DAY ONE: The Decision

How does one get to this place? The place where they say to themselves, "Yo...100 days of self-imposed celibacy? Holy shit. YES."

For me, it was not just a "hmm, okay" sort of thought. I didn't just simply reach that VERY SPECIFIC (and maybe insane) mental destination. I was actually excited and thrilled at the idea of executing it. If you don't know me, know this: I love sex. I love it. I love everything about it. I love penetration. I love giving blowjobs. I love men. I love their bodies. I love being touched and stroked and desired. I am not one who would ever willingly give any of that up. So then... how did I get here? Namely, overjoyed to say goodbye to literally all of those things?

As a woman, and more particularly, a woman in NYC, I have to say: it was (practically) inevitable. It's almost like romance comes to this metropolis to die. Ironically, classic movies and chick flicks always portray NYC in a shimmering, golden-pink, doe-eyed filter. But I'm not talking about the fake fantasy or the technicolor idealistic love stories; I'm talking about DATING. Just romance, within dating...and that's it. Yeah, I could cite the statistics that there are way more women than men (5:1, and that's a fact) and all the resulting behavior that comes from those disproportionate numbers. I could talk about how NYC is a place that people come to to achieve personal career ambitions, not settle down. It's the epicenter of self-centered-ness, ego, and the selfish and unrelenting drive to succeed. I could talk about how romance doesn't thrive here simply because it can't. But like all the other aspiring artist types who are completely self-serving, that is also why I wound up making this decision.

I had had a particularly terrible few months in the man department, but the culmination of it all was these past two days. Tonight specifically was the pinnacle, or maybe the nadir, of my shit-streak of a love life. I found myself on the subway ride home feeling totally depressed. Not because it didn't work out with the date I had just been on, with some dude who was awful (to put it nicely.) It was more because I was finding myself in a place I had never been before: completely and utterly broken. And it was bumming me the fuck out. I've had my heart smashed before, sure, but I've never truly wallowed and let it change me for the worse. No matter how bad something was, no matter how much I had been shit on, I was always able to approach a new guy like he was exactly that: a new guy. In short, my hope never fragmented or diluted; I was an eternal optimist.

Tonight, however, felt like I had completely lost that ability. Not necessarily because of Shitty Horrible Human Date Guy. More as a whole, I was reaching out to grab onto my hope, my bounce-back ability, my roll-off-your-back attitude. But my fingers were grasping only at empty air. I spent a good part of my train ride home from tonight's date thinking about the sex I had had the night before. It had been with a different guy, one I had known for/been off-and-on with, for about a year. As I thought back on that previous night and the sex we had had, I found I was no longer turned on. In fact, in this moment now, the thought of having sex at ALL was making me physically exhausted (and grimace a little.)

Maybe nausea was being induced upon my reflecting because Night Before Guy had brought up the "where we're at" conversation, for god knows why. I was sitting on his living room couch, staring at the empty plates of the dinner he had cooked us, and listened as he said the same spiel I've been hearing forever, "I'm not looking for a relationship right now. But I still want to hang out, have fun, have sex with you." BLECHH. I am SO OVER hearing that fucking sentence! I found myself getting angry, and wanting to cry. It's not even that I want to be with Night Before Guy. I just want to mean something to someone, beyond my awesome vagina and chill personality, damn it. How do so many other girls get boyfriends, all the time? What is it? I don't even really want a boyfriend, so what does it matter anyway? But these days all I can conclude is I don't want "just sex" anymore either, especially if I'm being told from the get-go that's all it is. What? This never used to bother me. This never used to be an issue; I was usually the one who didn't allow strings. Where have my compartmentalizing skills gone? Do I even want sex at all? Inner Blanche Devereux, WHERE ARE YOU??

I got home, in a complete daze because...well, what the hell was going on here? I was so confused and felt like throwing myself off a bridge. Or maybe moving to a hot climate, because it was entirely too cold out and it was only adding to how much I was already pissed off and irritated. But upon talking with my friend Jasmine, she confirmed the idea that I had been toying with that very morning: celibacy. However, where I had been thinking just cutting off the act of sex itself, she meant everything. No dates, no men, no hooking up, no sex. None of it.

At first I read her text, like, I saw the words and understood the English. But after a few moments I thought, this could be a really interesting thing. I mean, yeah, its kind of perfect because oh my god, I am so ready to give up entirely: boys: y'all have pushed me to my limit. But also because I've been having total man-vision, with no real rewards (except for some hilarious stories, and the occasional orgasm) for 11 years in a row now. No breaks, no pauses. I don't mean just having sex, I mean devoting basically all of my energies and focus on men. Maybe I'm feeling so burnt out because I am ACTUALLY BURNT OUT. I've been throwing so much energy towards the gents that I never really gave myself a chance to breathe, or stretch. 11 years is a long time to do something without stopping. It's not that I need a break, but for the first time in my life - I wholeheartedly want a break.

I want boys to not pay attention to me. I want to not think about if they're looking at me or interested or why aren't they looking at me? I want to have my abs and a hot bod...for me. I want to walk into a subway car and not give two shits if a hot guy is there, or if one happens to get on board a few stops later. I want to turn that part of my brain, that energy, those hormones, OFF.

I had a good last fuck, so that's probably why I'm being as cool as I am right now. 100 might have sounded like a good, round number (that's really the sole reason here) but I have no idea how I'm going to feel tomorrow. I may regret this. I may wish I had listened to my friend Delorean, who said, "Tonight? You sure you don't wanna wait til Jan 1st? 100 is a long time..." I may fail, fall off the wagon (on the wagon? Ehhh) so to speak. But ultimately, I may live the next 100 days and find that life was more fulfilling than I had ever previously allowed it to be. I hope to learn more about myself outside of my sexual, male-pursuer side. I hope to get out and live more, for me, and not for leers and catcalls and attention. I hope to truly live all the other walks of life that I've been blind to for so long. I mean guys are hot, I know exactly why they were top of my list of things to do for so many years. But if all that "love" only made me reach this utter low point, was it really worth keeping it at priority number one? I'll miss you, guys, but maybe I won't miss you at all.