Live From The Grayish Carpet

Life on the Other Side of Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll, Redacted

Sexual Healing

MarvinBlackWhiteI haven’t blogged in a while.  I want to appear cheery and well-adjusted, and I’ve been irritated, annoyed, disgruntled and exasperated.  Until today, the only thing I’d written since July was a big fat cranky headline: It’s Not Me, it’s You, and You, and You. 

My indignation wasn’t related to anything significant;  I was pissed off almost exclusively by trivialities.  On Facebook, I unfriended people for infractions such as using the word “methinks,”  and last week I fired a client because she referred to her boss only by his initials and it was driving me batshit crazy. I was glaring at people with such ferocity that my eyes had permanently narrowed,  and even Kenny and Walter were getting on my nerves. 

I knew that I wasn’t well-served by my bad humor,  and I knew that, unlike the existence of Donald Trump,  my attitude was something I could  change.  I embarked on a mission of self-improvement, and among other therapeutic undertakings, I meditated, journaled, and upped my attendance at meetings.    Nothing helped;  my efforts to be less cranky made me more cranky, so I decided to embrace my discontent.   

And that’s when everything changed. Not because I was no longer fighting myself, but because this guy I know suddenly turned up in LA.   In the past,  I’ve declined his booty call invitations,  but this time I said yes.   And as if by magic the spring returned to my step.  It’s been a long time, and it had never occurred to me that my problem was (ooh baby)  I was hot like an oven and needed some lovin’.

I did the mandatory prep work — I waxed my toes —  and I googled for sex tips in case there had been any developments I’d missed.   I went to Trashy Lingerie to get trampwear, and oblivious to the imminence of Halloween,  when the saleswoman asked what I wanted to be I proudly answered  “a person who has sex.”    I was happy, and I was completely into it.

On Sunday night I put on skintight jeans, an immodest sweater, and  thigh high leather boots with 5″ heels.  At 11:30, I ubered to meet the guy at a bar in Hollywood we’d been to before.  “Just starting work?”  the driver asked when I got in the car.  I  found this both oddly flattering and funny, and I cracked up about it  until she dropped me off. Then I stopped laughing, because a) the bar was closed;  b)I’d left my phone at home; and c) I was on Selma and Cahuenga at nearly midnight, and I was dressed like a hooker.

I remained fairly calm until I realized that Uber doesn’t work without a cell phone,  ride-sharing apps have put the cabs who once cruised for fares in late night Hollywood out of business, and pay phones are hard to come by.  By the time I found a phone and called a cab, it was after 2:00 AM.  

I knew there’d be messages from the guy when I got home, but I wasn’t going back out again;  I was going to summon up some self-respect and adhere to ladylike behavior.  Then  I remembered I was a lady who once did it with a Megadeth roadie in a walk-in freezer at the Rat, and eight minutes after he offered to send a car, I was on my way to his hotel.   By noon, my crappy outlook was replaced by a giddy appreciation for life’s great riches,  And I had a revelation.

I’ve been afraid to be with anyone for a long time;  I’ve been  unable to work up the courage required to be vulnerable.  Over the last day,  I’ve panicked — I’ve questioned every move I made when we were together,  and worried about how I looked, what I did, and what I said.  I’m convinced that I did something wrong or bad or uncool, and I’m incredibly uncomfortable.

I knew that I would feel this way but I slept with him anyway. I think  maybe I’ve been irritated, annoyed, disgruntled and exasperated  because I’ve been refusing to open myself up to any kind of hurt;  I think my petty problems got big because I wasn’t taking any risks, and that meant my life got small.

I’m tortured but happy.  This may be a turning point.  Even if it’s not, I’m better off than I was:  I got up, got up, got up, got up and I got down that night.

10 comments on “Sexual Healing

  1. chacawila
    October 29, 2015

    I love everything about this piece of writing. And you. Especially you. Unvarnished Julie. Genius.

    Like

    • Julie Farman
      October 29, 2015

      I feel like I figured something out by writing it. Which I didn’t realize until it was done. THANK YOU!

      Like

  2. Andrea
    October 29, 2015

    Brilliant.

    Like

  3. Karen Woods
    October 30, 2015

    I wish I had your guts. I have been running away for too long.

    Like

    • Julie Farman
      October 30, 2015

      It took a day for me to get over the residual angst; now I just think it was a blast. Much easier to manage than I thought it would be. Running may be harder. xx

      Like

  4. Susie
    October 31, 2015

    JULY! You are so fun to read!

    Like

  5. Suzie, sister of Julie
    November 3, 2015

    a) What’s wrong with “methinks”? Didn’t Shakespeare use it?
    b) Isn’t your birthday in April?
    c) Are you still friends with Princess?
    d) Was that hot wax you put on your toes? Why? Should I do it?
    e) You are an awesome writer.

    Like

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This entry was posted on October 28, 2015 by in Life, Sex.
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