“You’re a perfect 9.5” is what Cedro always told me. That’s because he doesn’t believe a perfect 10 can exist. Swoon.
I’m a perfect 9.5, I’m a perfect 9.5! The idea would dance around in my head so gracefully. Am I really that hot?! Fuck yeah I am!
I firmly believe that every pretty girl should shut the fridgerator up and stop calling herself ugly. If you’re sexy and you know it clap your hands! None of this “OH EM GEE, Stacy, you look so smokin’ in that dress!” followed by the “Oh my God, Cheryl, no I don’t! I could never look smokin.” It’s time to swallow your lack of pride and respond with an “I know, right! Thank you!” If there’s one thing we learned from Regina George it’s that it’s better just to smile and respond with a hearty, I know, right?!, than to admit we have really bad breath in the morning like Cady Heron.
All that aside I want you to know that I think I’m pretty damn awesome and I’ll gladly accept the compliment of someone seeing me as a perfect 9.5.
It’s really a waste of time to think you suck. That’s no fun.
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Update: I’m still seeing Kevin. Sort of. We’re on the same page that this is definitely a non-relationship hook-up, so call it what you may. The problem is, Kevin doesn’t know how to turn off the boyfriend gene and turn on his inner player. He’s a born boyfriend. Cute, but .. problematic?
On Tuesday I went to see Kevin for the first time since last Saturday morning. All weekend he kept texting me telling me how excited he was to see me in just a few days, how much he wanted me, how badly he wished he had someone to cuddle with. Now don’t get me wrong, I love the attention. I am totally the relationship type and it does make me smile ear-to-ear reading a text telling me how someone just cannot wait to see me so soon. But, this is just a hook up. I know for a fact that he is still hung up on his ex, as he has managed to mention her a number of times within the two weeks we’ve been talking. That’s completely fine, as long as it is clear I am okay with it. For now. But Kevin knows nothing but a relationship. All he knows is being a boyfriend. When I was getting sick on Monday (Sidenote: I’ve been sick since Monday, it’s Sunday, this is misery) and told him I couldn’t make any promises for our sex date on Tuesday, his boyfriend-like response was that I shouldn’t worry about it, that he’d be happy just to have me there with him and it would be okay with him if we just slept together. Literally. He told me he was going to take care of me. Trust me, I love it, but I have no clue what to make of it.
For some background, Kevin has only ever slept with one girl: His ex-girlfriend, Kristi. They were together for nearly 2 years. So, of course, he is under the impression that he has mastered the art of intercourse (yes, I just wrote that). And I’m sure Kristi told him he was a master of all things orgasmic. His confidence is sexy, but is confidence enough?
I’ll spare you the dirty details and just give you my thoughts. Like when I slept with the newly confident Danny, (my ex-boyfriend and dear friend from high school) I was rather disappointed with Kevin. Both Danny and Kevin swore they were going to “rock my world” and though my world may have felt a level 4 earthquake, it was hardly rocked.
Before I slept with Kevin I was a bit apprehensive to do so. To me, it’s a numbers game, and I typically don’t sleep around and I have never done the whole casual sex thing (minus that one time with Danny). But I wanted to sleep with Kevin, I was excited to sleep with Kevin, my friends even encouraged me to sleep with Kevin. Maybe he will restore your faith in men, my friend suggested. Yes, maybe he will. Maybe I can reverse the curse. What curse, you ask? The curse of Cedro.
You see, to put it gently, Cedro was the best fudgesicle I’ve ever had. He was a pro – as expected from a man who has slept with eight or nine times the number of people I have. But he was a world-rocker. A wonderful, sexy, latino world-rocker. And he ruined me. He ruined me for all other men who aren’t practiced whores. Shit man, that’s the curse.
Now that you have all the background info you need, here’s my conclusion: Men who have been in relationships for a long time may think they’re good at knocking on your door, but it’s very possible that they are not. Confidence is sexy, but I’ve quickly learned it doesn’t always prove true. Now, here’s how me being a perfect 9.5 comes into play. When I was with Cedro I never felt that I was the best fudgsicle he’d ever had, but that I was one of many rabbit holes and he was a beautiful world-rocker. But with Kevin, I sure as hell felt like a world-rocker, and I didn’t need to feel like a Cedro-slut to do so.
So thank you, Cedro, for giving me the confidence to prance around like a perfect 9.5 .. I’m sorry, a perfect TEN, as well as the ability to rock many a future world.
Now maybe I’ll be the one putting curses on men. Until then, faux-boyfriend-Kevin is adorable. He’s a nice guy and to be honest, niceness beats world-rocking any day. Hooray for saying yes to nice to the nice guy!
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On an unrelated note, man-who-asked-for-my-number-on-street, let’s just call him Man X, just texted:
“Hey brat, I bet my weekend can beat up ur weekend.. Lol. You and I are chillen & making some incredible adventure happn this wk. Wat’s your schedule look like?”
I have so many issues with this. Thoughts?