What Is A Failure?

This weekend felt much like what I would imagine a failure feels like... much like I expected it would feel when you get too happy, too pleased, and satisfied all that is left is a crash. Life, afterall, cannot always be happy, can it? There I was on my mountain of hidden gold just enjoying the view but I feel like I hit a mud slide, maybe not even just one but a series of them.

I guess there was never one really wrong thing but it just felt like nothing was going as planned, and the few things that stayed on track as planned didn't feel nearly as good as I had hoped. The weekend was supposed to be made up of dancing, excercising, and being near friends. The first event on the schedule was a boat trip with my cousin which, inevitably, was cancelled due to the rain. Instead I took a nap. This was really a good thing since all my time awake is sure to catch up with me at some point.

Then the plan was to take my cousin and roommate out to Singers, a local bar and karaoke hot spot just outside of Syracuse, where I was meeting up with some of my co-workers. This was probably the highlight of my weekend. I enjoyed a couple interesting new drinks and shamelessly flirted with the sexy-singing bartender. He had a smile that melted me with dimples, the adorable short spikey hair I'm dying to run my fingers through, incredible pecs that he was teasing us all with through his tight t-shirt, and a rocking ass. :P So I, of course, had to hit on him. My roommate suggested I ask him about making a 'wet pussy' and I did... it was really quite funny! Then after I drank my 'wet pussy', my 'purple rain', and my rum and Coke... I slurred over the bar to him. You're really fuckin' hot! He teased me asking if it was the 'purple rain' talking. I told him I thought it before the drink, that it was just helping me say it. HA! It was totally fun!

We left to go out dancing... but plans kept falling through. My roommate backed out of going. And shortly after we got out to start dancing my cousin wanted to leave. It proved to be a bit more than I could take. I got home just in time to flirt with my 38 year old friend and fall fast asleep. I woke up feeling the effects of the 'purple rain' and a bit pissed off about my previous evening. I figured for sure Saturday would be a better day.

We had plans to attend an exotic dance class and then go out dancing afterwards. I was super psyched about the class thinking how sexy and good I would feel about myself after the fabulous and costly workout.

I write this in the name of the honesty I proclaimed in my first-ever post. ... I took the day Saturday to relapse a bit into my previously diagnosed sexual addiction. It had been almost a month and a half since I had slept with anyone. Partially because I wanted the last him to be my one and only... and partially because sleeping around is just not healthy physically or emotionally. ... But I am weak when it comes to soldiers. I called up an old fuck buddy (soldier-friend) and asked if he wanted some. Of course he did! I sent a declaration text before I went over ... that I would not be leaving until he made me cum. I went to his house and laid with him on the couch for a short while before we were both teased enough to get ourselves up off the gorgeous leather couches and stumble to the back bedroom. It was quick and delicious... but I came so I really didn't care either way. I kept telling myself this was a physical need I was fulfilling. Was it? ... Can I say with 100% certainty that this fuck was only because my body couldn't stand to go without? I'm not sure.

The dance class was a bust. Not because the class wasn't fun... because it was. Watching the super hot dance instructor give us her demonstrations may have been worth the $22 alone. But having to watch myself in the mirror felt like a challenge from the moment I walked in. I felt so sick with myself. Here I have worked my ass off - literally, for the past 4 monthes... and staring into this mirror it felt like nothing. She would sway her tiny little hips and her ass would stick out. She'd instruct us to straighten our legs so our body would make the curvature that is so desirable. I just kept looking in the mirror wishing my body looked like hers, in disgust and disapproval that my body was curvy without making those hip motions... my ass already sticks out! I felt in that moment absolutely displeased with myself. It motivated me to want to go to the gym and work harder, but I walked away feeling like a piece of shit that thus far has accomplished nothing. I can assure you... this is not how I wanted to walk away from the class.

I went out after the class despite my shattered ego. Even more importantly... I went alone. This is absolutely unheard of for me and some would even consider it unsafe. I was to meet my friend downtown to share a martini before moving on to go dancing. I was paralyzed by my social anxiety disorder. I sat in my car waiting for my friend to arrive... wishing the minutes would tick by a little quicker. I was seeking someone's approval, any man's approval. I flipped through the numbers and names in my phone wishing one of them would jump out at me, wishing I knew one of them was reliable enough to be there to answer an IM or text on a Saturday evening. I found one. A guy from New Jersey... normally working on Saturdays was there. He answered and requested pictures of me. YES!!! ... I thought... this I can do. I jumped out of my minivan and snapped a few photos in the dim light of the parking garage. I sent them along for his review... and as always he was pleased. Very pleased!

The drinks at the bar were okay. I felt misplaced with this group of people on couches at a martini bar, I prefer cheap, sweet liquor you can't taste. I tried to fit. We eventually made our way across the street to go dancing. The crowd was so thick it was difficult to not step on toes. These people I was with... they were old-fashioned or something. I felt like some two cent hooker dancing beside them. I kept thinking... you have to use your ass... thats the point. I felt misplaced again. Finally the heat was over-baring and we started to make our way for the doors. Despite spending the entire time not being asked to dance... as I started to leave I was... I guess you might call it, attacked by a group of guys. One guy put his hand over my face and pushed my head down. I couldn't see where I was going, so not thinking anything of it, I stopped. I was instantly surrounded by a group of hot young guys. Had this been any other type of approach I would have loved the attention. One guy realized how large my breasts were and went nuts roaring "WHOOOAAA," as he looked at my tits bug-eyed ... and they jumpped on my like a group of monkeys on the last goddamn banana in the jungle. They pressed on me and touched me. And everytime I thought I could get away they pushed down my face again. Who the fuck was touching my face??? Why couldn't I step away? Just as I was about to be in tears I found an opening and slipped out. I caught up to my friend and said my goodbyes. This night proved to be way more than I could bare. I raced through downtown, with way too much skin exposed, all alone clutching my key in one hand and black velvet purse in the other. I made it to the comfort of my minivan where I burst into sobbing tears... it was too much, just too much.

Sunday I poured myself into men again. Still longing for my approval. I felt sick with me, sick with everything. I talked to a soldier from Ft. Drum... and as usual it turned into a sexual endeavor. Through most of our conversation I knew where it was headed. I made small adjustments to remind him I wasn't looking for a random romp, but really I didn't do or say enough. I teased him until, as he said it... "I seduced him into driving an hour and a half just to see me". I'm fine with that, I'm happy to have that power. I made playful attempts to say he may not get laid... but we both knew he would. We watched a movie where I spent most of the time in his lap rubbing his thighs and chest before making my way up his pant legs and then inevitably pulling him into my bedroom to fuck the shit out of him.

Well... there you go... sexual addiction at its finest. I was feeling so strong and now I feel like I've let it all go. And worse yet... tonight I have plans to see an ex and the sex portion is already planned out. I honestly can't wait because this ex-navy hottie is always incredible in bed!

So where the fuck did I lose it? How did I let this fabulously planned weekend turn to shit? I really shouldn't express complete disapproval for my sexual expiditions... because I did and do love them, I guess I just hate how I feel after sometimes. I hate the numbers, there is something to be said for a woman that is sexually confident... but I don't know if I should be proud or ashamed, and I think I lean toward shame. Was this weekend a failure? I don't want to sink much lower. I want to go back to my focus and stay strong!!