Atleast one of us is sleeping

It's late and I'm on one time zone while RS is on a completely other. He's passed out in bed next to me. So, what better way to kill insomnia than posting a little bit on my new found sanity- or insanity depends on how you look at it. I've spent most of my last 24 hours doing 3 things: eating, flying and having sex. I choose the latter option.

I don't know if I should feel ashamed that I'm about to write about Mr. Right #1 when I'm snuggled in bed with Mr. I'm fucking hot as hell and will never be Right RS. But I'm known for being illogical and irrational and basically just not giving a fuck. I've been told my complete lack of caring is what makes me so alluring. My mother always taught me to act lady like. Yet somewhere between my high school sweetheart and my first roll in the sack with an athlete; I learned to cuss like a sailor, fuck like a rabbit and do a keg stand.

Sometimes when I'm having a moment of snuggling with RS (yes rock stars snuggle too). I think it would be perfect if we just worked out. If the space time continuum was realistic and living out of a suitcase was a viable option. But this isn't Star Wars and the reality of it is that sex is just sex.... get it while its hot.

Mr. Right #1 began as a train wreck.When Joe Regular told me that my tickets had been spoken for, you'd think that a light would go off and I'd run for the hills. Instead I started to pine after him, it took only 2 days of pining and he asked me out again. Of course, being the idiot that I am... I accepted. We ended up fucking each other in the back of his Audi BEFORE we had dinner. I would have married him right then and there. Food for thought: Goalies are fucking flexible and flexible whilst fucking.