The Madonna’s Diary
It is not always easy being the girl that boys want to take home to their mother. I’ve been “respected” more times than I can count, but only “fucked” once or twice, and only “fucked over” once officially. Call me lucky – some of my girlfriends have spent years crying over the latest asshole they thought they loved. Not me; I’ve always had nice guys following me around. Which is fine. But can be boring as shit.
When you look like you stepped out of a German beer bar – great rack, rosy cheeks, innocent expression – dull, nice boys want to take you out to dinner. Interesting, badass boys want to hook up with your leather-wearing friend. It’s to the point where I can walk into a bar and know instantly what guys will want to take me home. Or rather, want to take me out on a date. As my friend, The Whore would say, it’s like I have some kind of GPS system attached to me.
It’s not that I’m complaining – I’m mostly happy not to be seen as a sex object. My ultimate goal is be with someone I respect and love. But hey, I’m young and not ready to settle down. Sometimes I want to be seen as a sex object. Sometimes I want the dangerous guys to notice me. But while The Whore exudes mystery and sex, I exude some kind of good girl quality that I just can’t shake. If I make a sex joke, guys look at me like I threw up on them.
The truth is, I’m no Whore. But I’m not just a Madonna either.
Entries: The Experiment, Good Guys, The Wee Man
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