master blaster

i sit here feeling like a stranger in my own bed listening to reggae. i never listen to reggae. i never sit in my bed and listen to music on the tv. i have a guest who wants to remain nameless. so i respect that. the bookshelves that have been sitting un-assembled on my living room floor since April 2013, he put together while i showered. i picked him up from the  subway station. i keep finding poor guys. what the fuck is wrong with me that i can’t attract a rich guy? i guess i just send out those vibes. but he’s curled up next to me like a puppy dog, head against my hip, in the fetal position. he’s funny, intelligent, creative, yeah i know i haven’t mentioned attractive. in his own way, he is attractive but i’m not into thin guys. he’s thin. his profile said ‘fit’. i feel bad talking about him while he’s laying beside me but i’m not talking about him directly. or am i? i just need a 2nd date so i can get closer to the man i really want. yes. Ted. Ted the chef. god he is everything… now i’m just being rude to my guest. his arm is wrapped around my thigh now. i feel a little deceptive that i won’t let him get to 1st base with me and i know he is really into me. he brought over his drill gun to assemble my shelves and he fixed my dining room table and he said he would attach my flat screen tv to the wall next time he comes over. i’m having a difficult time concentrating. maybe i’m supposed to be alone, since i can’t seem to like the guys who love me. i want what i can’t have, always gotta chase something. fuck. i don’t get wiser as i get older, i get more sexually frustrated. i’m making eggs and bacon in the morning and i will probably drive him all the way home. i am such a gentleman. i guess there are worse things to be.