate Silver:

At 6 PM EST, most of Indiana’s polls close. An early call for McCain means hold onto your butts (because it indicates unpredicted McCain support); an early call for Obama means pop the champagne (for the inverse reason).

At 7, the rest of Indiana closes and a McCain win isn’t as meaningful. But at the same time Virginia, Georgia, and most of Florida close. If Virginia goes Obama, again, champagne. Same for Florida. If Obama wins his long-shot Georgia because of the record number of black early voters, then call a Republican and do your best Nelson “Ha ha!” because this whole map’s going blue.

At 7:30, Ohio and North Carolina close. Bad voter turnout here actually helps Obama, thanks to his huge lead in early votes. Either way, by now McCain probably has to win both or…finally…champagne.

At 8, Pennsylvania wraps up. But the projections may be off depending on which votes are counted first. Again, if you’re still holding onto your butts, keep a grip.

At 9, if Obama is still struggling, he’d better win Colorado. But not much chance it’ll come down to this.

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY
AT THIS TIME, IF OBAMA HASN’T SWEPT:
6 PM: McCain needs to not already lose Indiana.

7 PM: McCain needs Florida and Virginia.

7:30: McCain needs Ohio and North Carolina.

8: McCain probably needs Pennsylvania.

9: McCain needs Colorado.

A woman called from some Democrat-related organization to ask if 1) I was voting for Obama — I am, and 2) if I’d read up on Prop 8 — I have and I’m voting against it. (What I really want to know is this: how did these folks get my phone number?? I’m not a registered Democrat AND moreover, I’m on the Do Not Call list.)

In terms of the presidential election, my absentee ballot will probably mean nada, but it’ll count quite a bit toward the vote against Prop 8. Despite some optimistic forecasts, I’m inclined to think that there’s more contention than being reported and at least one media source finds the majority in support of the ban on same-sex marriage.

As a staunch atheist, I have a simple — some might call it simplistic — opinion on the issue: don’t let the state have any say on what “marriage” is at all. In the ideal world, everyone could have civil unions and obtain the same rights historically associated with marriage. Those who actually care about the sanctity of the marriage label can go harass their church about who’s allowed slap that sticker on their forehead. Granted, there’s a cultural attachment to the word and idea of “marriage” (thanks for the early conditioning, media!), but I’m sure America can overcome that along with terrorism and its close cousin paganism.

Unfortunately, in the world we actually live in, people want their personal definition of marriage to prevail — and this is something both left and right are guilty of. The term “marriage” itself isn’t worth defense by anyone (no, not even LGBT activists). It’s a moot point after all. As a non-religious person, the title “domestic partner” means as much to me as the title of wife and let’s face it, there are greater things to fight for than technical terms here. What same-sex couples really need are equal legal consideration and societal tolerance. There wouldn’t even be a debate about “marriage” if those goals were achieved.

And by the way, I’m not even remotely interested in the idea of getting married in any official sense so maybe I just don’t care enough about marriage to defend it against the evil homosexuals. Knowing me, I’d be too lazy to plan the damn wedding and would probably even put off the city hall trip for a licensel. And given my blasé attitude on these matters, I’m supposed to think that my chick-dude relationship is somehow superior to same-sex couplings simply because I, like millions of women before me, can biologically produce squealing brats who will surely ruin my life? Please. Let someone else get married. Let them adopt the product of my womb. They will surely do as good — if not a better — job with both.

likepolishingfirewood:

new rule: you can’t volunteer to make someone a mixed tape like some john cusack circa “Say Anything” indie God out of my dreams, and then not respond to a fucking text message. it’s just MEAN.

Kennedy has a new blog on Tumblr, a new life in Seattle, and a new distrust for men. (Thanks flaky dude from last weekend!) We were discussing her most recent date and she asked me what I thought she should do regarding this maybe-interested/maybe-not guy. My advice:

I, being the type to not trust men, say you are one of many girls he is pursuing concurrently using the unfortunately effective technology of mass text messaging and copy/paste. My advice is to maximize orgasms while minimizing pain. I suggest dating as many people as possible at the same time so any single man’s attention is irrelevant since you are too busy anyway. Basically, don’t get invested. Men are shit.* Let’s not forget that just because one of us is operating under some sort of romantic delusion at the moment.

I should’ve probably added the disclaimer that following the above advice is the first step to lifelong commitmentphobia, but I figure Kennedy’s already well on her way toward that.

Anyway, it was interesting to talk about boys because I haven’t done it for months. Literally, months. The people I have been keeping in touch with in the States are mostly in serious relationships, so no one’s gushing about their drunken error in judgment from last weekend. You have to understand, I used to relish in drunken errors! And yes, I do mean my own. Everyone else was mostly horrified but I loved my crazy dating antics (almost as much as I love myself), so ever since I went off the market and stopped being so damn entertaining (to myself), I’ve been dying to live vicariously and single-y through someone else.

Until Kennedy and I chatted, at least. Then I remembered that dating was largely a complicated, terrible affair. Being single itself wasn’t so bad (and often times, it rocked), but when you were sick and tired of being alone and decided to get out there and look for someone with whom you could share takeout bills and pregnancy scares, the process for finding said partner came with so many rules and expectations that you would’ve thought “dating” was something invented by a particularly heinous schoolteacher. For example, what’s with waiting to call and not seeing each other on consecutive days? Or the do’s and don’ts of first date hanky-panky? Or generally keeping your feelings for someone guarded until he hands you a big rock? For reasons that escape me, playing hard to get has been marketed as the key to getting a mate, despite its incompatibility with our biological impulses and all evolutionary theory. On one hand, it reduces men to masochistic idiots who want the unattainable. On the other, it encourages women to behave manipulatively. Way to fulfill a stereotype!

The only thing that’s worse than playing hard to get is doing the opposite: pretending you like someone you don’t have the least bit of interest in, which actually seems to be a dating maxim itself. I’ve done this before and I’ve had it done to me, and my theory is that this behavior occurs when the disinterested party is afraid of offending the uninteresting one. (Like, what are you supposed to say, “I’ve been dating you for the water pressure”?) Also, I sometimes date guys for longer than I should simply for lack of other options. DO NOT DO THIS. I am terrible at breaking up with people, but seriously, suck it up and deal with being alone, because if you don’t, this is what will happen: Invariably, a more attractive option will come along. You will be forced to kill off your dalliance of the past few weeks without much warning. Your victim will go through all five stages of grief as their dreams of cohabitation slowly disintegrate while you watch on somewhat embarrassed by how long you took part in this charade. No one is happy, and if you fail to give adequate notice, you may even have a recent ex-lover phoning you at 2 a.m. while you try to play Just The Tip with the person you dumped them for. All in all, not hot.

Oh, last reason off the top of my head for why dating sucks: “dating” is a favorite activity of assholes with girlfriends. (Another possible theory, Kennedy. Take notes!)

Okay, let’s end this baby on a positive note since I’ve just spent several paragraphs criticizing an institution in which I no longer have to take part and everyone’s probably like, “Hypocrite!” So I would like to recap by saying that although I stick to the claim that dating is a sham, my last two relationships did start with first dates — the traditional kind that comes with dinner and ends in 69 — but that being said, let’s not attribute the successful outcum  to the dating process. After all, any non-kissing action on the first date is supposed to be a romance killer. Thus, I’m pretty sure the relationships evolved in spite of the rules and expectations, not because of them. So you see? It’s actually all in your hands! Be a maverick! Don’t wait to fuck! Answer your goddamn text messages as soon as you receive them! And stop listening to dating advice from oversexed college girls! Seriously, I don’t know jack.

* Men not actually shit.