I guess we aren’t ready to live on our own together. My partner and I have two roommates. I think it’s to keep us from sleeping on the couch unnecessarily. Because if he and I lived on our own right now I would totally be pulling a sleeping on the couch drama queen move tonight—but because we live with 2 other people, I can’t risk the embarrassment. Why am I mad enough to sleep on the couch? Really? Because I’m a fucking princess. Tonight I had a performance, and what I expect after I perform is to be showered with affection and told I’m the most amazing entertainer that has ever graced the planet earth then be fucked into oblivion—fucked so hard I can’t form coherent sentences.
Needless to say, this is not what is happening right now. Right now I am sitting in the dark living room alone, lit only by the glow of my laptop and the twinkle of the Christmas tree…the lonelinest lighting imaginable…and brooding over how terrible my life is. Nevermind the fact that I got my xmas present early yesterday and it was a Hitachi Magic Wand with an attachment that can assure female ejaculation and that we made love like wild banshees. Nevermind that tomorrow night my partner and I are going to an invite only A list BDSM porn party to have sex with some of the hottest freakiest people in town. Nevermind that just earlier today I was texting my partner to tell him that he is all of my fantasies realized. No no. All that matters is that right now, I’m a princess. And right now, I’m a drunk and angry princess who doesn’t feel like she’s getting princess treatment.
I’ve been dieting recently. Trying to live on 1400 calories or less. Therefore I’m hangry all the time. I cried in Whole Foods today because I had too much anxiety to buy a cookie. Seriously? No wonder he doesn’t want to fuck me. I own the fact that I’m a princess and that my sensitive little ego needs to be stroked mercilessly after I get up onstage. I know that no matter how many random strangers in the audience tell me I was great, the only person that matters is the person I fall asleep next to. And if that person doesn’t want to fuck my brains out when I get off stage, then I have failed as a performer.
That’s my price of admission. A performer’s ego. So please, I encourage any partners of performers out there to really pay attention the night after a performance. Drink some coffee, take a power nap, do whatever you need to do….but make sure that your partner is well fucked when they get offstage. Really. That’s all they want.
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