Belinda just left. And I had some Abita in the fridge.

Best. Mardi gras. Ever.

Lorelei has lots of tests to grade and such tonight, so canceling appeared to be a foregone conclusion. Probably just as well.

I just hate disappointing people.

If your partner wants to have sex, and you’re not into it, for whatever reason, you might disappoint them, but that’s it. If your partner and your sometimes fuck buddy want to have a threesome, and you’re not into it, now you’re disappointing two people. Thus the dilemma in which I currently find myself, and why I agreed to have said threesome tonight, though I really don’t want to.

Now I’m suffering from the anxiety and overall sense of panic I have come to expect from myself in such situations. So I’m miserable, all because I don’t know how to say “no” to anyone except myself, and my whole week got progressively more fucked as it went on.

First of all, most of my plans this week have been blown to hell. Sunday, I was informed, anonymously, that I’m doing a shitty job at that particular gig. Monday, a friend was supposed to pick me up from work for drinks, but spaced on me, leaving me to take the bus home. Tuesday I got electrocuted via the microphone at rehearsal. Wednesday I had to remove a fucking bat from the house. Thursday the threesome was pushed back because of a lingering early period. Friday, same deal. Saturday, three different people bailed on us, leaving us drifting all day. And today, all I wanted to do was sit down, eat some food, and watch the fucking Super Bowl, but that plan’s moved, too. Yes, I’m complaining that I have to have sex. But you’re missing the point:  I need some sort of predictability this week, or I’m going to have a fucking heart attack.

That’s really all I have to say. Not really feeling the whole “compelling prose” thing today. Just me bitching. Sorry.

…in my living room. Back later.

I was informed tonight, while packing up my gear after rehearsal, that Belinda has requested our, um, services Thursday. It’s a nice little ego boost to have someone who, frankly, could probably find someone else to fuck, to want to come back. But that aside, I thought of this song. Enjoy.

Ladies & gentlemen, and those who identify as some other gender, last night, as I came home from an audition, I caught Lorelei with her face buried between another woman’s thighs.

Please, hold your applause until the end.

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So apparently this is happening. I have an audition tonight, so Lorelei and Belinda are going to… ahem… entertain each other until I get home.

Rock and fucking roll.

So, just got a text message from Belinda saying “Thinking about you guys,” followed by a nice dirty video.

Methinks this weekend tonight might get interesting. Can’t wait to show it to Lorelei when she gets home.

UPDATE:  Apparently this is an urgent request. I really wish I could get ahold of Lorelei. The scheduling would be much easier.

I woke up this morning without an alarm. I got up, fed the dog, and sat and watched How It’s Made for a while until Lorelei woke up. We then traded porn links back and forth for a little bit before having sex. Great sex. Great “collapse and immediately pass out afterward” sex. I awoke some time later (I don’t know how long I was out), got dressed, and she dropped me off at the local pub on her way to work. I had a great lunch - burger on a pretzel bun with swiss cheese, bacon, and a fried egg, with a pint of Christmas Ale and a pint of Edmund Fitzgerald porter - went to a vintage guitar store, grabbed a mocha at the coffee shop across the street, and then walked home, listening to Old Crow Medicine Show. Now I’m sitting around the house loading up the mp3 player for our trip to visit family tomorrow.

I’m liking this general floaty buzz I’ve been maintaining all day.

Having sex before going to the therapist is kind of like taking an antihistamine before going to the allergist.

It skews the results.

Not that I would know anything about that.