Tuesday, April 11, 2006


(Yes, I stole my title from a brilliant Peaches song. What of it?)

Is it possible to have too much sex? Because since I've arrived in Los Angeles, motored through LA and Riverside, and am now in San Francisco, all Awesome and I seem to do is have sex. It's the reaction for everything. I'm tired - let's have sex. I'm mad at you - let's have sex. You pissed me off last night - let's have sex. I'm hungry - let's have sex. My conference presentations went really well - let's have sex. It's raining outside - sex. It's sunny outside - sex. There is weather, some form of weather, any type of weather, on the other side of the hotel room window - let's have sex. Drunk = sex. Happy = sex. Excited = sex. Sex Sex Sex Sex Sex. Sex sex. Sex. It's like the past (almost) three months of my workaholism and his...just...general character of being himself, being hyper-paranoid 'Awesome', has transformed us into nymphomaniacs.

Why the hell else haven't I had time to write? Well, I've been working on my dissertation since I've returned to San Fran. In Los Angeles I saw friends the entire time. I played tourguide for Awesome, driving him around the Hollywood Hills, Beverly Hills, Hollywood, Sunset, and everywhere else in the richer parts of Los Angeles - all the places I'd memorized from having to go there for work during my early 20s. Plus, this past weekend I was at a big conference. I walked in to registration and the ladies behind the desk announced, "You're our Master Panelist!" after I gave them my name. When Master Panelist is said aloud, it sounds a bit pornographic, no? I was worried that my nametag would read Master Panelist, but luckily it did not. Everyone else at this international conference had flown in to LA and had driven or was shuttled down to beautiful, mountainous Riverside to present one (1) paper on one (1) panel. Being my psychotic, over-ambitious self, I presented (3) papers on (3) panels, one of which looks like it will result in another upcoming publication for me. (Which, coincidentally, was announced as the only panel at the conference to result in publication - woohoo.) Yay...another chapter in another book! Now that I've secured all these chapters, perhaps I should actually start writing them all. Oh. Plus, the keynote speaker, a rather famous man in the world of academia, sat in on one of my sessions and then grilled me with questions. After I proceeded to tell him he was wrong about everything, he offered to write me a recommendation letter for anything I needed. Ain't it strange how in some professions, when you tell your superiors to go fuck themselves, then they offer to give you their first born child?

And then Awesome and I would have sex some more. That's all we've been talking about. Sex! Don't think that we didn't rush back to the hotel to have quickies in between my conference sessions. See, on Awesome's and my long distance phone calls between London and San Francisco, it's like everything has been discussed except sex. I mean, really - how fucking much can a nurse and a doctoral student/lecturer/tv producer tell each other about their professional lives without faltering in conversational attention? It's like the past (almost) three months have built up so much fucking tension in each of us that our only choice of activity while together is to hop into each other's pants at any given second.

Then, when I try to sleep, I cannot relax unless Awesome holds me down. It's quite strange - like I belong on a mental ward for patients with psychotic tendencies who cannot calm down. Like Sybil. Or Randle P. McMurphy. Insomniatic me must lay 3/4th on my side, 1/4th on my back, while Awesome nearly climbs atop me from the other side, holding my body down. Otherwise I suppose I must levitate above my bed with so much pent-up tension and just pretend that I'm sleeping? Who knows. I'd love for someone to videotape me when I claim to be sleeping (because I am definitely not; I'm just going through the motions). I bet I look just like Linda Blair in 'The Exorcist'. Awesome fares no better, though - he twitches and shakes himself to sleep while atop me, so it's like I'm trapped underneath a fidgety amusement park ride that's fallen off its track.

Or, maybe we both have rabies.

Anyway, now that Awesome has a few nights off, and I'm gonna calm down just a teeny leetle bit, I can resume writing on my website as normal. Awesome's birthday is in a couple of weeks so I'm taking him to the Matthew Bourne production of the all-male 'Swan Lake' and to dinner at some restaraunt he's been dying to go to but hasn't been able to score reservations. (Working in the TV industry for the past 8 years has taught me to make phone calls and get whatever the fuck I want, sweet-talking every man, woman, child, and alien in my path.) This afternoon we're going to a highly recommended spa in Japantown (I forget the name? Kabuki Springs or something?) so that I may soak away my tensions and Awesome can attempt to soak away his natural paranoia. The last time I had a good massage, just as the masseuse was knuckling out my insane knots, I barfed through the hole of the massage table I had so much tension. I hope to throw up all afternoon.

Then, my sister and her friend arrive in town on Thursday morning. Me + Sistaman always makes for interesting stories...

Sex relieves tension. Love causes it. - Woody Allen