When I was on my anti-depressants/anti-anxiety cocktail combination, I completely lost any and all sexual desire. I was on a low dose of Buspar and a high dose of Celexa, or "No Sex-A" if you're really hilarious like me (I feel like I've written about or Tweeted that joke at least twice already, my apologies if you've already had the opportunity to laugh uncontrollably at that one.) I always thought that if I didn't spend so much time thinking about/feeling bad about thinking so much about sex, that I would somehow unlock an otherwise unavailable portal of creativity and pretty much just get a shitload of shit done. But I didn't. It was pretty boring and I think I even gained a bit of weight. What ended up happening was the same amount of "how am I gonna momentarily escape my reality" fantasies, only instead of being sexy and fun they basically just reinforce the reality that I'm a narcissist with major delusions of grandeur and painfully low self-esteem.The majority of my non-sexual fantasies involve me punching, kicking and/or biting people that rush onto the train car before allowing me time to exit, but I thought I would spare you those examples as I would only be perceived as some crazy asshole. Instead, I’ll share with you my less violent daydreams.
I'm finally off the bus and walking/lightly jogging the two short blocks and three long ones it takes to get to my first client...'s bathroom. Through a door left ajar, I notice a group of men working in an apartment. Just as I pass by a man runs out, yelling to me "excuse me, Miss? I'm sorry to bother you but we just installed this bathroom and need someone to test it to make sure it works. (shy pause) Do you happen to need to use the restroom?" HOT DAMN!!!!!!
4. Being “discovered”.