Fustrated Fustration

If anyone asks me where’s the best place to shop, I’ll tell them it’s Vietnam. Because you can get everything custom made there for nearly nothing, and it’s good work too. Saigon is just too much fun, and I absolutely love it. The day before last, we went to the Chinatown area (Cholon), and I was absolutely bowled over by the amount of activity going on. Everyone was busting their asses working and making something, from clothing to bricks to electrical parts. And it had been lunch time, so the entire area had been out on the streets eating (Literally, on little pull out plastic stools and tables, the sort of size they normally have when you were back in Kindergarten). People watching is just about the most entertaining thing in Saigon (nearly on par with fantastic French meals for under thirty bucks in quaint little street-side cafes). The people there have their busy meters turned on high, and in all honesty, unless they were agent orange victims, you don’t see very many beggars on the street. For a place like Vietnam where the average income is (I think) $800 per annum in the city, it has very few beggars. Everyone at least tries to sell you something. I’m personally still more partial to Hanoi for a holiday (I love tripping over all the people selling food on the street. Their all about thigh level, sitting on stools that are no higher then a foot, with their equipment and produce hanging on either side of a bamboo rod) but if you’re scouting around for business ops, Saigon is it.

Enough of that.

I came back about early evening last night and went over to Greg’s place for a drink. We’re allright now I suppose, but it’s been a month, and things are a little awkward. It will take some time for me to get used to him again, I suppose. The thing is… I don’t really want to try to make things work. I never did. I like hanging out with him when I’m free, and that’s that.

After much thought, I have decided I suffer from some kinda sexual frustration. It’s not like I’m not getting enough (duh) or that I’m getting more then I bargain for. It’s just that the sexual relationships are bloody never the way I’d like them to be. Exactly. But I suppose that’s no different then saying I’m romantically frustrated because I’m not consumed by the sort of love I want.

I should write a book titled ‘We Will All Die Unsatisfied’.

Why is the orgasm such a big friggin deal to guys (both yours and his). (And if His), why do some of them take forever to come. And why do condoms make some dicks go limp. And why do they always like to eat pussy and fiddle with her until she’s bloody irritated.

In the most recent season of SATC, after Miranda got married and went on a honeymoon with her hubby (can’t remember his name), there was a scene of her in the forest calling Carrie on the last two bars of her mobile phone, asking her desperately for some semblance of intelligent conversation. Essentially, Miranda was going bonkers trapped in the middle of a nature reserve with a crazy guy that tried to fuck her all the darned time. And there was no time for anything else but sex, not like there was much else to do. But I have and that feeling before, more times then I would like to remember, and it is one of the most claustrophobic feelings in the whole wide world.

You can tell them all that, and they will say they understand, and promise not to force it, but it’s all bullshit. The next time you say you’re not in the mood, they get upset, disappointed and ‘what’s wrong, don’t you like it? What am I doing wrong, oh lets try something else, I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself…’ And before you know it, their face is buried between your legs.

Well, you’re not doing anything wrong, aside from the fact that too much, is wrong.

xoxox