Dirty Little Secrets

Daily Non-Sequitor: "I play hockey and fool around because those are the two most fun things to do in cold weather." (Mystery, Alaska)

I'm finding it difficult to update my blog, recently. As a fully-functional member of Tribe Vagina, my conversational defaults are (in order of merit): 1) boys, 2) juicy gossip preferably about people I know but really, I'm not picky, and 3) bitching about relationship issues with other card carrying Soros-titutes. My blog follows this outline unless I have something topical to discuss, and recently the Witty-Well has run dry. Unfortunately, one of my conversational defaults has been rendered...uhm...defunct...through total fault of my own. There are two bits of village wisdom that I try to live by -- to whit, "never shit where you eat" (both literally and figuratively), and "never tell people more than they need to know". I made a bit of a strategic error in giving out this web address to any and all, and for that reason, I can't really discuss boys anymore...at least not boys with a direct interest in me. Too many partisan factions read this for me to be able to be really honest about my current lovelife. Honesty is a wonderful thing...but sometimes it's just not appropriate, and it's hardly in my best interest to over-share.

(Let's face it girls, there are times when we want the potential men in our life to know we aren't available (read: when they have girlfriends), and times when it's much more prudent to keep that information under wraps (read: when they don't).)

I think people (read: my father) assume I'm having a lot of casual sex (*winkwinknudgenudge* nothing casual about it!) because there's not much else to do out here in Iraq. I think I mentioned that earlier. Probably several times. For the record, dear readers both related to me and not, it's none of your damn business who I'm seeing over here, unless you happen to be that person. And, as I just broke it off with the one person over here who reads my blog, I seriously doubt that's the case. Unfortunately, since he DOES read my blog, I will not be issuing any more relationship updates...at least not until I get back stateside. Curious parties, feel free to query me directly. I will say this though, since there are at least three people who have a seriously skewed image of how easy it is to get into my under-roos: 1) I do not have sex with boys without prior emotional engagement, 2) Contrary to popular belief, security surrounding my under-roos is roughly similar to say, Fort Knox, 3) who exactly has access to my under-roos is a state secret on par with the true mastermind behind the Kennedy assassination, and finally (yes, I mean you) 4) emails, however polite, are not going to grant you an all-access pass.

My dad's been flipping out recently about my little sister. She's gorgeous, I'm not sure if I've mentioned -- she's the pretty one in the family, all dark-haired and mysterious. Boys flock to her like ants to a sugar-pile, and my dad (crotchety and suspicious old man that he is) is convinced she's doing things she ought not to be doing. She's 14, for cripes' sake, on top of which she's adopted a Straight Edge lifestyle...no drugs, no alcohol, and no sex. She's a nun, for as long as it lasts, and Dad should really count his blessings that his daughters have such a strong sense of self. Well, my prudeness probably stemmed more from lack of opportunity (I was a late bloomer, you understand), but Molly knows her own mind. I'm proud of her, and Dad ought to be too. She's not going to bring you home a grandkid any time soon, Old Man. Chill out, willya?

Until next time...