Tag Archives: sexuality

Kept Awake.


Dragonette: if you were my car keys where would you be?
Me: probably making out with you on your couch. if i were those keys.


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I live life backwards.

It’s hard to talk to Dragonette about other women. We’re in this weird place together. I want to be with her, on some level. Even if it’s just casual to get our bearings. And as far as I can tell, she wants that too. I believe her, which I have had trouble with in the past. But that doesn’t change the fact that she is a world away. And we are both meeting people, and deciding to let ourselves like them or not.

The world sent me a sign today. Flower Girl. Leave it to random encounters for enlightenment, eh?
She made me realize that I am being so overwhelmingly paranoid about offending women by liking them without knowing their sexual orientation. We talked about the inherent fluidity of sexuality. People have been sleeping with members of the same sex for centuries. It’s only now that it is categorized. I have to get over the fear of it all.

And I have to let go of Zero. She’s the real reason I haven’t been dating women. When she called me last month as a part of her 9 Step NA program, I was floored. She still has the ability to floor me. After all these years. Which is why dating men is so much easier. I’m just not as emotionally affected by them. Which creates difficult situations because the sexual attraction swiftly fades and I’m left wanting something else (which is a completely different story).
Back on track…I don’t want to feel like that ever again. The way Zero made me feel. So I stopped dating women. I ran away from MF (which I deeply regret), I fled from Skinny (which was a good thing), I passed up opportunity after opportunity, because I refused to let myself fall that sexually, emotionally, mentally, deeply again. And in the middle of it all, I met Dragonette.

I don’t know where most of this is going. I’m sleep deprived and feeling honest, and talking to her makes me want to hug her and date her and hold her hand. Which kind of makes me want to vomit. But mainly makes me scared and delirious. And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like holding hands with people.

I’m so freaking gay.
I’ve been kissing girls since pre-school…and now I decide to have a sexuality crisis?
Jesus. I am so backwards. Such is my life, y’all.


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Smoldering Temptress.

I’m really tired of being held back by fear, and by my self-inflicted restrictions.
So I’m going to do a little experiment.

For the end of this month, and for the month of March, I’m going to be flirtatious as hell and gain the confidence I’ve been needing.
How will I do this?
In the wise words of Dragonette,
“Fake it. It will come naturally after that.”
Apparently I already exude sexuality. I’ve just got to recognize it and feel comfortable in my own skin.

Why not, right?

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And another one bites the dust.

I hate pretentious assholes. 

The Poet is a pretentious asshole of grandiose proportions. 
My life is not a source of inspiration for your desperate attempt at a poetic life.
I am completely shocked at his obliviousness and deplorable inter-personal skills. He has known me for a week. That hardly qualifies as knowing me. And he most definitely does not know my father, the antagonist of his offensive poem. Nor does he know about my mother’s death, my childhood, my sisters, or myself. 

This weekend was awful. I only like music made by men with beards, I do not want to date a beard. 
No, you cannot oddly rub my head,
No, you cannot hold my hand,
No, I do not want to kiss you and your awkwardly bearded face,
No, I do not want you to try and comfort me. I have dealt with a lot, and I’ve held my own hand. Your presence in my life does not make me want to run to you for saving. 
Yes, women are infinitely better.
No, I will not exclusively not date you while I figure my life out. 
And NO, I don’t want you to write about my life as you pretend to know the inner workings of my being.  

He actually asked me if I only feel protected by men. Or if women could also provide that male role.
He was only funny and nice to talk to during the first 12 hours of knowing him. 

I am over it.

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Epic, epic fail. 
Tatuaje is married. I should look at hands more often. {and he is married to the hottest of wives – duh}
The Poet has made my life a tad more confusing. I adore his company, but to what extent? 
Dragonette makes me wonder about the past. What if, the summer after my freshman year, we’d actually started dating? Would I have left school that semester? Would my headspace have been any better? 
Driade has too many confines and boundaries. And makes me feel like an idiot, on occasion. I think I have maintained a state of confusion regarding said individual since before I was born.


And I am painfully, irrevocably in love with the one person I cannot have. Three years. Fucking fuck. Shit cunting balls. 

Never eat at Jake’s Diner on I-40. Their hash-browns taste like fried bits of butter, and their pancakes are lathered in whipped cream and candied strawberries. 

In conclusion:
I am a whiny bitch.



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Poly – who?

I have no idea why I’m starting a blog post instead of studying for my Environmental exam that I have tomorrow. I’ve been in college for three years now! I should know better right? Wrong. Because here I am, typing away.
The good thing about college is that I don’t have the class until 12:45 – fuel for procrastination.


I’ve been rolling the idea of polyamorous relationships around in my head lately. Wondering if they are actually possible. Could I love, say, two people at once, and trust them to love me back? I’m sure jealousy is a factor, and distributing affection equally. But could I ever be in a relationship with two other people? I’m finding that as hard as I think it could be, with my tendencies towards jealousy, I’m not opposed to it. Under the right circumstances it could even be fun, and a healthy experience. Which isn’t to say I’ll ever find the right circumstance to test out my theory. 
Then again, maybe I’m just too much of a jealous bitch for a situation like that. 

Just a thought.

~Hannah Morgan


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A day like any other.

Valentine’s Day was swell. I spent it with the Poet, bowling, playing pool, eating pizza, and feeding pizza crust to ducks. He is incredibly easy to talk to. A day well spent. 

What did y’all do for Valentine’s day? Anything romantic? Did you avoid it altogether? Perhaps you spent it in bed with cookies (which was my alternative). 

I tried speaking to Cry-Baby tonight. She’s different. Something’s different. Traveling across the country will do that to a person, I suppose. I don’t think she’ll ever understand how confused she made me. How ass-backwards vulnerable she made me. I wasn’t flaky, I wasn’t indecisive. I was just confused. I felt antagonized for months, to have my world turned to adoration. And then I had to make a decision. And I couldn’t. Because I was still used to feeling antagonized and tolerated. Whatever. I won’t bring it up again. After the initial conversation she just…stopped responding. I think she has her mind set concerning how she sees it all, and I am tired of trying to explain it. I spent months watching her walk away from people, avoid commitment like the plague. So that’s what I expected. As much as she told me differently, I needed something tangible. Which is impossible. And then she left. I just have to get over it. 
Ready. Set. Go.  

**I feel like I need to explain that Cry-Baby meant something to me. I’ve never liked someone for such an extended period of time. I just needed to know she wouldn’t leave. Which is ironic, because in the end she did anyways. I know I left once as well, and that I hurt her unintentionally. But when I looked at her, I only saw her. Which is rare for me. I always have one foot out of the door. Hence the preoccupation and the fear.**

There is a mixture of emotions around me. The prospect of newness. Refreshing, trip-you-up newness. And the heaviness of history. Cry-Baby, the Artist. 

In the land of humor: I was talking to Tao about how I am worried I’ll end up a spinster with a herd of goats (as opposed to a house of cats), and he laughed at me. He told me I had too much life and passion to end up alone. That he could see me at 70 with a young toy on my arm. 
I need to find someone who won’t become exhausted by my nature. He said I’d find someone to match my fire. God, I hope so. 

I can handle being alone, and right now I’m reveling in the quietness I’m in. But some nights, some moments, I’d like to feel that belly magic of new love.

~ Hannah Morgan

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