…You Mean to Tell Me it’s all Because I’m a Virgo??

Samantha, I am not

N.B.: This is another post that you might find yourself feeling like you know too much about me after reading

If you’ve been following my blog fairly regularly, you probably know by now that I am terrible at boys. Because boys is an action word–they’re something you do.

Tee hee.

But seriously.

If you’ve been following this blog, you probably know by now that I am very good at saying single. In the immortal words of my mother, who flippantly threw them out to her friend on the phone one day when I was a teen:

“Bryoney can’t keep a man.”

[SB: Doesn’t that suck about families? Every embarrassing thing you do becomes phone fodder for the girlfriends.]

To tell you the truth, I really don’t know how to interact with boys. Well, not straight ones anyway. I am fabulous at forming friendships with homosexual males (excuse the use of the stereotypical word “fabulous”), but I have this way of systematically destroying the close friendships I form with heterosexual guys through the introduction of sex.

I think it sort of stems from being constantly told as a child that:

1) Men only want one thing


2) Good girls do what they’re told and give people what they want.

Does anyone else see how I could find those two thoughts confusing? Although, not to be wholly unfair to my upbringing, I think it also has a lot to do with that b**** confusing me and twisting things to make her case about why it’s totally cool to take your friendships “there.”

I guess for some people it probably is. In fact, I have always pictured myself as the sort of empowered woman who could reverse the roles and use a man for what he wanted to use me for and shift all the paradigms of the universe in the process.

Little did I know about the power of sex–a universe full of paradigms unto itself. And even less did I know about the universe full of paradigms in me that only ever jumps to the forefront of my mind and heart when someone is jumping to the forefront of my physical being.

Last night, I began the process of destroying yet another one of my friendships with one of my heterosexual male friends through the universal paradigm shift that comes with sex.

We didn’t have sex.

We really didn’t, guys. I don’t even want to bang this guy, or any guy unless we’ve arrived at some sort of mutual understanding that I’m his woman and if he bangs some other woman during the time span in which we have made our agreement then it’s within my rights to cut it off.


I’m only kidding, guys!

….I just was kind of drunkenly flirting with my heterosexual male friend, and…OK, OK I may have asked him if I could put my boobs on him.

But that’s it!! Hello?! Harmless!

But he said no because I was drunk and so I of course took that to mean he hated me and thought I was ugly so I immediately told him I wasn’t his friend anymore, 5th grade style.

Yeah! Take that!

…but even in my drunken haze I could think semi-clearly enough to eventually arrive at the conclusion that his rejection of my boobage wasn’t worth throwing away a two-year friendship–and so I tried to make nice with him by telling him that even though I’m not sure I want to be his friend since he thinks I’m ugly and unattractive, I do think it’s probably unhealthy to not be his friend because he didn’t want me to put my boobs on him.

…..I don’t handle rejection well.

Today, my good friend T let me borrow a book of hers called “Sextrology.”

Guess what that was about.

Now, I sort of waffle back and forth on the whole astrology thing. On the one hand, I’m a Christian, so astrology is a pretty big no-no. On the other, though, it’s fascinating, and often times eerily accurate.

Like today.

Let me just quote a few of the phrases that describe my plight in the words I never had the thoughts to use:

“The truth is, these earth girls are easy. And Virgo tries her damnedest to signal sexual interest in a man, even letting herself be ‘caught’ with her eyes alighting upon his crotch. She hangs on a guy’s every word, leaning into the conversation, all ears and heaving cleavage, listening as if in a state of suspended fascination. She thinks she’s sending out a clear message of sexual availability–instead, she merely makes a man feel at ease, winning her the dubious honor of being ‘easy to talk to.'”

What the fuck?! OK–who’s been following me around with a notebook?

“Virgo’s brand of sibling affection works both ways, as men tend to love her, first and foremost, as a sister, succumbing to the mass hallucination that nobody is ever good enough for her, not even themselves. Still, it is indeed confounding that so voluptuous a creature, so desperate to express her sexuality, is so often left without a date on a Saturday night.”

Guess what day and time of day it is right now. And I’m at home blogging.

And one more for the road:

“Talk about loaded: Virgo is not only a whole lotta woman physically, she also places tremendous expectations on what another female might simply consider a crush.”

…*shoves binder with Mrs. [Insert current crush’s last name] scribbled all over the cover and on each sheet of paper under the bed.


3 responses to “…You Mean to Tell Me it’s all Because I’m a Virgo??

  1. I don’t mean to sound weird but…You’re an amazing writer.
    I mean, this is how good I want to be! I’m not kidding!

  2. Pingback: The Implications of ‘Bryoney’ | Bryoneyh's Blog

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